[Illustration]
There stood an enormous bird.
David had been to the zoo, and at home he had a book of birds with
colored pictures. He knew the more common large birds of the world:
the ostrich, the condor, the albatross, eagles, cranes, storks. But
_this_ bird--! Its shape was like that of an eagle, but stouter. Its
neck had the length and elegant curve of a swan's neck. Its head was
again like an eagle's, with a hooked bird-of-prey beak, but the
expression in its brown eyes was mild. The long wings were blunt at
the tips, the tail was short and broad. The legs, feathered halfway
down, ended in taloned feet. An iridescent sheen sparkled on its
plumage, reflecting sunlight from the scarlet crest, the golden neck
and back, the breast of silver, the sapphire wings and tail. Its size
alone would have been enough to take David's breath away. He could
have stood beneath the arch of that neck with room to spare.
But the most astonishing thing was that the bird had an open book on
the ground and was apparently trying to learn part of it by heart.
"_Vivo, vives, vive_," the bird read, very slowly and distinctly,
staring hard at the book. "_Vivimos, vivis, viven._ _That_ is simple
enough, you blockhead! Now, then, without looking." It cleared its
throat, looked away from the book, and repeated in a rapid mutter:
"_Vivo vives vive vi_--ah--_vivi_--oh, dear, what _is_ the matter with
me?" Here the temptation to peek overcame it for an instant, and its
head wavered. But it said, "No, no!" in a firm tone, looked carefully
the other way, and began once more.
"_Vivo, vives, vive_--quite correct so far. Ah--_vi_--ah--Oh, dear,
these verbs! Where was I? Oh, yes. _Vivo_--"
David's head reeled as he watched this amazing performance. There was
no need to pinch himself to see if he were dreaming: he was perfectly
wide awake. Everything else around him was behaving in a normal way.
The mountain was solid beneath him, the sunlight streamed down as
before. Yet there was the bird, unmistakably before him, undeniably
studying its book and speaking to itself. David's mind caught hold of
a phrase and repeated it over and over again: "What on _earth_? What
on _earth_?" But of course there was no answer to that question. And
he might have lain hidden there all day, staring out at the bird and
marveling, had it not been for a bee which came droning into the
thicket straight for him.
He had a horror of bees, ever since he had once bumped into a hive by
mistake. When he heard that dread sound approaching, his whole body
broke into a sweat. All thought of the bird was immediately driven
from his head. He could tell from the noise that it was one of those
big black-and-yellow fuzzy bees, the ones with the nasty dispositions.
Perhaps--the thought paralyzed him--perhaps he was lying on its nest.
On it came, buzzing and blundering through the leaves. Suddenly it
was upon him, so close that he could feel the tiny breeze stirred up
by its wings. All self-control vanished. He beat at it wildly with his
hands, burst out of the thicket like an explosion, and smashed full
tilt into the bird before he could stop himself.
With a piercing squawk the bird shot into the air, flipped over, and
came fluttering down facing him--talons outstretched, hooked beak
open, eyes a-glare. Completely terrified, David turned and bolted for
the thicket. He managed to thrash halfway through when a vine trapped
his feet. He pitched forward, shielding his face with his arms, and
was caught up short by a dead branch snagging his shirt.
He was stuck. This was the end. He closed his eyes and waited, too
numb with fear to think or cry out.
Nothing happened. Slowly he turned his head around. The bird, although
it still glared menacingly, seemed undecided whether to attack or
flee.
"What, may I ask, are you doing here?" it said at last, in a severe
voice.
"I--I--I was taking a walk," David said faintly. "I'm awfully sorry if
I bothered you or anything."
"You should not have come up here at _all_," the bird snapped.
[Illustration]
"Well, I'm really sorry. But there was a bee in the bush here. I--I
didn't mean to...." The fright had been too much. Tears started in
David's eyes, and his lip began to tremble.
The bird seemed reassured, for its manner visibly softened. It lowered
and folded its wings, and the glare faded from its eyes.
"I'd go away," David mumbled apologetically, "only I'm stuck." He
rubbed his eyes on his sleeve.
The bird looked at his dismal face and began to fidget awkwardly.
"There, there," it said. "I had no intention of--I am afraid that
I--Stuck, did you say? Very easily mended, my dear fellow! Merely a
question of--Here, let me look." It crashed through the thicket to
where David was caught and thrust its head down through the branches.
Its muffled voice came floating up. "Take heart! There seems to
be--aha! just so--One moment, please--bit of vine--_there_ we are!"
There was a snapping sound from below, and David's foot was released.
