Close Encounters of the Third Kind (Lac Saint-Jean edition)
(for M.)
I saw them before they saw me. They were three, paddling around clumsily, excited by the dark-blue lake water but somewhat uncomfortable in it -- like me, I suppose, when I waddle on the beach on my webbed feet. I tried calling out to them, but they didn't seem to notice me. So I edged, feather by feather, towards them until I came so close that they finally realized I was there.
All right, I thought, your move, guys. But they didn't know what to do. They sort of just froze, and tried not to make wide or abrupt movements -- apparently, they thought I'd get scared and swim away. And so we spent half an hour like that, floating pointlessly, them whispering and giggling and still not knowing what to do about me, and getting blue around the lips (my lake is not exactly the Mediterranean, even in July) until FINALLY they couldn't take it any more and with a heavy heart pushed back towards the shore, thinking I'd just stay where I was.
Hallelujah! At last we're going somewhere! I sang to myself and subtly followed them, at a short distance. You should have seen the puzzlement on their faces as they kept turning back their heads to see where I was. They couldn't believe their eyes, and they didn't know what to do even more. Once we entered the shallows, they hesitated for a while, but then two of them (the females) -- after they looked down at me sweetly, saying their goodbyes in some kind of baby language -- ran over to their towels to dry. The third one (the male) stayed behind, however, and crouched down close to the edge of the water, next to me (so that I'd feel we're on the same 'footing'?). I looked at him questioningly but when after a few minutes he still persisted in staying there, I thought to myself, "oh, what the heck, I guess I'll take a little nap until some new development," and I puffed up my feathers into a nice round ball, wedging my head underneath the wing, leaving one eye open, just in case he decided to do something more concrete.
And he did. When he was too chilled -- the sun was just about to slide beneath the horizon and wasn't giving off much warmth -- he got up reluctantly, and walked over to the towels, looking back over his shoulder to see if I'd make a move. And I did. I unfurled from my sleeping ball and waddled towards their spot on the sand, sensing that this was it now, the fun was about to begin! But of course, it wasn't as simple as that. They first had to use their human prerogative of patronizing superiority and fuss over the possibility of me starving, so one of them left and a few minutes later came back with a big plastic jar full of cereal flakes and a bag of chips. They made me ceremonious offers, and I didn't have the heart to disappoint them so I pecked at their food here and there (it didn't taste much), but was much more interested in sticking my head inside the plastic bag, or trying to get hold of the pearly beads which one of the females wore around her wrist. I was really just trying to show them that all I wanted to do was PLAY, but they still couldn't believe this was happening, and were now curious to touch me (so proprietorial, all of their species, even though they don't realize it). Then I figured, ok, I'll let them, but at least I'll be playful about it, so I pretended I was coy and would let them graze my beak or the feathers on my back briefly but would then dodge away and make them chase me. How this made them laugh! They laughed, and gave me some strange name, and this went on for a while because I couldn't get over how easy it was to get them laughing.
Eventually we all got tired, and I felt like having another little nap. The sand still had the memory of the day's warmth so I entrenched myself in it and balled up close to them. They huddled up around me, and grew quiet, and I think this was the moment when we "connected" (to use their jargon) for real; we were four creatures, soaking up what was left of the day on a beach, together. And it didn't matter who was who. And nobody wanted anything from anybody.
After some time, though, they were too cold (that's what happens when you are featherless) and hungry, and their entire world was calling them, so even though they didn't want to go, they got up and began to get ready. I did everything I could to stall them, but in vain. They didn't belong to the beach or to the lake, and they were helpless about it.
Having glanced back wistfully a few times, they climbed a short but steep slope above the beach to reach the parking lot, and I had a hell of a time following on my short legs (I didn't want to fly because I thought they might feel bad about their own lack of wings). When I made it to the top and they saw me, oh boy, were they stunned! But also ecstatic and also sad at the same time. As I was swaying left and right hurriedly towards them, I saw them in conference mode, as it were: their heads close together, there were consulting on what to do now.
Just as I was about to reach them (I'm not so fast on the ground, especially not on parking-lot asphalt), the male left their group (in the role of an envoy, I suppose), and started walking briskly in a diagonal, away from where they were standing, all the while looking at me, as if he were inviting me to come along. By this point I knew it was impossible to persuade them to stay, but this now looked like the beginning of a game, and I was all in. I shifted to third gear and got going, not averting my gaze from his lead, ready for anything. Once assured that I followed him, he suddenly broke into a mad run towards the beach, looking over his shoulder. I didn't hesitate a single second, I threw myself into it and ran as fast as my legs allowed me to, my webs pattering against the concrete, my sides almost splitting open from the effort but it was a joyous, unforgettable dash, because somebody was finally, finally! playing with me (I was actually CHASING him!), and I didn't care how long it would go on, or if it would end right away. I was happy, and not alone for a moment -- and what more could one expect from a summer afternoon?
