creatures, its
wings the color of a cloudless summer sky—
But I’m forgetting why I’m
here. And the thud, thud that accompanies the dove’s cooing grows ever
more insistent. The birdcages are scattered through the room in a
jumbled mess, most of them far from any wall that might keep them
from slipping and sliding with the pitch of the ark. No wonder the
birds are so frightened.
Shai and I have to let go of the wall
ourselves to pick through the cages—no hawks or eagles, I notice,
despite Kenaan’s bragging that he’d trap one—until we reach the
source of all the racket, and I suck in a sharp breath. One of the
doves is flinging itself against the bars of its cage, over and
over, though its left wing droops at an awkward angle and it must
be in terrible pain. Its mate sits at the back of the cage, head
tucked to its breast, seemingly indifferent.
I kneel and open the cage, but when I
reach inside the dove’s frenzy increases. She—I have no way of
knowing, but it seems like a she—does her best to flee my hand,
scooting backward and trying to lift herself on her injured wing.
She only makes it a hand’s breadth from the ground before falling
again. I take a deep breath before grabbing the bird around her
middle and pulling her from the cage. I’m shocked by the warmth of
her body and the strength of her rabid heartbeat, hitting against
the barrier of her bones again and again the same way she threw her
entire body against the bars.
I lower myself all the way to the
floor and sit with crossed legs, placing the dove on my lap, and
she calms a bit—until I try to examine her injured wing. Then her
cries become higher and even more panicked, her entire body shakes,
and she tries to flee me again. “We have to bind her wing,” I tell
Shai, “or it will never heal, with the way she keeps struggling.
Can you get me some cloth—a blanket, maybe?”
Shai nods, wide eyed, and hurries off
as though the rocking floor no longer bothers her. I realize I too
have forgotten my own tender stomach, now that I’m focused on the
dove. Still, it seems far too long before Shai returns, clutching a
drooping wool blanket and breathing hard. I hand Shai the bird and
she sits, stroking the dove’s white and brown-dappled feathers, as
I set to tearing strips off the blanket. But my arms are weak—I’ve
barely eaten these past few days, after all—and the fabric is
unyielding. Well, what else could I have expected from a blanket
Zeda wove?
I glance around to make sure no one
else has wandered in, and then I pull my carving knife from beneath
my now very bedraggled blue cloth belt, where I’ve kept it since I
first stepped onto the ark. I couldn’t exactly tuck it under my
blanket at night, after all, unless I wanted to risk it sliding its
way across the ark.
Shai gasps when she catches sight of
the bronze blade, gleaming even in this dull, muted light. “Where
did you—”
“ Shh,” I shush her, “don’t
tell your parents, all right?”
“ I won’t.” She bites her
lip and looks down at the dove again, her dark eyes serious and
tender.
With the help of my sharp blade, the
fabric parts easily as a fallen leaf in a child’s hand. Strangely,
I have the urge to dig the knife into something harder, to form the
dove’s shape out of wood and see if I can capture the soft slope of
her feathers. Surely there could not be a worse time or place to
practice my carving, and besides, I’ve given up that pointless
habit. But my thoughts are not so sensible.
My thoughts don’t rule my
actions, though, and I set aside my foolish desire as I focus on
tearing the blanket into even strips. I take the dove from Shai and
wrap the cloth gently but firmly around her injured wing, hoping it
will hold the fragile bones in place. “ Shh, shh, ” I soothe her, trying to
convince myself as well as the bird that I know what I’m doing.
When I lift my hands for a moment, I see she can still move the
muscles where her wing
wings the color of a cloudless summer sky—
But I’m forgetting why I’m
here. And the thud, thud that accompanies the dove’s cooing grows ever
more insistent. The birdcages are scattered through the room in a
jumbled mess, most of them far from any wall that might keep them
from slipping and sliding with the pitch of the ark. No wonder the
birds are so frightened.
Shai and I have to let go of the wall
ourselves to pick through the cages—no hawks or eagles, I notice,
despite Kenaan’s bragging that he’d trap one—until we reach the
source of all the racket, and I suck in a sharp breath. One of the
doves is flinging itself against the bars of its cage, over and
over, though its left wing droops at an awkward angle and it must
be in terrible pain. Its mate sits at the back of the cage, head
tucked to its breast, seemingly indifferent.
I kneel and open the cage, but when I
reach inside the dove’s frenzy increases. She—I have no way of
knowing, but it seems like a she—does her best to flee my hand,
scooting backward and trying to lift herself on her injured wing.
She only makes it a hand’s breadth from the ground before falling
again. I take a deep breath before grabbing the bird around her
middle and pulling her from the cage. I’m shocked by the warmth of
her body and the strength of her rabid heartbeat, hitting against
the barrier of her bones again and again the same way she threw her
entire body against the bars.
I lower myself all the way to the
floor and sit with crossed legs, placing the dove on my lap, and
she calms a bit—until I try to examine her injured wing. Then her
cries become higher and even more panicked, her entire body shakes,
and she tries to flee me again. “We have to bind her wing,” I tell
Shai, “or it will never heal, with the way she keeps struggling.
Can you get me some cloth—a blanket, maybe?”
Shai nods, wide eyed, and hurries off
as though the rocking floor no longer bothers her. I realize I too
have forgotten my own tender stomach, now that I’m focused on the
dove. Still, it seems far too long before Shai returns, clutching a
drooping wool blanket and breathing hard. I hand Shai the bird and
she sits, stroking the dove’s white and brown-dappled feathers, as
I set to tearing strips off the blanket. But my arms are weak—I’ve
barely eaten these past few days, after all—and the fabric is
unyielding. Well, what else could I have expected from a blanket
Zeda wove?
I glance around to make sure no one
else has wandered in, and then I pull my carving knife from beneath
my now very bedraggled blue cloth belt, where I’ve kept it since I
first stepped onto the ark. I couldn’t exactly tuck it under my
blanket at night, after all, unless I wanted to risk it sliding its
way across the ark.
Shai gasps when she catches sight of
the bronze blade, gleaming even in this dull, muted light. “Where
did you—”
“ Shh,” I shush her, “don’t
tell your parents, all right?”
“ I won’t.” She bites her
lip and looks down at the dove again, her dark eyes serious and
tender.
With the help of my sharp blade, the
fabric parts easily as a fallen leaf in a child’s hand. Strangely,
I have the urge to dig the knife into something harder, to form the
dove’s shape out of wood and see if I can capture the soft slope of
her feathers. Surely there could not be a worse time or place to
practice my carving, and besides, I’ve given up that pointless
habit. But my thoughts are not so sensible.
My thoughts don’t rule my
actions, though, and I set aside my foolish desire as I focus on
tearing the blanket into even strips. I take the dove from Shai and
wrap the cloth gently but firmly around her injured wing, hoping it
will hold the fragile bones in place. “ Shh, shh, ” I soothe her, trying to
convince myself as well as the bird that I know what I’m doing.
When I lift my hands for a moment, I see she can still move the
muscles where her wing
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