Initiation by Fiver

Okay. I’m being serious now. Not that I haven’t been serious all along. But this I gotta say. If there’s anything…anything at all that’s important to me, it concerns this matter—this matter of the heart.

So…

As you know, everyone’s born with what’s essentially a beautiful, joyful heart. And what a lucky thing! But what’s not much talked about is how, by the time you get grown up, pretty much all the beauty and joy gets drained out. And it’s not like the ones who’re already grown up try to stop it. On the contrary, it’s considered normal. Just part of the leveling-out-process. Of getting socialized into a community where everyone gets along with their rights respected. Trouble is—or what I think no one’s paying attention to—there’s portentous consequences. Real-life ones. Because sooner or later and sure enough, a Big Turkey’s gonna come along. And when he sees pretty much nobody gives a shit about beauty or joy or anything like it, that Turkey’s gonna make his move. Oh yes, and mark my words—the Turkey’s gonna take over. But it’s no use explaining in ordinary words—cos’, for matters of the heart, regular words don’t work. But there’s a story that does…it’s called The Story of Red Robin and Oriole Blue.

***

Once upon a time there was a barnyard. Lots of animals lived there—a dappled gray mare, two Jersey cows, a pig, and a calico cat—but this story mainly concerns a Red Robin, an Australian Blue Oriole, a Big Turkey, and a bevy of Hens.

Okay, a little backstory first—just so, halfway through, you don’t interrupt me with questions like, “What was a Red Robin doing in a barnyard?” Well, to answer that and according to the story, Red Robin had actually been raised by Hens. What happened was, one day, the farmer’s daughter found a pale-blue egg lying on the ground, and thinking it was lost, she placed it in the chicken hatch with the Hens. And lucky for Red Robin, the Hens’ maternal instincts kicked in. They sat on him—and he lived.

So next question I’m sure is—what was it like? Living in the barnyard, that is.

Well, Turkey was top bird and got first dibs on bread crusts. The Hens, though they would’ve enjoyed an occasional bread crust, never said anything. No. They just pecked up any crumbs he left and spent the rest of their day cluck-clucking about systemic oppression, Hegel’s Turkey-Hen dialectic, and what to do about the flagrant underrepresentation of the Great Mother Hen archetype in contemporary cinematography. And as for the other animals, even though all were either bigger or smarter than Turkey, none wanted to mess with him. He was just so very unpleasant! It was always “gob-gob-gobble,” “me-me-me,” and “ain’t I somethin’.” And the racket he’d raise when he felt someone questioned what he thought he was entitled to…it simply was not worth calling him out. So, you get the picture. Everyone steered clear of Turkey.

As for Red Robin, he was a most cheerful fellow—the sort who gladly shared his worms with anyone who had missed breakfast. Also, he loved to sing, which he would do with substantially more verve than distinction. However, in spite of being a bit of an oddball, everyone accepted him.

Then, one fine spring day, a sapphire-blue Oriole with rose-gold wing tips appeared out of nowhere. Blue, as she was called, was actually from Australia, and as is customary there, she was taking a gap year between school and college. But that’s just a detail. The important thing was that—boy oh boy—could she sing! In fact, her singing was so beautiful that all the animals, as well as the stable boy, would stop whatever they were doing to listen. Oh yes, with the exception of the Turkey and the Hens, it brought great joy to all the animals.

However, one who could not have been happier was Red Robin. Not only had he found a friend, but this friend helped him with his singing. And although he knew he’d never reach Blue’s level of artistry, he improved to the point where the animals enjoyed listening to him too.

But what about Turkey? Oh, he might’ve been able to tolerate one joyous, beautiful singing bird—but two? Two was pushing it too far. And, well, it was the gorgeous duet Blue and Red Robin performed for the Jersey cows that finally blew his fuse. As they sang his face got redder and redder, his chest puffed outer and outer until, with wings flapping and a positively cacophonic gob-gob-gobble, he turned on the two little birds—who flew away quite terrified.

“So that’s just a warning! And if I catch either of you singing without a valid work permit, you will pay a hefty price,” he gobbled after them. And the Hens, who had come to see what was going on, clucked their solidarity with Turkey.

