“Bird of Prey” is a darkly amusing comment upon the realistic story of contemporary people and their problems: jealousy, adultery, sick pets, etc. JOHN

COLLIER makes it impossible to determine whether their problems were supernaturally created or whether magical circumstances merely made things worse. Collier, a man with a limber imagination, was one of the finest fantasists of this century and a master of irony and horror. Many of his stories have been televised by such respected directors as Alfred Hitchcock and Rod Serling.

Bird of Prey

BY JOHN COLLIER

The house they call the Engineer’s House is now deserted. The new man from Baton Rouge gave it up after living less than a month in it, and built himself a two-room shack with his own money, on the very farthest corner of the company’s land.

The roof of the Engineer’s House has caved in, and most of the windows are broken. Oddly enough, no birds nest in the shelter of the eaves, or take advantage of the forsaken rooms. An empty house is normally fine harborage for rats and mice and bats, but there is no squeak or rustle or scamper to disturb the quiet of this one. Only creatures utterly foreign, utterly remote from the most distant cousin-hood to man, only the termite, the tarantula, and the scorpion indifferently make it their home.

All in a few years Edna Spalding’s garden has been wiped out, as if it had never existed. The porch where she and Jack sat so happily in the evenings is rotten under its load of wind-blown twigs and sand. A young tree has already burst up the boards outside the living room window, so that they fan out like the stiff fingers of someone who is afraid. In this corner there still stands a strongly made parrot’s perch, the wood of which has been left untouched even by the termite and the boring beetle.

The Spaldings had brought a parrot with them when first they came. It was a sort of extra wedding present, given them at the last moment by Edna’s mother. It was something from home for Edna to take into the wilds.

The parrot was already old, and he was called Tom, and, like other parrots, he sat on his perch, and whistled and laughed and uttered his few remarks, which were often very appropriate. Edna and Jack were both very fond of him, and they were overwhelmingly fond of each other. They liked their house, and the country, and Jack’s colleagues, and everything in life seemed to be delightful.

One night they had just fallen asleep when they were awakened by a tremendous squawking and fluttering outside on the porch. “Oh, Jack!” cried Edna. “Get up! Hurry! Run! It’s one of those cats from the men’s camp has got hold of poor Tom!”

Jack sprang out of bed, but caught his foot in the sheet, and landed on his elbow on the floor. Between rubbing his elbow and disentangling his foot, he wasted a good many seconds before he was up again. Then he dashed through the living room and out upon the porch.

All this time, which seemed an age, the squawking and fluttering increased, but as he flung open the door it ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The whole porch was bathed in the brightest moonlight, and at the farther end the perch was clearly visible, and on the floor beneath it was poor old Tom parrot, gasping amid a litter of his own feathers, and crying, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

At any rate, he was alive. Jack looked right and left for traces of his assailant, and at once noticed the long heavy trailers of the trumpet vine were swinging violently, although there was not a breath of wind. He went to the rail and looked out and around, but there was no sign of a cat. Of course, it was not likely there would be. Jack was more interested in the fact that the swaying vines were spread over a length of several feet, which seemed a very great deal of disturbance for a fleeing cat to make. Finally, he looked up, and he thought he saw a bird—a big bird, an enormous bird—flying away. He just caught a glimpse of it as it crossed the brightness of the moon.

He turned back and picked up old Tom. The poor parrot’s chain was broken, and his heart was pounding away like mad, and still, like a creature hurt and shocked beyond all endurance, he cried, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”

This was all the more odd, for it was seldom the old fellow came out with a new phrase, and Jack would have laughed heartily, except it sounded too pathetic. So he carefully examined the poor bird, and, finding no injury beyond the loss of a handful of feathers from his neck, he replaced him on the perch, and turned to reassure Edna, who now appeared in the doorway.

“Is he dead?” cried she.

“No,” said Jack. “He’s had a bit of shock, though. Something got hold of him.”

“I’ll bring him a piece of sugar,” said Edna. “That’s what he loves. That’ll make him feel better.”

She soon brought the sugar, which Tom took in his claw, but though usually he would nibble it up with the greatest avidity, this time he turned his lackluster eye only once upon it, and gave a short, bitter, despairing sort of laugh, and let it fall to the ground.

“Let him rest,” said Jack. “He has had a bad tousling.”

“It was a cat,” said Edna. “It was one of those beastly cats the men have at the camp.”

“Maybe,” said Jack. “On the other hand—I don’t know. I thought I saw an enormous bird flying away.”

“It couldn’t be an eagle,” said Edna. “There are none ever seen here.”

“I know,” said Jack. “Besides, they don’t fly at night. Nor do the buzzards. It might have been an owl, I suppose. But-”

“But what?” said Edna.

“But it looked very much larger than an owl,” said Jack.

“It was your fancy,” said Edna. “It was one of those beastly cats that did it.”

This point was discussed very frequently during the next few days. Everybody was consulted, and everybody had an opinion. Jack might have been a little doubtful at first, for he had caught only the briefest glimpse as the creature crossed the moon, but opposition made him more certain, and the discussions sometimes got rather heated.

