And now something readable...

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Mordecai
destractivegodofdarkness

Registered: Jan 2001
Location: library
Posts: 19584

And now something readable...

Just to make up for my other ugly vomitous thread...

The Birdman of Alcatraz

The Birdman of Alcatraz was merely what we called him, actually I was the one to first call him that and my friends found it amusing enough to latch onto the name, and so he was dubbed. At the time I had no clue who the Birdman of Alcatraz was at all, it was merely something I'd overheard somewhere and stuck in my head, and when I met the man, there could be no other name for him. I believe his real name was Mr. Gravenor or something along those lines, but even my father started calling him "the birdman" despite the fact that my mother protested that the name was demeaning every time he did.

He lived at the end of the block, on an oddly shaped corner lot with three structures, the smallest of which was the shed, but only by rather small margin, as his house was a tiny cottage. The garage dwarfed both the others, being easily as large as the other two combined which seemed no odd thing to me once I pondered upon it for a while. After all, people lived in houses, cars lived in garages, and cars were far larger than people and so this arrangement made complete sense to my young mind.

The buildings themselves, despite being of a rather stately age were in perfect condition owing to the fact that the birdman was a semi-retired handyman, not a single patch of peeling paint, nor a sagging gutter to be seen anywhere. The only thing in the neigborhood to rival this perfection might have been the yard surrounding them. Surrounded by a low brick wall, the yard was divided into dozens of small odd shaped sections by a meandering path of flagstones that snaked about, intersecting with itself randomly. Each little subdivision held a different arrangement of plants, but not the typical floral type arrangements of pansies, petunias and tulips chosen by most of the housewives in the neighborhood. There were ornamental grasses in some, low neatly trimmed shrubs and low flowering plants I'd never seen before. One plot, near the center stood out, spiky looking plants and cactus, certainly an odd sight in the middle of southern Illinois. Scattered amongst this array were a few small benches and what seemed like every imaginable type of bird feeder one could conceive of. The entire ensemble was surrounded by a low wall of natural stone and mortar.

On nice days, the birdman could often be seen, seated on one of the benches, a small tin can next to him. I was to discover later the can was full of peanuts and he would take one every so often, tap it on the bench next him and then hold out his hand with the peanut resting on the palm. The first time I saw this, I had but a spare second to wonder if the old man was crazy when a bluejay swept down from peak of the garage and alighted on his fingers. The bird paused a moment, cocking his head to look at the old man, and then peanut, before snatching up the prize and swooping off in low flight, skimming the ground to disappear into the hedge next door.

As he turned to pick another peanut from the bucket he caught sight of me, leaning against the wall, mouth agape in astonishment. He smiled and motioned for me to come over, so I clambered to the top of the wall and ran along it I reached a section of flagstone close enough and hopped down and ran around the curve towards the old man. When I was within about fifteen feet of him, he held up his hand to stop me and I halted so suddenly I nearly fell forward.

"Careful there young man," he said in a low voice, slightly raspy like he had a bit of a chest cold, "That is about as close as you can come till they get used to you. Now hold real still." I willed myself to be stone, or at least to hold still as much as an active 6 year old could. The old man reached in the tin can and selected a peanut and held it up for me to see.It was a large one, the shape showing that it held three nuts within the shell.

"That's a nice treat for the tricksters," he rasped and grinned tapping it on the bench. "Watch this," he whispered and dropped the goober in the breast pocket of his shirt. Once again, I hardly had time to be suprised before a jay, maybe the same one, maybe not, I couldn't tell, dropped down from above. This time it alighted on the bony shoulder and executed a neat dip forward, neatly extracted the peanut and darted off across the garden. It swept around a clump of tall foxtail grass and around the corner of the garage. The moment before it disappeared out of sight, something else shot across the corner of my vision and my head snapped around to follow the blue and grey streak. Another jay was swooping in for it's turn, but it had not waited for a nut to be proferred and simply went straight for the can, alighting on it's edge.

Immediately the can overbalanced, dumping the over-eager bird backwards, causing it to backwing furiously, letting out a squawk of alarm and suprise. Returning to it's rooftop perch, it scolded the the old man and I furiously for this dirty bit of trickery. We gazed up at the bird for a moment and then nearly simultaneously turned towards eachother and burst into laughter.

After that day I would visit the old man once or twice a week, on sunny afternoons and we would feed the birds together, slowly introducing the to my presence until they would eat from my hand as well. I'll never forget the day the first time on perched on my hand and snatched the peanut. The contact was fleeting, yet wonderful.

-m