He unstuck the snag from his shirt, pushed his way out of the thicket,
and sat down weakly on the grass. Whew! At least the bird was not
going to harm him. It seemed to be quite a kindly creature, really. He
had just frightened it and made it angry by bursting out of the bushes
so suddenly.
He heard a flailing in the thicket, followed by the bird's anxious
voice: "Hello! Are you still there?"
"Yes. What--?"
There were more sounds of struggle. "This is rather awkward. I--the
fact is, I am afraid, that I am stuck myself. Could you--"
"Yes, of course," said David. He smiled to himself, a little shakily,
and re-entered the thicket. When he had disentangled the bird, the two
of them sat down on the grass and looked at each other. They
hesitated, not quite sure how to begin.
"I trust," said the bird at last, "that you are not of a scientific
turn of mind?"
"I don't know," said David. "I'm interested in things, if that's what
you mean."
"No, it is not. There is a great deal of difference between the
interest shown by normal people and the obsessive interest of
scientists. You are not, I hope, acquainted with any scientists?"
"No."
"Ah," said the bird, with a relieved sigh. "Everything is quite all
right, then. I do hope that you will forgive my behavior. I am not
usually so rude. The fact is that you gave me quite a horrible start."
"Oh, I'm sorry I frightened you."
"Frightened, my dear fellow?" said the bird testily. "I am never
frightened. I do not know the meaning of the word."
"What I mean is," David said quickly, "that you frightened _me_." This
seemed to pacify the bird; and David, to heighten the good
impression, added: "Golly, you looked fierce."
The bird smiled complacently, "I _can_ rise to a terrifying ferocity
when aroused. A noble strain of fighting blood courses through my
veins. Not that I go out of my way to seek quarrels, you understand.
On the contrary. 'Peaceful' could well describe my general attitude.
Meditative. I am usually to be found Thinking. I have a powerful
intellect. No doubt you have noticed the stamp of genius on my brow."
David supposed that the bird meant its scarlet crest, and he nodded.
"That's one of the first things I noticed about you."
"Indeed?" cried the bird delightedly. "You are certainly more alert
than most! But, as I was saying, I am usually to be found Thinking.
The first condition of Thinking is solitude. And that, I fear, is a
desideratum most difficult of realization."
"I beg your pardon?"
"People," explained the bird, "do not leave you alone."
"Oh," said David. He flushed, thinking that the words had been aimed
at him, and began to get up. But the bird signaled him to remain where
he was.
"I do not mean _you_, my dear fellow. I assure you that I am delighted
to make your acquaintance. It is all the others. Do you know that I
have spent the greater part of my life being pursued? I was chased out
of Egypt like a common game bird. Out of the mountains of Greece, too.
The hills of Lebanon, the desert of Africa, the Arabian wilds--no
matter where I fled, people would come prying and peering and sneaking
after me. I have tried Tibet, China, and the steppes of Siberia--with
the same result. At last I heard of a region where there was peace,
where the inhabitants let each other alone. Here, I thought, I
should--"
"Pardon me for interrupting. Where?"
"Why, _here_, to be brief," said the bird, waving its wing toward the
valley. "Here, I thought, I should be able to breathe. At _my_ age one
likes a little quiet. Would you believe that I am close to five
hundred years old?"
"Golly!" said David. "You don't look it."
The bird gave a pleased laugh. "My splendid physical condition _does_
conceal my years. At any rate, I settled here in the hope of being
left alone. But do you think I was safe?"
David, seeing that he was supposed to answer no, shook his head.
"Quite right," sighed the bird. "I was not. I had been here no more
than three months when a Scientist was hot on my trail. A most
disagreeable fellow, always sneaking about with binoculars, a camera,
and, I fear, a gun. That is why you startled me for an instant. I
thought you were he."
"Oh," David cried, "I'm awfully sorry. I didn't bother you on purpose.
It's just that I never saw a mountain before, so I climbed up here to
see what one looked like."
"You climbed up here?"
"Yes."
"Climbed," said the bird, looking very thoughtful. "Climbed ... I
might have known.... It proves, you see, that the same thing could be
done again by someone older and stronger. A very grave point."
"Oh, I see," said David. "You mean the--"
"Precisely! The Scientist. He is, I fear, very persistent. I first
noticed him over there"--the bird waved its wing toward the opposite
side of the valley--"so I removed to this location. But he will
undoubtedly continue his pursuit. The bad penny always turns up. It
will not be long before the sharp scientific nose is again quivering
in my direction."
"Oh, dear, that's terrible!"
"Your sympathy touches me," said the bird huskily. "It is most unusual
to find someone who understands. But have no fear for me. I am taking
steps. I am preparing. Imagine his disappointment when he arrives here
and finds me flown from the nest. I am, to be brief, leaving. Do you
see this book?"
