A Cold Bath

Maya left her sister behind as she flew up into the air. Her wings caught the wind, her body leveled, her head tilted up. Any bird will agree that flying straight up is a feeling like no other. The exhilaration of defying gravity. The earth moving farther away and the clouds coming closer. The rays of the sun warmed her as she went higher, and she paused briefly to enjoy the heat. Sunny days were a rare treat so late in the fall.  

Maya turned around to find Chaya. Her twin. Maya and Chaya. Mom had wanted rhyming names.

Chaya was still sitting in the nest, staring after Maya anxiously. This was ironic since Chaya had learned to fly first. (Because Maya had kicked her out of the nest while she was dozing.) Maya hadn’t expected her sister would go over the edge, it was just a gentle push. In the spring, two seasons ago, Maya had watched with her heart in her throat as Chaya had fallen and fallen and… suddenly stopped mid-air. She’d then slowly spiraled to the ground, landing neatly in the grass. So, not quite a flight, but at least she hadn’t crashed.  

Woo’i woo’i woo’i came her call. “Come back, Maya! I’m not leaving the nest!”         

Oh birdie. Maya wished she’d pushed her sister again today. Mom and Dad had warned them not to leave the nest before school, but the parents were out together gathering seeds for supper. They’d heard the gossip that the patch of blackberry trees far west of the flock had finally blossomed and had left earlier than usual this morning.  

What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. But Chaya was the ultimate rule-follower.

Maya reluctantly started to fly back, going slowly to savor the air as it fluttered through her feathers. Their little brother, Saavan, was oblivious to Chaya’s shrill whistles urgin Maya to return. Curled into a bright red feathery ball, he was sound asleep in the center of the nest. Mom had named him after the rain because it had been pouring when he’d hatched out of his egg.

As Maya got closer, her sister’s expression changed from vague anxiety to terror. Her eyes widened to become perfectly round. “Maya, watch out!” she screamed.

Maya looked up, startled. A large brown shape flew above her, about a hundred feet overhead. He hadn’t seen her and continued flying over the canopy. In five flaps of a wing, he was out of sight.

A hawk.

He could have eaten Maya for breakfast. But not today.

According to their parents, there were no hawks here while they were growing up. The huge predators had shown up shortly after the community in Rose Grove had returned from last years’ migration, weeks before Chaya and Maya hatched. No one knew why. There were rumors about their sudden appearance. Maybe they’d lost their direction, said those in Rose Grove who saw hawks as large, dumb beasts. No, they ran out of food in the northern forests, countered those who thought the hawks’ presence was a strategic choice to move their hunting grounds south.

Mom and dad were on opposite sides of the hawk debate. This made it a subject that Maya, Chaya and Saavan avoided even more than nest cleaning. The last time the moon was full, Saavan had pointed at the winged shape passing across the cloudless sky and said, “Look, hawkie.”

Chaya and Maya had rolled their eyes at each other, and Chaya had flapped Saavan over his round little head to shut him up. But it was too late. Mom and Dad had heard him.

“How can our little babies be safe when these huge predators are everywhere?” Mom had clucked. She’d looked only at Saavan, making it clear which baby she was most worried about.

“We are here to protect them,” Dad had said with a dull edge of irritation in his voice. “And the hawks will go away soon.”

“You can’t protect them. You’re so tiny. Remember Dow’s kids?” Mom’s voice had risen with every word. “The hawks ate them ALL!” She turned away and covered her face with a wing.

“We’ll always be smaller than hawks. And we’ve managed fine so far.”  

The cardinals were medium-sized in the community of Rose Grove. They were bigger than the hummingbirds, smaller than the parrots, and about the size of the blue jays.

“They won’t leave until all our young ones are dead.” Mom could be very dramatic, but she wasn’t alone in this view.

*

Fortunately, the parents were on the food hunt this morning and had not seen Maya break the rules by flying in hawk-infested skies.

Maya landed outside the nest, her three front toes curling instinctively around the front of the branch while her back toe—the hallux—curved around the back.

Chaya woke Saavan up by squawking loudly in his ear. He rose with a start, his eyes still half closed. Saavan was crimson from the triangular crest on his head to the tip of his tail. His face was mostly black and his beak a scarlet-orange. He looked quite like his big sisters. Maya combed his feathers quickly with her beak.  

“Let’s go!” Maya snapped. “Saavan, you dawdle every morning,” While she usually didn’t mind being late to class, today was the last day of school before the test. A test she couldn’t afford to fail.

“He’s doing okay, Maya,” Chaya countered. “Cut it out.”

They took off. After the hawk scare this morning, they were inclined to stay safe by flying under the protective embrace of the canopy. A carpet of fallen leaves lay on the ground, so dry they could hear the leaves crackle softly as the wind rushed through them. Some of the trees were attired in their last leaves of the year—orange and yellow—but most were naked, bare branches stretching out from the trunk.