“Charlie says it was all your imagination,” said Edna. “He says no owl would ever attack a parrot.”

“How the devil does he know?” said Jack. “Besides, I said it was bigger than an owl.”

“He says that shows you imagine things,” said Edna.

“Perhaps he would like me to think I do,” said Jack. “Perhaps you both would.”

“Oh, Jack!” cried Edna. She was deeply hurt, and not without reason, for it showed that Jack was still thinking of a ridiculous mistake he had made, a real mistake, of the sort that young husbands sometimes do make, when they come suddenly into a room and people are startled without any reason for it. Charlie was young and free and easy and good-looking, and he would put his hand on your shoulder without even thinking about it, and nobody minded.

“I should not have said that,” said Jack.

“No, indeed you shouldn’t,” said Edna, and she was right.

The parrot said nothing at all. All these days, he had been moping and ailing, and seemed to have forgotten even how to ask for sugar. He only groaned and moaned to himself, ruffled up his feathers, and every now and then shook his head in the most rueful, miserable way you can possibly imagine.

One day, however, when Jack came home from work, Edna put her finger to her lips and beckoned him to the window. “Watch Tom,” she whispered.

Jack peered out. There was the old bird, lugubriously climbing down from his perch and picking some dead stalks from the vine, which he carried up till he gained a corner where the balustrade ran into the wall, and added his gatherings to others that were already there. He trod round and round, twisted his stalks in and out, and, always with the same doleful expression, paid great attention to the nice disposition of a feather or two, a piece of wool, a fragment of cellophane. There was no doubt about it.

“There’s no doubt about it,” said Jack.

“He’s making a nest!” cried Edna.

“He!” cried Jack. “He! I like that. The old imposter! The old male impersonator! She’s going to lay an egg. Thomasina—that’s her name from now on.”

Thomasina it was. Two or three days later the matter was settled beyond the shadow of a doubt. There, one morning, in the ramshackle nest, was an egg.

“I thought she was sick because of that shaking she got,” said Jack. “She was broody, that’s all.”

“It’s a monstrous egg,” said Edna. “Poor birdie!”

“What do you expect, after God knows how many years?” said Jack, laughing. “Some birds lay eggs nearly as big as themselves—the kiwi or something. Still, I must admit it’s a whopper.”

“She doesn’t look well,” said Edna.

Indeed, the old parrot looked almost as sick as a parrot can be, which is several times sicker than any other living creature. Her eyes closed up, her head sank, and if a finger was put out to scratch her she turned her beak miserably away. However, she sat conscientiously on the prodigious egg she had laid, though every day she seemed a little feebler than before.

“Perhaps we ought to take the egg away,” said Jack. “We could get it blown, and keep it as a memento.”

“No,” said Edna. “Let her have it. It’s all she’s had in all these years.”

Here Edna made a mistake, and she realized it a few mornings later. “Jack,”

she called. “Do come. It’s Tom—Thomasina, I mean. I’m afraid she’s going to die.”

“We ought to have taken the egg away,” said Jack, coming out with his mouth full of breakfast. “She’s exhausted herself. It’s no good, anyway. It’s bound to be sterile.”

“Look at her!” cried Edna.

“She’s done for,” said Jack, and at that moment the poor old bird keeled over and gasped her last.

“The egg killed her,” said Jack, picking it up. “I said it would. Do you want to keep it? Oh, good lord!” He put the egg down very quickly. “It’s alive,” he said.

“What?” said Edna. “What do you mean?”

“It gave me a turn,” said Jack. “It’s most extraordinary. It’s against nature. There’s a chick inside that egg, tapping.”

“Let it out,” said Edna. “Break the shell.”

“I was right,” said Jack. “It was a bird I saw. It must have been a stray parrot. Only it looked so big.”

“I’m going to break the shell with a spoon,” said Edna, running to fetch one.

“It’ll be a lucky bird,” said Jack when she returned. “Born with a silver spoon in its beak, so to speak. Be careful.”

“I will,” said Edna. “Oh, I do hope it lives!”

With that, she gingerly cracked the shell, the tapping increased, and soon they saw a well-developed beak tearing its way through. In another moment, the chick was born.

“Golly!” cried Jack. “What a monster!”

“It’s because it’s young,” said Edna. “It’ll grow lovely. Like its mother.”

“Maybe,” said Jack. “I must be off. Put it in the nest. Feed it pap. Keep it warm. Don’t monkey with it too much. Goodbye, my love.”

That morning Jack telephoned home two or three times to find out how the chick was, and if it ate. He rushed home at lunchtime. In the evening everyone came round to peep at the nestling and offer advice.

Charlie was there. “It ought to be fed every hour at least,” said he. “That’s how it is in nature.”

“He’s right,” said Jack. “For the first month, at least, that’s how it should be.”

“It looks as if I’m going to be tied down a bit,” said Edna ruefully.

“I’ll look in when I pass and relieve your solitude,” said Charlie.

“I’ll manage to rush home now and then in the afternoons,” said Jack, a little too thoughtfully.