“Quite right, quite right,” they said. “For we can’t have orphans and undocumented immigrants setting the cultural agenda for the entire barnyard. It simply won’t do.”

Well, I assure you, the cultural agenda was perhaps the last thing on Blue and Red Robin’s minds. Because—can you imagine singing along and, just as you’re getting to the aria, being attacked by an empurpled, rage-filled Turkey? Awful…no? Anyway, Blue told Red Robin she’d be leaving in the morning. That she knew a Turkey when she saw one. That she’d had a number of “experiences” and had vowed to avoid Turkeys forevermore. Singing was her life, life was short, and no way was she going to risk losing either. This being said, she said, she’d grown very fond of Red Robin, feared for his safety, and entreated him to come with her.

As she spoke Red Robin became flustered. He wanted very much to be with Blue—but the barnyard was all he’d ever known. It was his home. And yes, Turkey was a narcissistic, aggressive type—but the Hens…they were his family. They loved him and he felt sure they would not let him come to any harm. Red Robin couldn’t decide one way or the other—so, in the end, prevarication decided for him. He stayed put.

Early the next morning the two little birds said their goodbyes. Then, as Blue disappeared into the far yonder, Red Robin, as a farewell serenade, flew right into the middle of the barnyard, filled his little red breast with air, and sang with his whole heart. And all the animals listened, thankful at least that Red Robin had stayed. But whoa! When the serenade reached Turkey’s ears, he became even more enraged than before. He stuck his tail feathers straight up, shook his floppy ruby-red comb wildly, and started to gobble and screech, making more noise than a pack of trapped jackals.

“I told him not to sing!” he gobbled to the Hens. “Red Robin has defied me. He has disobeyed orders and must be punished.”

“He has disobeyed orders, orders, orders,” clucked the Hens, “and he must be punished, punished, punished!”

“Follow me!” said Turkey.

And the Hens followed him into the middle of the barnyard and formed a circle round Turkey and Red Robin—who was still singing with all his heart. Then Turkey struck the ground violently with one of his talons and took several steps toward Red Robin, who had stopped singing and was very frightened—so frightened he couldn’t move.

“I warned you once and I won’t warn you again,” Turkey gobbled. “You—you asked for this.”

The terrified little Red Robin looked to the Hens. Surely they would help him. But the Hens just narrowed their eyes and sunk their heads back into their bodies. And Red Robin understood. He understood that the Hens, that he’d taken for family, did not love him and would not stand up for him. But it was even worse. As he looked round the circle, he realized that they were actually enjoying the whole spectacle.

Well anyway, it was too late to call in a family therapist (and we have reason to believe neither Turkey nor the Hens would’ve agreed to it anyway). No—clearly Red Robin’s hour had come.

Turkey raised himself to full turkey height, bared his clawed talons, and lit into Red Robin, going straight for the heart. Oh yes, he tore into Red Robin’s soft red breast. He ripped through flesh and lacerated the little bird’s heart that was beating at two hundred beats per minute. And he didn’t stop until streams of pink blood flowed down and collected in an oozing pool around Red Robin’s feet.

“There! That’ll teach you to sing! Now you’ll never sing again!” screeched Turkey.

And with that Turkey cast a winning glance round the circle of Hens, gave them a haughty nod, and walked off. And the Hens, one by one and without so much as looking at Red Robin, turned, fell in line, and followed him in single file.

Okay. So you’re probably thinking that Red Robin died then and there. But he didn’t. He lived…sort of. His breast healed and eventually reddish feathers grew back over the scar. But inside his heart never stopped bleeding. And he could sing no more.

However and notwithstanding, life in the barnyard went on. Summer passed, then autumn, then the long, snowy winter, and eventually spring came. The cherry trees blossomed, the primroses bloomed, and birdsong was heard once more. Just not from Red Robin. He didn’t sing.