The Wisdom Tree was the oldest one in this fragment of the forest. A giant oak that the elders said had been in New England for centuries, its enormous roots rippled under the surface of the soil and its ancient branches twisted and turned in all directions. The whole tree seemed to be trembling today as students gathered for the last day of class.

Maya and Chaya dropped Saavan off in the nursery with the other new birds. The nursery was a long, flat, thick branch where a dozen or so New Birds—affectionately called newbies—met every day to learn how to forage and fly. It was the flattest branch close to the ground, above a cushion of moss so there would be no injury if a newbie fell out of the classroom. There was no sign yet of their teacher, Mr. Ingo. Only two of the students were at the nursery this morning. Chaya and Maya referred to them as the No-Feather Brothers since, while they did have some down, it was a mottled brown color that matched their skin, making it look like they were featherless.  

“Try to be social today,” Maya whispered to Saavan.

He left his sisters to perch alone on the other side of the nursery, giving no indication that he’d heard the unsolicited advice. Maya didn’t have time to worry about him today; she and Chaya flew to the top of the tree to join the adolescent class.

Those birds who were not quite adults but were past the newbie phase fell in the adolescent group. They had their own classes at the top of the tree. Usually, the adolescent class split up after roll call: the cardinals, blue jays, hummingbirds and parrots all separated into their groups. Today was different because the adolescents were starting with the bath, which took place once every moon-cycle, on a sunny day if they could find it. All thirty of them met in the branches at the crown of the tree. Their chatter was louder than usual owing to their nervousness about tomorrow.

The navigation test in the morning would determine who among the adolescents got to fly in the migration this year. Those who didn’t make the cut would stay behind with Great Mama, the oldest bird in the community who was too frail to fly any longer. And then there would be the utter lifelong humiliation—it was so rare to fail the test.

Maya liked Great Mama as much as anyone else, but she couldn’t imagine spending all winter away from Chaya and the rest of the family. And all the other adolescents would be gone, including Azur.

Speaking of Azur, was he there? The top-most branches were full, so Chaya and Maya perched below to one side of their peers. Maya turned her head in all directions but couldn’t spot him.

Mrs. Dilyara, seated on the edge of the branch, started the roll call. She was a plump, matronly hummingbird who was in charge of readying the adolescents for the annual migration. Her plumage had turned gray toward her neck over the years, giving the effect of a halo.

“Avy.”

“Yess-ss” stammered a small voice.

“Azur.”

“Yes,” came a loud, proud voice.

Maya stopped paying attention to the roll call. He was here. She sidled away from Chaya to an opening in the branches, toward his voice. As though he sensed her stare from the branch just below, Azur tilted his head down and met her gaze.

Azur was a bluejay. His white underside and black beak turned into a regal, bright blue crest on his head. The plumage on his wings and tail was a beautiful pattern of indigo and black, and his glossy feathers shone in the light. Azur didn’t look like he needed a bath.

The same couldn’t be said for Maya. She looked down at the sand and grit in her feathers, feeling self-conscious about her untidy appearance.

As Mrs. Dilyara droned on with the list of names, Azur flew down and landed gently next to Maya.

“Hello chica, how are you?” His voice had a quiet, gravelly texture that stroked her racing mind.

“I didn’t see you yesterday,” Maya commented softly.

He blinked at her directness. “Zatara and I had to forage since our parents are still sick.”

His response did not surprise her. Among all the birds in Rose Grove, the bluejays were the most family-oriented. “Did you find anything?”

“A few big acorns, enough to feed the family for a day or two. Do you like acorns?”

Before she could reply, Chaya brushed up against her on the other side. “She’s calling your name, Maya!”

“Here!” she called loudly to Mrs. Dilyara.

The moment of casual conversation was gone. Chaya joined the chat. “Hi Azur. Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“I sure am. I’ve been practicing every day.”

“Wow,” Chaya exclaimed. “I haven’t had much time to practice myself.”

“You don’t need to.” Azur bobbed his blue head up and down, indicating he was impressed. “You’re the best navigator in the cardinal class.”

So he had been paying attention to the cardinal group. Or just to Chaya? “I feel ready too,” Maya announced.

Both of them looked at her doubtfully.

 “Zatara?” Mrs. Dilyara asked. Azur fell silent at his sister’s name.

“Yes.”

Too bad she was here. Maya avoided Zatara as much as she craved Azur’s attention.

Mrs. Dilyara flapped her wings back and forth twice, indicating that all the adolescents should draw close to her. “Now that we’re all here, let’s get ourselves clee-ee-ean. You heard me, that’s how clean we’re going to get.” Her voice rose in pitch with every word, so it felt like she was yelling by the time she completed a sentence. “The water should be a little warmer by now. Formations, everyone!”

