She sat in the grass staring down into its eyes. “I can’t help you” she said in frustration as the small ball of down and bone opened its beak and soundlessly waited for food. There was an unnatural kind of hush to the field, people walked by unnoticed by the young woman and the small creature which voicelessly implored her for life.
Settled into the grass the infant mockingbird looked to the girl for life. Its own mother had abandoned it, pushed it from the nest. It was cold and in pain and afraid. When she’d approached it, it had expected death. Perhaps it knew that leaving the nest before it could fly meant it wouldn’t survive. Perhaps it even understood that there were predators that would eat it, but if it understood these things it didn’t care. It just sat and looked at her, not trying to leave, not trying to run or move at all, just sat watching her as though a proud prisoner of war silently waiting for the headman to end his torture.
But she hadn’t killed it, not at first; she crouched in the grass and looked at it. The two seemed to watch each other, studying each other, for a long time, until finally the bird had opened its beak and imploringly turned it up for food. The girl was stunned at first, but caught on quickly what the small creature in the grass wanted. She had nothing to give it, and the nearest food certainly wouldn’t be appropriate for the small thing. In fact it would probably kill the animal. She watched it in an empathic fascination.
How many times had her own stomach growled in the night, her own cries for food gone unanswered? She leaned in toward the bird, “I’m sorry, I don’t have anything.” She said. It closed its beak then looked at her again, it moved its wings a little, small pitiful things that they were, and opened its beak again, hoping for food. Its fear was gone; after all, if it were to be eaten a predator surely would have grabbed it by now.
She watched its plaintive motions and her heart pounded in her ears. She had no food for the animal, and even if she did she didn’t know how to feed it without killing it. She silently cursed herself for having finished her dinner so quickly.
A young man approached her from behind and the bird closed its beak. “What’s all this?” he asked, she turned to him and smiled warily. She was mildly acquainted with the young man. That is to say, she knew a little about him, and had heard him reading at the local café. He was a poet of moderate eloquence, who often wrote about injustice and the nature of different things. He was a hack, when all was said and done, but occasionally a good line would shine through his abstract crap and make the rest worth hearing, so people listened.
“I found a baby bird.” She said. He nodded and crouched beside her looking at the bird. He looked around and up, quickly noting the nest over their heads. It was too high to get to, but at least he knew where the animal had come from. He considered it for a few more moments.
“It won’t survive out here.” He said at last. She looked at him as though he’d just pointed out that she was a woman. He smiled a little at that, and shrugged. “What are you going to do with it?” he asked.
She looked at the bird again; its eyes were still locked on her. Two small black beads set into the grey down of its head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” She said. He looked around.
“Well, the nest is up there.” he pointed. “I know I can’t climb to it. So I guess that leaves either helping the bird or leaving it.” He said. She looked back and forth between the man and the bird, wondering if he had the same emotional bond with the bird as she did, and knowing somehow that he couldn’t.
“I don’t know how to help it.” She said “It’s hungry, but I don’t know what or how to feed it.” She continued. He nodded and thought for a few minutes.
“You could probably find out online what to feed it, but I doubt you could get food for it this late in the day, and by the time the pet stores open again it’ll be too late.” He said. The bird opened its beak again and she looked away.
“Do you really think I could find that information online?” she asked. He smiled a little and set his bag gently on the ground.
“Let’s find out.” he said and pulled out an old battered laptop. Settling in the grass he opened it and a faint blue glow reflected off his face as the screen came on. He typed a few lines and tapped away at the mouse for a few moments until he had an answer. “Ferrex baby cereal in warm water.” He said. She looked at him in surprise.
“Where would I find that?” she said. He smiled and shrugged.
“I have no idea, but it’s what you feed a baby bird according to this site.” He said. She watched him in fascination. He was trying to help her, yet he seemed to have no real emotional motivation regarding the bird. It was as though the animal didn’t affect him at all. She shifted slightly, wondering what his motivation for stopping might have been. He closed his laptop and put it back in his bag then bent down to observe the animal.
“Well, even if you could somehow get the food and feed the poor thing, it probably wouldn’t live long anyway. Birds don’t just abandon their hatchlings, unless there’s something wrong with them.” he said. She looked at him then back at the little bird. She couldn’t see anything wrong with it, but she also wasn’t an expert on birds. She didn’t even know for certain what kind of bird it was.
“So are you saying I should just leave it?” she asked, appalled. He stood, shouldering his bag.
“I’m not saying to leave it, I’m simply trying to give you the information to make the choice yourself.” He said and turned to walk away, leaving her sitting staring into the frustrated little eyes of the hungry baby bird. She reached out toward it, then stopped and pulled her hand back without touching it. The bird was breathing hard. She could see it’s back and wings rising and falling faster. She shivered at its pain, then stood and began slowly backing away.
She sat down in the field, far enough away that she couldn’t see the bird, then took out a book and began trying to read. It was useless. She kept looking up and staring across the field toward the bird, occasionally catching a small motion in the grass where the bird had to be. It was several minutes later when she looked up and saw a small grey cat stalking in toward the bird. Her breath caught in her throat, as the feline moved in toward the baby, crouched, then pounced. Tears rolled down the girl’s cheeks as she turned away from the scene. In the distance she saw the young man sitting on a stone watching her.
A shiver ran through her spine as she realized he’d been watching to see what she would do. He nodded to her, stood and walked away. She sat, crying inexplicably for the small life she had failed to save.
She gasped when she felt something soft against her hand. She opened her eyes and saw the cat, a short haired feline with slight darker stripes. It was her neighbor’s cat. The animal was rubbing its head against her hand, seeking affection. She stared down at it in horror, the cat she’d just seen murder the baby bird was now rubbing against her to be pet. She stood and ran, clutching her book in her hands and with her bag over her shoulder. She just wanted to get away from the scene, away from the cat and the bird and the feathers caught in the feline’s fur.
Returning home, her mother was in the kitchen, making dinner. The girl walked in and saw the meat on the table. Chicken breast and a pan of flower to bread it with lay out on the counter waiting to be prepared. The girl ran up to her room and cried into her pillow, slowly drifting into a soft sleep.
When she woke to face the world, it was because her mother was calling her to dinner. She staggered down to the kitchen where the smell of cooked chicken overpowered her. She settled down groggily, and began to eat the meat, feeling horrible as she did so, and yet at the same time wondering why it was affecting her so much.
“What’s wrong, hun?” her father asked after a few minutes of watching her eat. She looked at him and shook her head.
“It’s nothing. I’m just thinking about some things.” She said, and bit into the breaded meal, images of the grey cat flashing through her head. The meal went on for a time before her mother reached out and touched her arm.
“Oh, Rachel, I forgot to tell you, the Quenten’s cat had kittens the other day.” Her mother said. Rachel looked up at her mother in confusion.
“Kittens?” she asked, as though trying to understand where this statement had come from.
“Yes, kittens. They wanted to know if you wanted one when they’re old enough to leave their mother.” She said. Rachel smiled a little and turned away.
“We’ll see.” She replied and took another bite of chicken.
