The Exalted

Alber studied his reflection in the water, appreciating the curve and size of his beak. He was such a handsome bird and so appropriately named.

‘Admiring yourself again, are you Alber?’

‘As a matter of fact, Brayan,’ said Alber. ‘I was wondering about the noise.’

Brayan dipped his head into the stream, lapped the cool water. As he lifted his head, he paused briefly. Alber laughed. ‘You were saying something about me enjoying the view.’

Older than Alber by a few years and with commensurate wisdom, Brayan fluffed his feathers but didn’t argue the point. ‘The noise of the machines?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come with me,’ said Brayan, before launching himself into the air with Alber in pursuit. They beat their wings furiously to gain altitude quickly before soaring above the canopy in the direction of the noise.

Alber gurgled and trilled as they flew. He loved it. Loved the forest. Loved the air. Loved his life. He did not love the noise made by human machines as they cut down trees though. Generally, disconnected from current affairs and disinclined to politics, Alber was finding it harder to remain aloof and carefree. The topic of the humans dominated every conversation in the forests of Belize.

Landing on a branch, Brayan gestured with his wing across the valley where an ugly scar tarnished the opposite slope. ‘They don’t understand what they’re doing.’

‘They do what they want,’ said Alber. ‘What does understanding have to do with it?’

Brayan reached for a nut, plucked it off the twig, placed it in his beak, bit hard around its edge and through the centre until the shell was nicely cracked. He offered some to Alber. ‘You know that’s what they think of us – most of them – that we only act on instinct. We don’t make choices or think about things.’

The noise floated across the ravine, disconcerting not because of its volume, but because of its alienness. Alber knew it wasn’t natural, but it seemed inevitable. What could he do? What could they do? ‘Do you think?’ he said, ‘that it would make a difference if we could talk to them?’

Brayan squawked. ‘We can talk to them, but they don’t want to listen. They decide what’s important, not us.’

Alber shrieked in reply to Brayan’s squawk, then wondered why. He wasn’t feeling the same level of outrage, not even at his impotence. Life was simple and easy for Alber. He’d embraced the world outside his egg, effortlessly assuming his place in the natural flow. From the first mouthfuls of regurgitated food his mother shared, to the joy of discovering his own, and from those initial shaky attempts at using his God-given wings, to the exhilaration of unimpeded flight, Alber became the strong and magnificently colourful Scarlett Macaw he was destined to be. No philosophical thoughts had tickled his mind until now. Things were changing, and he would certainly not be able to resist the tide. A voice within called him onward and upward, pressing a claim to the selfless use of his talents and his time.

‘Someone has to do something,’ said Brayan. ‘Not just for us but for all the creatures of the forest, our friends and even our enemies.’

Although the Black Howlers and Spider Monkeys were loud, they weren’t usually meat eaters. Snakes were stealthy and strong, but the real trouble came from hawks and eagles who were faster and bigger than Macaws. Alber shivered, recalling his most recent brush with death.

‘What’s wrong Alber? You’re trembling.’

‘Just thinking about that Harpy Eagle who chased me yesterday.’

‘You had a lucky escape.’

Alber purred, then clicked his tongue.

Brayan squawked several times. ‘Someone has to do something about these humans,’ he said, before launching from the branch and flying away toward the valley.

Feeling lonely now, unsettled by the memories of yesterday’s eagle attack and by the strange stirring within, Alber flew back to join the flock, specifically seeking the company of his mate, Shanda, because he knew her presence would calm his mind. When he found her, Alber landed beside her as she foraged at the base of a tree. They kissed, and she offered him a piece of breadfruit.

‘I wish you wouldn’t fly off by yourself,’ said Shanda. ‘It’s so dangerous.’

‘I wasn’t by myself. I was with Brayan.’

Shanda growled, stared at him. ‘You should be with me.’ She handed him another piece of breadfruit.

‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘And you’re right.’ Sometimes Alber feared his mate than his own mother or even the Harpy Eagle. ‘I should stay close.’

‘That’s how they pick us off,’ said Shanda. ‘One by one. When we’re not together, we’re vulnerable. And it isn’t just the snakes and eagles. Humans set traps for us. They’re the smartest of all our enemies and the most selfish.’

Alber shrieked. ‘What do you mean selfish?’

Shanda moved close to Alber, began to preen his feathers, working from the base to the tip of one of his wing feathers, nibbling systematically. When she finished, she answered his question. ‘They cut down trees for wood to build things, and they trap birds like us, either for feathers to decorate themselves or to sell us as pets. These are all things humans do for themselves.’