She turned around, her wings still stretched wide. The students organized ourselves into four columns of ten behind her.

“Up and away!” she clucked.

They followed her lead, gliding in the air at an easy pace. Maya felt dizzy when she looked at Avy, the hummingbird in front of her. The hummingbirds naturally found themselves at the front of every line in every formation. They were by far the fastest, their wings moving so fast that they became invisible, making it look like their tiny bodies were flying wingless. Their ruby throats and dark green heads had an iridescdent shine that the other birds of Rose Grove lacked.  

The little pond was west of them, and it sparkled green-blue. They descended until they were at level with a shrub. Maya could see her reflection in the water. The crest feathers on her head looked ruffled and she shook her head slightly, to no effect.

“Dive!” shrieked Mrs. Dilyara.  

They turned their heads down to the water and went straight i. Maya felt the shock of the cold water tremble through her highly sensitive beak. Her body froze for a moment as the air rushed out of her lungs and her wings pulled close.

Then the moment was over. The birds went from silence to a cacophony of joyful noise as they washed themselves in the water. Maya ducked her head under the surface and turned her neck from side to side. Then she came up for air and dipped her wings in the water, feeling the cold drops go through her feathers and return to the pond.

The blue jays broke into the familiar chorus of the Aqua Melody:

In the water, the cold cold water,

the birds will bathe today.

In the water, the blue blue water,

Let’s have our say!

This was their cue to start playing, and they started to splash each other by thumping their wings hard on the water.

Maya could see her sister chatting with Larz, the adolescent parrot who lived two trees over. He was no doubt trying to give her some tips for the exam tomorrow. As if any of us could compete with the parrots in remembering directions.

The parrots were the largest birds in Rose Grove (excluding the hawks, who were not considered part of the community). Their hooked beaks and long bodies gave them the advantage in most fights, and their emerald color enabled them to blend into the foliage. But their real advantage was their memory: they could remember everything from where they’d stored a seed a moon ago to the number of times it had rained in the last season.

The parrots kept to themselves most of the time. Even now, the seven of them—all apart from Larz, chatting with Chaya—were gathered together at the edge of the group. Their clique was called the Young Parrot Club (YPC). It was led by Dali, who stood now in their center.

“Maybe you need a lesson too?”

Maya turned around at Zatara’s smug voice.

“But wait, lessons are good only if one is capable of learning.” She laughed at her own joke.

Maya didn’t know why Zatara disliked her so. Azur and Zatara were siblings and best friends, so Maya would have liked to be on Zatara’s positive side.

        “I’ll be fine.” After I practice all night, Maya added mentally.  

        “And if you fail, you’ll have all winter to stay here with Great Mama and practice for next year. Even you should be able to learn in a year what others master in one moon.”

        Maya’s beak parted but no words came out. Trying to hide the pain she felt at Zatara’s insult, Maya turned her face away and flew to the other side of the pond.

The last day of class felt short because the adolescents spent the entire morning at the pond. In the afternoon, they had a session on Scavenging, where they learned how to use their beaks to dig out sunflower seeds buried deep in the soil (hint: it’s better to find something else to eat). Then Chaya and Maya collected Saavan from the nursery. He was perched by himself close to the tree trunk, even as the other dozen or so newbies all clustered together, heads drawn close in conversation.

They flew back to their home tree, Wild Birch, in the afternoon breeze. Maya felt distracted by thoughts of the exam the next day. After dinner, she planned to do flying drills all night until she was too tired to continue.        

“Don’t worry, Maya. I’ll help you tonight.” Chaya could read her sister’s mind.

        “Me too!” Saavan chimed in, even though he had no idea what they were talking about.

Mom and Dad would be back soon; they could take care of Saavan while his sisters prepared for the test.        Too too’i too, he began to hum softly under his breath. His timidity around other birds evaporated when he was with his family.

Maya relaxed and felt better: With Chaya’s help tonight, she would be all right. Probably.

        Although they were twins, they had different abilities in navigation. Mom said that Maya had no internal compass, while Chaya had enough for both of them. They’d simply been born that way. Dad was convinced that they averaged out to be normal in navigation. A fat lot of good that would do Maya tomorrow, when it was each bird for herself.

        Saavan’s screech snapped Maya out of her unpleasant reveries.

        “Look! Our nest is gone.”

        “That’s not possible, Saavan,” Chaya corrected gently.

“Where’d it go?” he asked.

Nests don’t ‘go’ anywhere…” Maya began.

Her thought trailed off as she saw that there was nothing—not even a stray twig—on the branch where they’d left their nest in the morning.