He looks so wicked, said Edna.
He looks cunning, said Jack. That bird knows everything, believe me. I bet he'll talk soon.
It gave a sort of laugh, said Edna. I forgot to tell you.
When? cried Jack. A laugh?
Sort of, said Edna. But it was horrible. It made Charlie nearly jump out of his skin.
Charlie? cried Jack. You didn't say he'd been here.
Well, you know how often he drops in, said Edna.
Do I? said Jack. I hope I do. God! What was that?
That's what I meant, said Edna. A sort of laugh.
What a horrible sound! said Jack.
Listen, Jack, said Edna. I wish you wouldn't be silly about Charlie. You are, you know.
Jack looked at her. I know I am, said he. I know it when I look at you. And then I think I never will be again. But somehow it's got stuck in my mind, and the least little thing brings it out. Maybe I'm just a bit crazy, on that one subject.
Well, he'll be transferred soon, said Edna. And that'11 be the end of it.
Where did you hear that? said Jack.
He told me this afternoon, said Edna. He was on his way back from getting the mail when he dropped in. That's why he told me first. Otherwise he'd have told you first. Only he hasn't seen you yet. Do you see?
Yes, I see, said Jack. I wish I could be psychoanalyzed or something.
Soon Charlie made his farewells, and departed for his job on the company's other project. Edna was secretly glad to see him go. She wanted no problems, however groundless, to exist between herself and Jack. A few days later she felt sure that all the problems were solved forever.
Jack, said she when he came home in the evening.
Yes, said he.
Something new, said she. Don't play with that bird. Listen to me.
Call him Polly, said Jack. They had named it Polly to be on the safe side. You don't want to call him 'that bird.' The missus doesn't love you, Poll.
Do you know, I don't! said Edna, with quite startling vehemence. I don't like him at all, Jack. Let's give him away.
What? For heaven's sake! cried Jack. This rare, black, specially hatched Poll? This parrot of romantic origin? The cleverest Poll that ever
That's it, said Edna. He's too darned clever. Jack, I hate him. He's horrible.
What? Has he said something you don't like? said Jack, laughing. I bet he will, when he talks. But what's the news, anyway?
Come inside, said Edna. I'm not going to tell you with that creature listening. She led the way into the bedroom. The news is, said she, that I've got to be humoured. And if I don't like anything, it's got to be given away. It's not going to be born with a beak because its mother was frightened by a hateful monstrosity of a parrot.
What? said Jack.
That's what, said Edna, smiling and nodding.
A brat? cried Jack in delight. A boy! Or a, girl! It's bound to be one or the other. Listen, I was afraid to tell you how much I wanted one, Edna. Oh, boy! This is going to make everything very, very fine. Lie down. You're delicate. Put your feet up. I'm going to fix dinner. This is practice. Stay still. Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Or girl as the case maybe!
He went out through the living-room on his way to the kitchen. As he passed the window he caught sight of the parrot on the dark porch outside, and he put his head through to speak to it.
Have you heard the news? said he. Behold a father! You're going to be cut right out, my bird. You're going to be given away. Yes, sir, it's a baby.
The parrot gave a long low whistle. You don't say so? said he in a husky voice, a voice of apprehension, a quite astonishing imitation of Charlie's voice. What about Jack?
What's that? said Jack, startled.
He'll think it's his, whispered the parrot in Edna's voice. He's fool enough for anything. Kiss me, darling. Phew-w-w! You don't say so? What about Jack? He'll think it's his, he's fool enough for anything. Kiss me, darling. Phew-w-w!
Jack went out into the kitchen, and sat down with his head in his hands for several minutes.
Hurry up! cried Edna from the bedroom. Hurry up Father!
I'm coming, said Jack.
He went to his desk, and took out the revolver. Then he went into the bedroom.
At the sound of the cry and the shot, the parrot laughed. Then, lifting its claw, it took the chain in its beak, and bit through it as if it were paper.
Jack came out, holding the gun, his hand over his eyes. Fool enough for anything! said the parrot, and laughed.
Jack turned the gun on himself. As he did so, in the infinitesimal interval between the beginning and the end of the movement of his finger on the trigger, he saw the bird grow, spread its dark wings, and its eyes flamed, and it changed, and it launched itself toward him.
The gun went off. Jack dropped to the floor. The parrot, or whatever it was, sailing down, seized what came out of his ruined mouth, and wheeled back through the window, and was soon far away, visible for a moment only as it swept on broader wings past the new-arisen moon.
VARIATION ON A THEME
A young man, with a bowler hat, cane, flaxen mustache, and blue suit, was looking at a gorilla in a zoo. All about him were cages floored with squares of desert. On these yellow flats, like precise false statements of equatorial latitudes, lay the shadows of bars. There were nutshells, banana skins, fading lettuce; there were the cries of birds who believed themselves mewed up because they were mad, the obeisances of giraffes, the yawns of lions. In an imitation of moon crags, mountain goats bore about ignobly eyes that were pieces of moon. The elephants, grey in a humidity of grass and dung, shifted from one foot to another. Jurassic days, it seemed, would quite definitely never be here again. Mice, moving with the speed of a nervous twitch, were bold in the freedom of a catastrophe of values.
Perceiving that they were alone, the gorilla addressed the young man in an imitation of the American accent, which he affected for reasons of his own. Pal, you look a decent sort of guy. Get me a suit like yours, only larger, a bowler hat, and a cane. I guess I can do without the mustache. I want to get out of here. I got ambitions.
The young man was greatly taken aback to hear a gorilla speak. However, common sense reminded him that he was in a city in which many creatures enjoyed that faculty, whom, at first sight, or at any hearing, one would hardly credit with sufficient intelligence to have attained it. He therefore recovered from his wonder, but, having a nice sense of distinctions, he replied to the gorilla, I do not see that I can do that, for the place for a gorilla is either a cage or the Congo. In the society of men you would be like a fish out of water, a bull in a china shop, or a round peg in a square hole. You would be a cause of embarrassment, and would therefore yourself be embarrassed. You would be treated as an alien, disdained on account of your complexion, and slighted because of your facial angle.
The gorilla was very much mortified by this reply, for he was extremely vain. Here, he said, you don't want to say that sort of thing. I'm a writer. Write you anything you like. I've written a novel.
That alters the situation entirely! cried the young man with enthusiasm. I am a novelist myself, and am always ready to lend a hand to a struggling fellow author. Tell me one thing only, and my services are yours. Have you genius?
Yes, said the gorilla, I certainly have.
In that case, said the young man, I shall bring your suit, hat, cane, shoes, and body-linen at this hour tomorrow. I will also bring you a file, and you will find me awaiting you under the large chestnut tree by the West Gate, at the hour of dusk.