"Yes," said David. "I heard you reading it, but I couldn't understand
it. Is it magic?"
"No, my boy, it is Spanish. I have chosen a little spot (chilly, but
isolated) in the Andes Mountains. South America, you know. And of
course one must be prepared. I am learning Spanish so that I shall be
able to make my way about in South America. I must admit my extreme
reluctance to depart. I have become very fond of this ledge. It is
exactly suited to my needs--ideal climate, magnificent view...."
They fell into a lengthy silence. The bird gazed sadly out over the
valley, and David rested his chin in his hands and thought. The
mystery was clearing up. The bird's presence on the mountain and the
fact that it had been reading a book were explained. And so natural
was its speech that David found himself accepting it as nothing
unusual. The thing that worried him now was that the bird would soon
leave. Here they had only just met, and already the promise of a most
interesting friendship was dissolving. The bird had taken time to talk
to him and explain things to him as though he were an equal. And
although he did not understand many of the long words it used, he felt
pleased at being spoken to as though he did understand. And the bird
knew all about faraway countries--had visited them and lived in them
and had adventures in them for almost five hundred years. Oh, there
were so many things David wanted to know and ask about! But the bird
was leaving. If only he could persuade it to stay, even for a short
while! He could try, anyhow--after all, the bird had said itself that
it did not want to go.
"Bird--" He stopped, and flushed. It was hard to put into words.
"Your servant, my boy."
"Well--I--I don't believe I know your name," David stammered, unable
to get the real question out.
"Ah, forgive me!" cried the bird, jumping up. "Permit me the honor of
presenting myself. I daresay my name is familiar to you, celebrated as
it is in song and story. I am the one and only, the Unique, Phoenix."
And the Phoenix bowed deeply.
"Very glad to meet you," said David. "I'm David."
"Delighted, my dear fellow! An honor and a pleasure." They shook hand
and wing solemnly. "Now, as you were saying--?"
"Well, Phoenix, I was just thinking," David stammered. "It's too
bad--I mean, couldn't you--it would be nice if we--Well, do you really
_have_ to go to South America? It would be nice if you'd stay a while,
until the Scientist shows up, anyway--and I like talking with you...."
His face burned. It seemed like a lot to ask.
The Phoenix harrumphed several times in its throat and shuffled its
feet. "Really, I cannot tell you how--how much you--well, really--such
a delightful request! Ah--harrumph! Perhaps it can be arranged."
"Oh, Phoenix!" David threw his arms around the bird's neck and then,
unable to restrain himself any longer, turned a somersault on the
grass.
"But for the present, it seems to be getting late," said the Phoenix.
"We shall talk it over some other time and decide."
"Golly, it _is_ late--I hadn't noticed. Well, I'll have to go, or
they'll worry about me at home. But I can come up and see you
tomorrow, can't I?"
"Of course, my boy! In the bustle of morning, in the hush of noon, in
the--ah--to be brief, at any time."
"And I'll bring you some cookies, if you like."
"Ah," said the Phoenix, closing its eyes. "Sugar cookies, by any
chance?" it asked faintly. David noticed the feathers of its throat
jumping up and down with rapid swallowing motions.
"I'll ask Aunt Amy to make some tonight."
"Ah, splendid, my boy! Splendid! Shall we say not more than--ah--that
is, not _less_ than--ah--fifteen?"
"All right, Phoenix. My Aunt Amy keeps a big jar full of cookies, and
I can have as many as I like."
The Phoenix took David's arm, and together they strolled to the other
end of the ledge.
"Now, don't mention this to anyone, but there is an old goat trail
down this side. It is somewhat grown over, but eyes as sharp as yours
should have no trouble with it. It will make your travels up and down
easier. Another thing--I trust you will not make known our
rendezvous?"
"Our what?"
"You will not tell anyone that I am here?"
"Oh, no. I won't say a word! Well, I'll see you tomorrow."
"Yes. As the French so cleverly say it--ah--well, to be brief,
good-by, my boy. Until tomorrow, then."
David waved his hand, found the goat trail, and started down. He was
too happy even to whistle, so he contented himself with running
whenever he found a level place. And when he reached home, he stood on
his hands in the back yard for two whole seconds.
[Illustration]
3: _In Which It Is Decided that David Should Have an Education, and an
Experiment Is Made_
[Illustration]
Next day it took less than an hour to reach the ledge, and David was
sure that he could shorten the time even more when he was familiar
with the goat trail.
The Phoenix was not in sight when he arrived, and for an instant David
was stricken with fright. Had the bird gone in spite of its promise?
But no--he heard a reassuring noise. It came from the thicket, and it
sounded very much like a snore.