Fancies and Goodnights, стр. 75
BIRD OF PREY
The house they call the Engineer's house is now deserted. The new man from Baton Rouge gave it up after living less than a month in it, and built himself a two-room shack with his own money, on the very farthest corner of the company's land.
The roof of the Engineer's house has caved in, and most of the windows are broken. Oddly enough, no birds nest in the shelter of the eaves, or take advantage of the forsaken rooms. An empty house is normally fine harborage for rats and mice and bats, but there is no squeak or rustle or scamper to disturb the quiet of this one. Only creatures utterly foreign, utterly remote from the most distant cousinhood to man, only the termite, the tarantula, and the scorpion indifferently make it their home.
All in a few years Edna Spalding's garden has been wiped out as if it had never existed. The porch where she and Jack sat so happily in the evenings is rotten under its load of wind-blown twigs and sand. A young tree has already burst up the boards outside the living-room window, so that they fan out like the stiff fingers of someone who is afraid. In this corner there still stands a strongly made parrot's perch, the wood of which has been left untouched even by the termite and the boring beetle.
The Spaldings brought a parrot with them when first they came. It was a sort of extra wedding present, given them at the last moment by Edna's mother. It was something from home for Edna to take into the wilds.
The parrot was already old, and he was called Tom, and, like other parrots, he sat on his perch, and whistled and laughed and uttered his few remarks, which were often very appropriate. Edna and Jack were both very fond of him, and they were overwhelmingly fond of each other. They liked their house, and the country, and Jack's colleagues, and everything in life seemed to be delightful.
One night they had just fallen asleep when they were awakened by a tremendous squawking and fluttering outside on the porch. «Oh, Jack!» cried Edna. «Get up! Hurry! Run! It's one of those cats from the men's camp has got hold of poor Tom!»
Jack sprang out of bed, but caught his foot in the sheet, and landed on his elbow on the floor. Between rubbing his elbow and disentangling his foot, he wasted a good many seconds before he was up again. Then he dashed through the living-room and out upon the porch.
All this time, which seemed an age, the squawking and fluttering increased, but as he flung open the door it ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The whole porch was bathed in the brightest moonlight, and at the farther end the perch was clearly visible, and on the floor beneath it was poor old Tom parrot, gasping amid a litter of his own feathers, and crying, «Oh! Oh! Oh!»
At any rate he was alive. Jack looked right and left for traces of his assailant, and at once noticed the long, heavy trailers of the trumpet vine were swinging violently, although there was not a breath of wind. He went to the rail and looked out and around, but there was no sign of a cat. Of course, it was not likely there would be. Jack was more interested in the fact that the swaying vines were spread over a length of several feet, which seemed a very great deal of disturbance for a fleeing cat to make. Finally he looked up, and he thought he saw a bird — a big bird, an enormous bird — flying away. He just caught a glimpse of it as it crossed the brightness of the moon.
He turned back and picked up old Tom. The poor parrot's chain was broken, and his heart was pounding away like mad, and still, like a creature hurt and shocked beyond all endurance, he cried, «Oh! Oh! Oh!»
This was all the more odd, for it was seldom the old fellow came out with a new phrase, and Jack would have laughed heartily, except it sounded too pathetic. So he carefully examined the poor bird, and finding no injury beyond the loss of a handful of feathers from his neck, he replaced him on the perch, and turned to reassure Edna, who now appeared in the doorway.
«Is he dead?» cried she.
«No,» said Jack. «He's had a bit of shock, though. Something got hold of him.»
«I'll bring him a piece of sugar,» said Edna. «That's what he loves. That'll make him feel better.»
She soon brought the sugar, which Tom took in his claw, but though usually he would nibble it up with the greatest avidity, this time he turned his lack-lustre eye only once upon it, and gave a short, bitter, despairing sort of laugh, and let it fall to the ground.
«Let him rest,» said Jack. «He has had a bad tousling.»
«It was a cat,» said Edna. «It was one of those beastly cats the men have at the camp.»
«Maybe,» said Jack. «On the other hand — I don't know. I thought I saw an enormous bird flying away.»
«It couldn't be an eagle,» said Edna. «There are none ever seen here.»
«I know,» said Jack. «Besides, they don't fly at night. Nor do the buzzards. It might have been an owl, I suppose. But —»
«But what?» said Edna.
«But it looked very much larger than an owl,» said Jack.
«It was your fancy,» said Edna. «It was one of those beastly cats that did it.»
This point was discussed very frequently during the next few days. Everybody was consulted, and everybody had an opinion. Jack might have been a little doubtful at first, for he had caught only the briefest glimpse as the creature crossed the moon, but opposition made him more certain, and the discussions sometimes got rather heated.
«Charlie says it was all your imagination,» said Edna. «He says no owl would ever attack a parrot.»
«How the devil does he know?» said Jack. «Besides, I said it was bigger than an owl.»
«He says that shows you imagine things,» said Edna.
«Perhaps he would like me to think I do,» said Jack. «Perhaps you both would.»
«Oh, Jack!» cried Edna. She was deeply hurt, and not without reason, for it showed that Jack was still thinking of a ridiculous mistake he had made, a real mistake, of the sort that young husbands sometimes do make, when they come suddenly into a room and people are startled without any real reason for it. Charlie was young and free and easy and good-looking, and he would put his hand on your shoulder without even thinking about it, and nobody minded.
«I should not have said that,» said Jack.
«No, indeed you shouldn't,» said Edna, and she was right.
The parrot said nothing at all. All these days he had been moping and ailing, and seemed to have forgotten even how to ask for sugar. He only groaned and moaned to himself, ruffled up his feathers, and every now and then shook his head in the most rueful, miserable way you can possibly imagine.
One day, however, when Jack came home from work, Edna put her finger to her lips and beckoned him to the window. «Watch Tom,» she whispered.
Jack peered out. There was the old bird, lugubriously climbing down from his perch and picking some dead stalks from the vine, which he carried up till he gained a corner where the balustrade ran into the wall, and added his gatherings to others that were already there. He trod round and round, twisted his stalks in and out, and, always with the same doleful expression, paid great attention to the nice disposition of a feather or two, a piece of wood, a fragment of cellophane. There was no doubt about it.
«There's no doubt about it,» said Jack.
«He's making a nest!» cried Edna.
«He!» cried Jack. «He! I like that. The old impostor! The old male impersonator! She's going to lay an egg. Thomasina — that's her name from now on.»
Thomasina it was. Two or three days later the matter was settled beyond the shadow of a doubt. There, one morning, in the ramshackle nest, was an egg.
«I thought she was sick because of that shaking she got,» said Jack. «She was broody, that's all.»