Levadski licks the roof of his mouth with his tongue, as if he were counting the ribs. “On one occasion, when we were following the rails, I heard a noise. The leader of a flock of swans was counting its team by pronouncing every member’s name in a wild trumpet call. Just as I turned my head towards the sky one of the swans flew into a power line. I saw it fall like a shooting star, only much more rapidly. My mother let out a cry, the swans flew on in a tapered formation in the direction of the arctic to breed, as if nothing had happened. After searching for a long time we found the swan in a boggy field. A bloody bone protruded from its feathers. It looked like a pale bellboy with a crude wooden sword. We came closer. The swan, its face distorted in fear and pain, dragged itself further and further away from us. We had no intention of catching it. It was impossible to fix it, but something forced us to follow the animal, with respect, slowly, so that it had a chance to escape. Why did we torment the bird like that? Because we were mesmerized. It was, if I may put it this way, one of the most peaceful moments in my life. How should I explain it?”
“Your story reminds me of my father’s last days,” Habib says, clearing his throat. “I noticed he was preparing to die. It was a similar magic, a similar peace. His apathy acquired new dimensions from one day to the next. While he lay there rigidly before me and I read aloud to him, I had the feeling that my words were not falling into an empty well, as usual, but were colliding with a wall of carpet. I realized, my father was no longer listening. He no longer needed to. He no longer needed my living voice or the living word. I would have liked to feel insulted or at least sad, but something larger would not allow for this petty feeling. Now I know: it was the magic of farewell, a promise that wanted to fulfill itself far from this world. And that this promise would be of no use to me in the here and now, that was an elevating feeling. More elevating than what we call love.”
“I presume it is the same thing.” Clouds of tenderness drift across Levadski’s moist eyes. He sees the swan, its yellow-black beak slightly parted, a wooden sword clamped beneath its arm. The bat of an eyelash, and the swan is already dragging itself across the field. “Only love can be that elevating. I am completely sure of it. Love for its own sake. Perhaps you are right, Habib, What’s in a name? Yes, what’s in a name: In the end we always mean one and the same thing. We mean well, don’t we?”
Habib nods and gently clearing his throat, adjusts the cap already sitting perfectly on his head. “My name, for example, means Dear One, but I don’t think of that when I hear my name. Habib here, Habib there. I know people mean well. Even if I my name were Stick or Idiot, it wouldn’t bother me.”
“You are a good person, my dear Habib. Do you mind if I call you that?”
“No, why?”
“Because it’s a tautology, like sweet sugar.” Once more Habib’s fingertips touch the cap on his head. The further the swan drags itself through the mud, the bigger its crushed body grows, until it gets up and stands perfectly straight — a pale bellboy with oriental eyes.
“It would be different if you called me Habiba by mistake. For your sake, I would have to make you aware that Habiba is the feminine form of Habib. But that wouldn’t bother me either, because I would know you mean me.”
“For my sake?”
“Yes, because you seem to be an inquisitive person.”
“Do you know why it is that swallows prefer to make their nests on the roof beams of horse stables?”
“Because they like the smell of the stables?”
“The bird’s sense of smell is only slightly developed.”
“Then why?”
“Perhaps it is because the horses have a calming effect on these restless birds, and there is always something to eat in a stable, loads of insects. I have always been interested in such relationships. Inquisitive or not. I have observed the finely woven fabric of the universe, thread by thread. From the insect to the swallow I found certainty that I too must belong to it.” Levadski remains still and listens to his own thoughts. “Irrespective of how lonely you might feel from time to time, irrespective.” Two floes of ice project from Habib’s rosy mouth. With arms crossed he is rocking back and forth on his seat.
“A beautiful song is priceless. At home people like to sing, and for no particular reason. Here they point a finger at you if you think of singing in public.”
“We should let the birds set an example! A clever soliloquy, like the birds demonstrate in song, can’t possibly harm us humans either. On the contrary. You know, Habib, if there is something I regret from the bottom of my heart, it’s that I do not sing.”
“Why don’t you sing?”
“It’s not that I am not enthusiastic about song. I have just always had a despondency in me that forbids me to do it. It’s clear I have always sung to myself, inside me. But it is something different when you think your own soul out loud, with the volume turned up. Birds do it, Habib, it is their way of conducting a monologue.”
“Do they?”
“You can bet your life. Birds innocently give their souls up to the wind and to the entire world when they sing. Their thought is anchored in the structure of the world.”
“What about our thought?”
“Not long ago I was on the verge of believing that human beings keep their thoughts secret from the world. Humans lie, even if they are being honest. They lie because they have fallen out of the framework of the world, from the tree of life … Only a few days ago I was convinced that human beings were worse than animals because of it. After the few chance acquaintances made under this roof — What is chance anyway, Habib? — it dawned on me that I was mistaken. We are not worse nor fundamentally very different from birds. A part of the same animate world.”
Levadski carefully exhales. “I am not talking about externalities, Habib. At no point in evolution have we ever been able to keep up with the birds, with their hollow bones and featherweight. Just think, the Quetzalcoatlus, one of the largest flying reptiles in the Cretaceous period, had a wingspan of fifty feet and weighed as much as you do. What an astonishing experiment of nature. In comparison, the crown of creation is a laughingstock.” Habib laughs.
“Do you mean us?”
The picture of the swan lands in Levadski’s eye like a grain of dust. He rubs it in slow circular motions. The swan stands upright with its wooden sword beak and the tiny bellboy on its arm. Holy Mary!
“Think about it, Habib, how many millions of years later did we arrive at the air-filled tire, when all that would have been necessary was to observe the birds more closely, to dissect them and not just eat them. We should not have stuck the feathers on our heads as jewelry, but have examined them carefully. Or the behavior of birds, how they eat and hunt, live and breathe. A little more relaxed and patient, and I bet we would not have fallen from the tree of life so calamitously.”
“We compensated for the fall with fantastic inventions like the telephone, refridgerator and automobile,” Habib says triumphantly. Levadski makes a dismissive gesture.