Certainly, the hourly feeding seemed to agree with the chick, which grew at an almost alarming speed. It became covered with down, feathers sprouted; in a few months it was fully grown, and not in the least like its mother. For one thing, it was coal-black.

“It must be a hybrid,” said Jack. “There is a black parrot; I’ve seen them in zoos. They didn’t look much like this, though. I’ve half a mind to send a photograph of him somewhere.”

“He looks so wicked,” said Edna.

“He looks cunning,” said Jack. “That bird knows everything, believe me. I bet he’ll talk soon.”

“It gave a sort of laugh,” said Edna. “I forgot to tell you.”

“When?” cried Jack. “A laugh?”

“Sort of,” said Edna. “But it was horrible. It made Charlie nearly jump out of his skin.”

“Charlie?” said Jack. “You didn’t say he’d been here.”

“Well, you know how often he drops in,” said Edna.

“Do I?” said Jack. “I hope I do. God! What was that?”

“That’s what I meant,” said Edna. “A sort of laugh.”

“What a horrible sound!” said Jack.

“Listen, Jack,” said Edna. “I wish you wouldn’t be silly about Charlie. You are, you know.”

Jack looked at her. “I know I am,” said he. “I know it when I look at you. And then I think I never will be again. But somehow it’s got stuck in my mind, and the least little thing brings it on. Maybe I’m just a bit crazy, on that one subject.”

“Well, he’ll be transferred soon,” said Edna. “And that’ll be the end of it.”

“Where did you hear that?” said Jack.

“He told me this afternoon,” said Edna. “He was on his way back from getting the mail when he dropped in. That’s why he told me first. Otherwise he’d have told you first. Only he hasn’t seen you yet. Do you see?”

“Yes, I see,” said Jack. “I wish I could be psychoanalyzed or something.”

Soon Charlie made his farewells, and departed for his job on the company’s other project. Edna was secretly glad to see him go. She wanted no problems, however groundless, to exist between herself and Jack. A few days later she felt sure that all the problems were solved forever.

“Jack,” said she when he came home in the evening.

“Yes,” said he.

“Something new,” said she. “Don’t play with that bird. Listen to me.”

“Call him Polly,” said Jack. They had named it Polly to be on the safe side.

“You don’t want to call him ‘that bird.’ The missus doesn’t love you, Poll.”

“Do you know, I don’t!” said Edna, with quite startling vehemence. “I don’t like him at all, Jack. Let’s give him away.”

“What? For heaven’s sake!” cried Jack. “This rare, black, specially hatched Poll? This parrot of romantic origin? The cleverest Poll that ever-”

“That’s it,” said Edna. “He’s too darned clever. Jack, I hate him. He’s horrible.”

“What? Has he said something you don’t like?” said Jack, laughing. “I bet he will, when he talks. But what’s the news, anyway?”

“Come inside,” said Edna. “I’m not going to tell you with that creature listening.” She led the way into the bedroom. “The news is,” said she, “that I’ve got to be humored. And if I don’t like anything, it’s got to be given away. It’s not going to be born with a beak because its mother was frightened by a hateful monstrosity of a parrot.”

“What?” said Jack.

“That’s what,” said Edna, smiling and nodding.

“A brat?” cried Jack in delight. “A boy! Or a girl! It’s bound to be one or the other. Listen, I was afraid to tell you how much I wanted one, Edna. Oh, boy! This is going to make everything very, very fine. Lie down. You’re delicate. Put your feet up. I’m going to fix dinner. This is practice. Stay still. Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Or girl, as the case may be!”

He went out through the living room on his way to the kitchen. As he passed the window, he caught sight of the parrot on the dark porch outside, and he put his head through to speak to it.

“Have you heard the news?” said he. “Behold a father! You’re going to be cut right out, my bird. You’re going to be given away. Yes, sir, it’s a baby.”

The parrot gave a long low whistle. “You don’t say so?” said he in a husky voice, a voice of apprehension, a quite astonishing imitation of Charlie’s voice.

“What about Jack?”

“What’s that?” said Jack, startled.

“He’ll think it’s his,” whispered the parrot in Edna’s voice. “He’s fool enough for anything. Phew-w-w! You don’t say so? What about Jack? He’ll think it’s his, he’s fool enough for anything.”

Jack went out into the kitchen, and sat down with his head in his hands for several minutes.

“Hurry up!” cried Edna from the bedroom. “Hurry up— Father!”

“I’m coming,” said Jack.

He went to his desk, and took out the revolver. Then he went into the bedroom.

At the sound of the cry and the shot, the parrot laughed. Then, lifting its claw, it took the chain in its beak, and bit through it as if it were paper.

Jack came out, holding the gun, his hand over his eyes. “Fool enough for anything!” said the parrot, and laughed.

Jack turned the gun on himself. As he did so, in the infinitesimal interval between the beginning and the end of the movement of his finger on the trigger, he saw the bird grow, spread its dark wings, and its eyes flamed, and it changed, and it launched itself toward him.

The gun went off. Jack dropped to the floor. The parrot, or whatever it was, sailing down, seized what came out of his ruined mouth, and wheeled back through the window, and was soon far away, visible for a moment only as it swept on broader wings past the new-risen moon.