Alber considered Shanda’s words as she started work on another of his feathers. Was this his problem to solve? He wanted to care, but more than that he wanted to impress Shanda. She had high expectations of him and was fond of pointing out how often he failed to meet them. Most of the time, he didn’t care. It was easy enough to absorb her disappointment, then thrill her with some romantic or amusing gesture, like when he performed a special dance for her one day in front of the whole flock. Alber had an especially well-developed sense of rhythm – groove was what he called it – and although Shanda had protested his public display of affection, declaring it a great embarrassment, she had loved the attention. Later, she confided how special she felt to be the cynosure of his extravagant performance.

‘Hold still,’ said Shanda, as Alber began to sway and bob his head to a tune in his head. ‘You can’t just dismiss everything with a song and a dance, you know.’

Was he doing that? Ignoring trouble or pretending it would solve itself or didn’t affect him? Alber extended his right wing and wrapped it around Shanda, pulled her close to him.

‘What’s this now?’ said Shanda.

‘I love you,’ said Alba. ‘And I just wanted to give you a hug.’

Shanda purred, then resumed preening Alber. This was all he wanted; to be with his mate, to share his life with her, but the nagging agitation would not go away. He fluffed out his feathers, squawked.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘We’re in trouble, aren’t we?’ he said.

Nibbling the feathers on the back of his head, Shanda kept quiet. Alber wondered what to do, tried to imagine how he could do anything. Surely, it was someone else’s job. Brayan and any of the other stronger males could and would take up the fight. He could help somehow. Maybe. But he wasn’t a leader. He would do what was asked of him, even though he felt afraid, but it was too much a leap of faith to see himself as any kind of hero. He knew, however, that Shanda expected more of him and perhaps this crisis was the opportunity he needed to show her he was not just a pretty boy.

Alber shuffled away from Shanda, squawked, fluffed his feathers, stretched his wings. He flew to the top of a tree. Shanda followed him. Crabbing along the branch toward Alber, she said; ‘What’s gotten into you?’

He responded to her question with an operatic outburst which startled her. Not intending to frighten Shanda, he’d hoped it would blast away the heavy fog gathering in his mind. She was used to his somewhat erratic behaviour, but today he’d hit a new level of unpredictability. He had to admit to not feeling at all like himself and he knew the reason why.

‘I’ve got to go,’ he said abruptly.

‘Go where?’ she Shanda, alarmed. ‘I just told you off for flying solo, and now you’re going again. To where? Why? Stay.’ She bit him, hard enough to let Alber know how upset she was without seriously hurting him. He got the message, but was nonetheless compelled to leave, to fly into the human noise and make a stand. He dropped suddenly from the branch, before flapping furiously to rocket into the sky, screeching in a strange mixture of frustration, fear, and the perpetual joy he felt whenever he was physically disconnected from the earth. Alber flew, hard and straight, without looking back.

A light rain began to fall and so did the temperature as Alber headed for the other side of the valley where Brayan had pointed out to him the source of the noise: the human activity which threatened all the Macaws. He dipped into the ravine, sweeping low over the canopy, maintaining his urgent speed, but detouring slightly because he had no plan. When he reached the other side of the valley, Alber horseshoed back, not giving up but buying himself some more time. He didn’t know what dangers awaited. After some time flying in circles, Alber settled on a branch. The forest was quiet under a soft blanket of rain. He sat for a while to collect his thoughts, drawing deeply from some previously unknown well of courage. Finally with a defiant squawk he took off.

Or tried to take off, for Alber found his claws wrapped around the branch on which he stood, were stuck. By what, he didn’t know, but Alber wasted no time in frantically exhausting himself in multiple vain attempts to break free. His feathers fluttered in all directions as he dropped them in fright. When finally, his lungs were about to burst and his head spun so quickly he couldn’t see properly, Alber ceased his escape efforts. He was suspended upside down from the branch, locked to it by a mysterious glue.

Alber squawked and shrieked himself hoarse, then quit that as well. If he wasn’t so tired, he would have died of fright. He was trapped. The word ‘trapped’ triggered a memory of a conversation he’d had with Brayan about the poachers who patrolled the forest. He said they used limesticks to catch birds. It was a terrible trick, as the sticks looked exactly like branches and the glue the poachers put on them was clear; undetectable until touched, but by then it was too late.

This was exactly what Shanda had warned him about when he flew off by himself. The wisdom of his mate’s words was both a heavy weight and a pathetic consolation. Alber was alone. No one knew where he was, and he couldn’t move. He would die here. He closed his eyes, surrendered to the hopelessness of his situation.

Presently he heard human voices dancing in the middle of branches cracking and twigs snapping. People were coming. Alber didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. If he died alone or was killed or taken away somewhere to be made a prisoner. What did it matter? Whatever happened, he was doomed. His flock. Shanda. The beautiful open sky. All lost.

‘What have we here?’ said a man.

‘It’s a Scarlet Macaw,’ said another.

‘Thank you,’ said the first. ‘I can see that.’

‘It’s trapped on a limestick,’ said the other.

‘Stop doing that.’

The man frowned.

‘Stop stating the obvious.’

