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Batch 2, story 11

 

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head of largest bird, viewed from left

head of small bird, right side

three bright glass birds, view from above

head of medium bird, view from left

head of medium bird, view from right

three bright glass birds, view from left

head of small bird, view from left

head of largest bird, view from right

three bright glass birds, view from right side

 

head of largest bird, view from right

 

head of medium bird, view from left

 

head of small bird, right side

three bright glass birds

TELL IT TO THE BIRDS

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Marjorie sat back in her kitchen chair, clapped her hands and laughed. She was heavily-built and not used to exercise, and as she got hastily to her feet the little metal seat fell back onto the lino and bounced a little. She didn't notice. The kitchen door flapped behind her, and a cold wind blew through the room.

Outside in the aviary it was always quiet, being shielded from traffic-sounds by Marjorie's house. It stank of bird droppings because its owner didn't bend down so much these days. A bunch of little finches twittered slightly from out of their fluff in a corner. A scarlet parakeet sat dead still, one-legged on a twig, with its eyes closed.

“ . . . and isn't that strange my lovelies I was only telling you yesterday those shares should go up because of that war and so they did today I've made about a thousand pounds would you believe it you'd think they heard me. . .”

One parakeet-eye popped into a circle. A second leg appeared, stretched sideways, flexed its claw and stood. The first leg folded leisurely back into its shock of roaring-red feathers and the eye was gone. Marjorie rattled about, checking seed and water. She looked at the mess in the cages, drew a breath to speak, and wheezed.

“Oh dear ahem oh dear oh dear well yes my lovely pigeons my chickens my birdie-dears and you know what else they should do they should give every widow in the country a person to clean and help about the house that's what they should do and the first thing he should do would be to clean you all out and then he can mend that dripping tap in the bathroom mind you he should be good looking and young oh yes ha ha that would make Mrs Attbury jealous next door ha ha,” by which time she was out of the door and halfway back to the kitchen, mumbling to herself.

The next morning at five o'clock a bleary and curlered Marjorie opened the front door to one permatanned Adonis complete with smart green overalls, brush and dustpan, and a plumber's kit in a holdall. She blinked a little, but didn't argue. For an hour she sat and boggled over a cup of tea in her kitchen, while her willing and self-effacing assistant scrubbed things and mended things, rippling his muscles and whatever as he passed to and fro. Then the papers came and confirmed it. A second wish had been granted:

“Home Helps For All Widows,” it said, “Surprise Government Pre-Election Ploy.”

The lad joined her for a tea-break.

“Nice bit of luck,” she joked.

They looked meaningfully into each other's eyes. Right at the back of her mind there was a small question. She kept it there, right at the back.

The next morning she was back in the aviary and the birds were awake this time. They couldn't help being awake. It looked as though the place had been blasted with cleaning fluids, and the pong of hygiene was overpowering.

“ . . . sometimes things can be too clean my lovelies it shows the enamel coming off the cages now my sweeties my chickens it exposes the rust perhaps we should have left the birdpoo in there it was holding some of these cages together my birdies now don't escape through the holes now will you well this time lucky eh I've had two wishes come true you must grant me a third its always the way there are always three wishes aren't there always three now what shall the third one be . . .”

Marjorie thought. It hurt and she held her head and tried to think some more. Adonis was rippling up and down the garden with the power mower and the noise scrambled her brains.

“Oh it's daft anyway my birdies of course there were no wishes it was just luck but what luck eh what luck oh well ha ha if there has to be a third then the taxman's computer can blow up then there will be no taxes for a while and I can spend all of that thousand pounds I made on those shares oh yes and let's make sure lets make a hole open up in the ground and all of London fall in it just temporarily mind just till I've built up a bit of savings and paid off my mortgage yes NO MORE TAXES –“ and as she shouted, the mower stopped and so did she.

“The neighbours will think I'm potty,” she said. “All his fault,” and Adonis had to go without the special lunch she had promised him.

There were no papers the next day. She heard it on the radio: no London, no taxes, no services either. Martial law. And no Adonis: he had been the product of taxes. Well, never mind, her son was always there when she needed him.

“Good old Brian,” she smiled. “Silly about your mum you are you even leave your wife in London for a week to help your poor old mum you do good old Brian,” and she picked up the phone. Outside in the aviary the parakeet was talking to itself.

“No more taxes,” it said, over and over again.

Copyright 2003 © LS

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three bright glass birds, view from left

head of largest bird, viewed from left

head of small bird, right side

three bright glass birds, view from above

head of medium bird, view from left

head of medium bird, view from right

three bright glass birds, view from left

head of small bird, view from left

head of largest bird, view from right

three bright glass birds, view from right side

 

head of largest bird, view from right

 

head of medium bird, view from left

 

head of small bird, right side

three bright glass birds, view from below

 

 

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three bright glass birds, view from left