"You can't stay in there forever," says a voice.
That voice again.
Well, that was the general idea. "Wh-who
are you?" I ask, sounding every bit as petrified as I feel.
"Stick your head out of that box, and you'll see for
yourself what you must have figured out already. I'm a budgie, like yourself. We're going to be cage mates."
There is, at this point, another shriek from the human
hen chick - or "little girl", as they call them. Not that any of them are what I would call "little". But the
chicks - a. k. a. "kids" - are nowhere near as big as the adults, especially that enormous male with the hairy face.
I swear, if he comes any closer, they'll all find out how loud I can screech. There were conures in the aviary
where I lived before the pet shop, so I learnt from the noise masters themselves.
"Quiet, darling. You'll frighten him."
I recognise the voice belonging to the adult hen human. It is gentle, and reminds me of one of the shop assistants,
Mary. I liked Mary, and I like this woman too, I decide, then and there - even if I am terrified of the rest
of them.
"But, look, Mummy," persists the girl. "Joey's
poking his head out. Isn't he pretty?"
"Yes, he's beautiful, Charlotte, but you must keep
your voice down. He's bound to be a bit overwhelmed to begin with."
"Doesn't Joey want to play?" This from the male
chick/boy.
"Not yet, Thomas. Give him a chance to settle
down first. He could do with some peace and quiet right now."
Here, here. But what's with all this "Joey" business?
And "he"? I'll have you lot know that I happen to be a female, and my name is Susan.
I'm still fuming about that particular injustice, when
I spot the owner of The Voice: a lutino male, who looks roughly four years of age. Quite handsome, in his way, if not
exactly my type. Anyway, I've got a boyfriend already.
"I'm Beaky," the other bird calls down from where he
sits, on the highest perch in the cage - which is not, it has to be said, exceptionally high. This cage is not, indeed,
exceptionally large as a whole.
Lucky I won't be staying here for long - that's all
I can say.
I mean, Johnny is bound to come for me soon - isn't
he?
Of course he is. When has Johnny ever let me
down before?
Well, there was that bimbo - some dumb albino,
preening constantly. I soon saw her off though, didn't I? And she was so weak, after I'd sorted her out, that
she ended up getting netted the very next day. Or maybe she let them "catch" her, because she was too scared to stay
in the aviary with your's truly. Maybe.
"Not speaking to me, are you?"
"Oh, sorry. I was miles away. What did
you say your name was again?"
"Beaky - pleased to meet you."
"What kind of a name is Beaky?"
"It's the one the Greenfields gave me, when I came
to live here. Thomas was only three at the time, and it was the name he wanted. His friend's grandparents used
to have a budgie called Beaky, and Thomas wanted me to be called after that bird."
"Slow down! I can't keep up here! Who are
the Greenfields, and why is it up to them what your name is? Or to Thomas - the little boy who kept yelling at me when
I first arrived, I believe?"
"Yes, that's Thomas. He's a nice kid, once you
get used to the shouting."
As if any sane budgie could ever "get used" to such
a thing. Thank goodness I won't have to.
"Didn't your mother choose your name?"
"Oh, sure - way back, she gave me a name."
"Which was?"
"Trevor. After my dad. I never really liked
it much, to be honest."
"It's better than 'Beaky'."
"You think so? To tell you the truth, I've become
quite fond of 'Beaky', and it keeps my - our - people happy. I say it for them sometimes, in their own language, and
that keeps them ecstatic for hours. They keep encouraging me to repeat the name, over and over again, and sometimes
I get extra millet sprays, for my trouble - can't be bad!"
This bird has to be crazy, I decide. And he doesn't
stick to the point at all. Keeps going off on such tangents with his ramblings.
"But who are the Greenfields?" I ask again.
"They're the family we live with - the four people
you've just met. Mr. and Mrs. Greenfield - or Steve and Jayne - and their two children, Charlotte Greenfield and Thomas
Greenfield."
"Does anyone else live here?" Please, no cats.
"Only Cassie. You'll meet her soon enough.
There used to be a hamster called Reg, but he died. And, of course, there was Bluey, my previous companion, but I don't
want to talk about...Still kind of raw - you know?"
I naturally want to know about Bluey, but don't want
to push it, so I ask who Cassie is, praying that she isn't some sort of rodent, like the late Reg.
"She's a cockatiel. The people didn't realise
for ages that she was a girl - called her Kevin, they did. The breeder who she came from didn't know what sex she was,
because she was still a baby then, but he told the Greenfields that she was a boy. That was what they wanted to hear,
you see. It wasn't until Jayne's cousin, Peter, visited - and he knows a bit about birds, because he used to breed some
of us himself, years ago..."
"Peter told the Greenfields that Cassie was a female,"
I say, desperate to cut a potentially long story a little shorter.
"Er - yes, quite so, Joey. Listen, do you fancy
some seed? You must be hungry."
"No, thank you - I'm fine. And my name isn't
Joey. I told you didn't I? I'm a girl."
"They won't find that out until Peter visits.
They do have a few provisional names this time, in case you turn out to be a girl."
This was like banging my head against cage bars.
"I told you, mate. I've got a name - Susan. And I'm not answering to anything else!"
"Keep your feathers on, Joe-I mean, Susan. Anyway,
I'm going to have some seed, even if you aren't. I'm starving."
I long to join him, but am determined not to back down.
Johnny won't be much longer. He won't leave me here on my own all night.
He wouldn't dare!
I watch Beaky, sorting though the seed tray, in search
of his favourites. I wonder if he prefers the same seeds as I do.
At length, he returns to the same perch, on which he was
sitting before. He just sits there, digesting his food in silence.
"Sorry I lost my temper, Beaky," I say, when I can't
put up with the silence any longer. "It's just that - well, it's been the worst day ever for me."
He is good-looking, isn't he, this Beaky fella?
If I did fancy lutinos - which I don't - then I might just consider...
Hope I haven't offended him too much. He was
only being friendly, after all.
Beaky nods. "Of course it has. Don't worry
about it, girl."
"What are the 'provisional options', then?"
"Sorry?"
"For my name."
"Oh, right. Well, Joanne, or maybe Joanna, if
Charlotte gets her way - and either Josephine or Joella, if it's up to Thomas. Those two never agree on anything."
"I like Joanna the best," I announce, after a moment's
reflection. "You can call me that, if you want to. Never liked Susan much, anyway. I think I will have some
of that seed, after all."