Alber kept his eyes closed as his weary heart roused itself in response to the boost of adrenaline produced by his brain. Maybe they’d leave him alone if he played dead. Played dead? Who was he kidding? Whatever happened next, Alber was a dead parrot hanging.

‘How do we get it unstuck?’ said the first man who sounded smart, sympathetic, and impatient with his companion. He spoke with the authority of a leader.

‘Here,’ said the other, producing a small spray bottle from his pack. ‘A little of this should do it, but you have to take care not to scare it.’

‘You do it.’

The rain had stopped by now, but Alber was once more doused with liquid, this time the contents of the bottle, before a strong hand was wrapped around him. He chose not to react. What good would it do to struggle now? Even if he was only being released to a temporary freedom, his acquiescence might heighten his chances of mercy from the humans. Like most of his kind, Alber was talkative, so it was with great difficulty that he held his tongue while restrained in the man’s firm yet gentle grip. He had to cling to the hope, no matter how faint or impossible, that this was a rescue.

‘Hold still,‘ said the leader. ‘Not long now.’

These words must be for Alber, but it was so unexpected and incongruous that he dismissed it, continued with his fake death which masked silent hope.

Soon, Alber felt the other man’s grip loosen; while also becoming aware his claws were no longer attached to the stick. Relief exploded through his body, burst from his mouth in a loud squawk. He dropped to the ground, attempted to fly but was not able to get off the ground. He hopped away from the men to what he presumed was a safe distance, then turned to face them. He and the leader stared at each other. Alber chattered quietly, shifted his weight from one leg to the other, stretched his wings. The man and the parrot continued to eye each other off.

‘Why do you suppose he’s not flying off now he’s free, boss?’ said the man.

‘Looks like he’s got something to say.’

The boss glanced at the other man, smiled at first, but it quickly transformed to a frown. He looked conflicted. Alber did have something to say, and now he had been set free and was recovering his strength more quickly than he imagined possible, he was simply taking the time to formulate the right words in his head. Brayan’s words telling him that humans never listened, flitted around inside his mind, battling against his resolve, taunting him, questioning not only his right to speak, but whether there was any point in doing so. When the leader crouched without moving any closer to Alber, he took it as a sign, summoning images of his beloved Shanda to fuel his courage. Despite the surge of bravado, his feathers fluffed up.

‘Is that so, my feathered friend?’ said the leader. ‘Do you have something to say? Maybe a thank you.’ He cocked his head.

Alber mimicked the gesture, purred, then squawked several times. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’m going to fly back to my flock now, but…’

‘But what?’

‘I didn’t say anything boss.’

‘Shut up!’ he said to the other, before turning back to Alber. ‘Keep talking.’

It was inappropriate, but Alber could not contain his delight, a long operatic note ejaculating from deep within his chest.

The man laughed. ‘We’ve got Pavorotti the Parrot here.’

‘I came bearing a message from my flock,’ said Alber, after the men’s smiles had faded and his own heart had stilled somewhat. ‘We are afraid of you because you are hurting us, killing us and our forest. I live on the other side of the valley, but we can hear you coming. Cutting the trees with your machines. And we tell stories about hunters who prowl the forest to catch us and take us away. Today, I have experienced your evil tricks for myself.’

Alber had no prior thoughts about what kind or response or reaction he expected from the men. His energy had been spent in firstly trying to break free of the limestick trap and secondly in speaking to the men, to deliver his important message. Did he expect them to say sorry, and stop? That seemed too fantastic given they were stronger in every way and could essentially do whatever they wanted with the forest and its inhabitants. The man didn’t say anything, making Alber feel uncertain about whether to continue.

‘Come on boss,’ said the man. ‘Let’s get outta here. We got work to do.’

‘I told you to shut up.’

‘What are you? Some crazy guy talking to a bird now?’

‘I’m warning you.’

The man threw his hands up in the air, shook his head.

The boss focused on Alber. ‘Tell your flock,’ he said, ‘That I heard your message. I don’t know what I can do about it, but I spared your life so that should tell you something.’ He smiled. ‘We should think about you and not just ourselves. I’ll do what I can.’

Alber the Scarlet Macaw and his new human friend, his liberator and sympathizer, stared at each other as the rain began to fall again. Alber squawked and shrieked, flapped his wings, pushed himself off the ground. ‘Thank you,’ he said.

With a sudden thrust, Alber launched into the sky, to begin his journey home. He’d had an unimaginable adventure, cheating death, and communicating with a human. It was only one conversation, with one man, but it was a promising start. Alber gurgled and trilled as he flew. What pride he felt as he pictured Shanda’s face when he returned. She’d be angry of course, but her relief at seeing him would transform into joy and her admiration for him would shine brighter than the sun.

In the distance he saw his flock perched high in the canopy, mottling the space between the greenery like tongues of fire; inextinguishable fires of hope.