But then, one very fine day, a beautiful sound floated into the barnyard. And all the animals stopped in their tracks and lifted their heads, knowing immediately what it was. It was Blue! She’d come back. And her singing was more beautiful than ever—which filled them with joy. And also made Blue very happy. But her happiness did not last. When she heard what had happened to Red Robin, her mood changed radically. Oh—she wasn’t sad, as you might have expected a delicate little bird to be. No—she was filled with anger. Because what Turkey and the Hens had done brought back memories…

“No!” she cried inwardly. “I can bear this no longer. I will fight and I may die, but I will not sing sweetly while the likes of Turkey eviscerate song itself.” And she looked skyward and appealed to Athena, goddess of war and justice, “Oh great goddess—hear me, I pray! Here…here is my song. Take it. Gird me instead with a dagger of steel—and a cold, ruthless heart—that I may avenge this affront to your honor. Because clearly, whoever it was who said that love conquers all is full of horseshit!”

Blue didn’t tell Red Robin what she was going to do. There was no point. She knew he’d just get all flustered and confused. So without further ado, she gathered herself and flew off in the direction of Turkey’s hatch.

Turkey was napping when she got there. That’s good, she thought, and slipped through a small opening at the back of the hatch. Once inside she paused to consider options. She knew she wanted Turkey to suffer excruciatingly and for the rest of his life. She just had to decide what to go for. It couldn’t be his heart because he didn’t have one. His tongue? No—because she wanted his suffering to endure, and without a tongue he would die of starvation. So that left the eyes. Yes, that was it. She would take his eyeballs out. He would be eyeless—blind for the rest of his days. And the image was delicious to her.

So and without further ado, Blue flew round to the front of Turkey’s head, hovered there for a moment to take aim, then sunk her talons into his face—and with determined viciousness, she pecked his eyes out. And yes, of course there was a great commotion, and feathers flew as Turkey, squawking madly, tried to shake her off. But in this situation a little bird has the advantage. Blue was small and her talons were razor sharp. She would not be detached. So, although things got messy with severed purple and yellow veins hanging from Turkey’s eye sockets and bright-red blood spurting all over the place, finally the eyeballs popped out and rolled onto the floor. At which point Turkey lost consciousness.

When she’d finished Blue stood on Turkey’s head surveilling her handiwork. Good. Excellent, she thought. He would live. Better still, he would suffer. The Hens would cackle in his face. Yes—mission accomplished. So, as Turkey came to and began to scream in pain, she slipped out the back of the hatch.

While all this was going on, Red Robin had been sitting in the cherry tree at the other end of the barnyard. For sure he’d heard the noise and knew something was going down, but he’d lost his nerve long ago and hadn’t wanted to investigate. Nevertheless, he was relieved when Blue alighted on the branch beside him.

“Oh, I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “I’m feeling a bit panicky right now. As if something bad’s happened. Would you sing to me for a bit?”

Blue paused and looked away. Then she turned her head toward him and looked at him with vacant, expressionless eyes.

“No,” she said. “I will not sing for you. I cannot. I have lost my heart. And I will never sing again.”

Blue and Red Robin said nothing for a while. They just sat there on the branch of the cherry tree, surrounded by blossoms of pink and pearl white, looking back at the barnyard. Blue started to shiver. And Red Robin edged closer, then lifted his wing and, very gently, put it round her body.

“It’s done, isn’t it?” he said. “You did it. The revenge, I mean.”

“Yes, I did it,” Blue answered, then paused before adding, “and the shivering’s begun.”

“Yes, the shivering’s begun,” said Red Robin matter-of-factly.

“One bleeding heart and the other cold as stone,” said Blue.

“And an eyeless Turkey—blind for life,” said Red Robin.

“Yeah…I guess it got us all. In the end,” said Blue.

And then they sat in silence for a long while—not so much as looking at one another. Until Red Robin finally spoke.

“So, what happens now?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I think we just sort of wait…”

***

And that’s exactly what they did. Yeah…those wretched little birds—they just sat there waiting for me to “deus ex machina” them out of there. Like enter stage left with a wagon full of magic in tow. Like I’d just roll in, restore their hearts, scold the Hens, and pop Turkey’s eyes back. And hell—who knows? Maybe I will…later. But not just yet. No. Right now I need a break. Yeah—I gotta just sit and let this settle for a while. But please—don’t let that stop you. What I mean is—feel free to go ahead and write whatever ending you care for. And I’d love to hear it. Because as for me? Well, I got no neat-and-tidy, trick-lit answers for these matters—these matters of the heart.

Fiver Lewis

Image by InspiredImages from Pixabay – Lovely Robin in full winter plumage on a fence post