“The same old story, like everything in this world,” Levadski said dismissively. “This kind of provocation occurs every ten years. Always the same. If they had planted a tree on the pedestal, as a symbol of hope, let’s say, the memorial would make much more of a statement.”
The taxi sped towards Victory Avenue. “Number five,” Levadski shouted in to the rear mirror, “did I already say that?” The taxi driver turned his radio down a little.
“Did you say something?”
“Number five,” Levadski repeated, and with a groan lifted his behind in order to get to his wallet.
In the cane shop Levadski was shown a collection of high-quality walking sticks made of different materials. Several models in 925 sterling silver and a few silver-plated ones were among them. He admired the timeless elegance of Derby canes, appraised several handles in the shape of elaborate animal heads, was amazed by folding sticks with soft rubber grips, and finally decided on a black polished drinking stick with an eagle-throat handle in sterling silver and a built-in glass tube for liquids of his choice. Levadski was thrilled. What cancer, damn it, the cancer can eat itself! When he stepped out of the shop and onto the street, instead of laughing his heart out, he traced a jaunty half-circle with his drinking stick.
During the night Levadski dreamed of two arguing male hawfinches. One of them called out sharply “tzee-tzee,” the other one a tinkling “tzaa-tzaa.” Both of them stood in front of a pile of half-ripe peas in Levadski’s mother’s vegetable garden. “Shove off!” Levadski shouted out the window of his nursery and threatened the birds with a watering can. The birds carried on arguing with each other, feathers flew through the air, but the pile of peas remained untouched. “Shove off, you scoundrels!” Levadski shouted. The birds did not listen to him. He let his watering can drop and fluttered out the window. The birds froze and in amazement tore open their powerful beaks. As he couldn’t think of anything better to do, he started juggling the peas. The birds forgot their quarrel and clapped their wings. Levadski was pleased and juggled faster and faster, clockwise. Then the two male hawfinches fluttered up and pecked at the peas with their beaks until there was nothing left to peck.
In the morning, still half asleep, Levadski remembered the telephone conversation with his family doctor and became sad. So it had not been a dream after all, he would die soon. But he had always known this, it was nothing new. If his mother were alive, he would have called her and asked whether he should submit himself to chemotherapy or not. His mother had always sworn by herbs, good deeds and thoughts, she wouldn’t have batted an eyelid at the diagnosis and would just have baked delicious pastries until her death, Levadski thought, sitting up in bed. But perhaps she would have advised me, her only child, to do something different, considering the advancements in medicine? Oh, to hell with the cancer!
The stranger from the day before, the old lady with the book on bees, sprang to mind. That he was still capable of marveling at people was a good sign, a sign that he was not lost to himself or to the community. Thank goodness! Levadski thought, if I had not noticed the book, or if the lines on bees had no longer moved me — that would have been bad! Dear God, I thank you. Levadski folded his hands. For a number of years now he had been saying his morning prayer out loud, partly to reassure himself that he was still here and partly to exercise his vocal chords.
I have woken,
the sun has risen laughing,
peaceful was the night.
God our father,
you protected me.
Only you know
what the day may bring;
yet whatever that may be:
You will be with me.
Levadski wiped away a tear and in a faltering voice addressed the mark left by a bloodthirsty mosquito on the ceiling:
I will write it into my heart and mind,
That I am not alone unto myself on earth,
That I will pass on the love that sustains me to others.
After breakfast he called his bank. His savings turned out not to be exorbitant, but quite substantial. My god, have I lived frugally! Levadski was pleased. He thought of his account in Vienna, to which royalties owed him for his articles in the Konrad Lorenz annual magazine had regularly been transferred since 1975. He had never withdrawn any, how could he have? The last time Levadski had been in Vienna was in 2002, at the Conference for the Advancement of the Mobility of the Northern Bald Ibis. He had not gotten around to withdrawing any money, he was much too busy, too much in demand. The Konrad Lorenz Institute welcomed him with open arms. He was a guest of state and had been invited by the Republic of Austria, had traveled first class, was served a hot meal on the plane and was collected by a black limousine. The chauffeur wore white gloves, like a waiter. The suite in the Hotel Imperial, where he had been put up like a king at the expense of the institute, had five crystal chandeliers. Levadski’s neck ached from admiring the pomp. He liked to recollect this journey and the night at the Imperial. The northern bald ibis to whom he owed all this had already been wiped out across most of central Europe in the seventeenth century. The Konrad Lorenz Research Center set itself the task of making the ugly bird a native in its old home again. It worked, but the northern bald ibis no longer knew that it was meant to set off to Italy in the winter. At the conference Levadski suggested driving all the young birds south in the winter and when they grew older, flying ahead of them in light planes as a means of instruction, so that later they would be able to find the way themselves. The idea landed on fertile ground. Soon afterwards a flock of northern bald ibises set off for their Italian wintering grounds and returned safely in spring. Levadski was sent numerous newspaper articles: Paving the way ahead, Ukrainian ornithologist breaks all barriers — Professor Levadski from Ukraine (born 1914) gives the northern bald ibis wings — Off to Italy! An enterprising idea changes the world of an exotic animal believed extinct — Foster father in a light plane: A Ukrainian sends the northern bald ibis on holiday — Away with the borders! Reintroduction into the wild project unparalleled in the history of wildlife conservation.
Levadski put the kettle on the stove to make tea. He sat himself down on a kitchen stool. He stared at the gas flame. I will let the cancer be cancer, he thought, I am not wasting a single kopek on it. Instead, I will fly to Vienna. I will fly to my wintering grounds like a northern bald ibis. Into the eternal sun. One way with a tailwind.
The water boiled and hissing spilled over the rays of the blue gas sun. Levadski got up and turned off the gas. “Decided,” he said and poured the water into his only unchipped china cup.
III
LEVADSKI WAS BORN THE ONLY CHILD OF A FATHER WHO was a forester in a count’s woodland and a mother who was a Viennese ornithologist in East Galicia. The year of his birth was not a promising one for the world. In an American zoo, on the day of his birth, the last passenger pigeon died, a beautiful bird with red eyes and a black beak. That of all possible days, it was precisely on the 1st of September, 1914 that the bird drew its last breath, on the very same day that Levadski, smeared in blood and blind, mewing softly, announced his arrival, was something he learned only as an accomplished man, shortly after being conferred a doctorate. From that day forth he thought of Martha the passenger pigeon once a year, and of how lonely she must have been in captivity. Of course she had known she was the last of her kind. You just knew something like that. Irrespective of whether you were a human being or an animal. Things like that were whispered to you on thin air, straight into the heart. It was sheer mockery — of all birds, the passenger pigeon, a particularly social species, had to disappear from the face of the earth like this.