On Saint-Gédéon beach, Lac Saint-Jean, Québec
I saw them before they saw me. They were three, paddling around clumsily, excited by the dark-blue lake water but somewhat uncomfortable in it -- like me, I suppose, when I waddle on the beach on my webbed feet. I tried calling out to them, but they didn't seem to notice me. So I edged, feather by feather, towards them until I came so close that they finally realized I was there.
All right, I thought, your move, guys. But they didn't know what to do. They sort of just froze, and tried not to make wide or abrupt movements -- apparently, they thought I'd get scared and swim away. And so we spent half an hour like that, floating pointlessly, them whispering and giggling and still not knowing what to do about me, and getting blue around the lips (my lake is not exactly the Mediterranean, even in July) until FINALLY they couldn't take it any more and with a heavy heart pushed back towards the shore, thinking I'd just stay where I was.
Hallelujah! At last we're going somewhere! I sang to myself and subtly followed them, at a short distance. You should have seen the puzzlement on their faces as they kept turning back their heads to see where I was. They couldn't believe their eyes, and they didn't know what to do even more. Once we entered the shallows, they hesitated for a while, but then two of them (the females) -- after they looked down at me sweetly, saying their goodbyes in some kind of baby language -- ran over to their towels to dry. The third one (the male) stayed behind, however, and crouched down close to the edge of the water, next to me (so that I'd feel we're on the same 'footing'?). I looked at him questioningly but when after a few minutes he still persisted in staying there, I thought to myself, "oh, what the heck, I guess I'll take a little nap until some new development," and I puffed up my feathers into a nice round ball, wedging my head underneath the wing, leaving one eye open, just in case he decided to do something more concrete.
And he did. When he was too chilled -- the sun was just about to slide beneath the horizon and wasn't giving off much warmth -- he got up reluctantly, and walked over to the towels, looking back over his shoulder to see if I'd make a move. And I did. I unfurled from my sleeping ball and waddled towards their spot on the sand, sensing that this was it now, the fun was about to begin! But of course, it wasn't as simple as that. They first had to use their human prerogative of patronizing superiority and fuss over the possibility of me starving, so one of them left and a few minutes later came back with a big plastic jar full of cereal flakes and a bag of chips. They made me ceremonious offers, and I didn't have the heart to disappoint them so I pecked at their food here and there (it didn't taste much), but was much more interested in sticking my head inside the plastic bag, or trying to get hold of the pearly beads which one of the females wore around her wrist. I was really just trying to show them that all I wanted to do was PLAY, but they still couldn't believe this was happening, and were now curious to touch me (so proprietorial, all of their species, even though they don't realize it). Then I figured, ok, I'll let them, but at least I'll be playful about it, so I pretended I was coy and would let them graze my beak or the feathers on my back briefly but would then dodge away and make them chase me. How this made them laugh! They laughed, and gave me some strange name, and this went on for a while because I couldn't get over how easy it was to get them laughing.
Eventually we all got tired, and I felt like having another little nap. The sand still had the memory of the day's warmth so I entrenched myself in it and balled up close to them. They huddled up around me, and grew quiet, and I think this was the moment when we "connected" (to use their jargon) for real; we were four creatures, soaking up what was left of the day on a beach, together. And it didn't matter who was who. And nobody wanted anything from anybody.
After some time, though, they were too cold (that's what happens when you are featherless) and hungry, and their entire world was calling them, so even though they didn't want to go, they got up and began to get ready. I did everything I could to stall them, but in vain. They didn't belong to the beach or to the lake, and they were helpless about it.
Having glanced back wistfully a few times, they climbed a short but steep slope above the beach to reach the parking lot, and I had a hell of a time following on my short legs (I didn't want to fly because I thought they might feel bad about their own lack of wings). When I made it to the top and they saw me, oh boy, were they stunned! But also ecstatic and also sad at the same time. As I was swaying left and right hurriedly towards them, I saw them in conference mode, as it were: their heads close together, there were consulting on what to do now.
Just as I was about to reach them (I'm not so fast on the ground, especially not on parking-lot asphalt), the male left their group (in the role of an envoy, I suppose), and started walking briskly in a diagonal, away from where they were standing, all the while looking at me, as if he were inviting me to come along. By this point I knew it was impossible to persuade them to stay, but this now looked like the beginning of a game, and I was all in. I shifted to third gear and got going, not averting my gaze from his lead, ready for anything. Once assured that I followed him, he suddenly broke into a mad run towards the beach, looking over his shoulder. I didn't hesitate a single second, I threw myself into it and ran as fast as my legs allowed me to, my webs pattering against the concrete, my sides almost splitting open from the effort but it was a joyous, unforgettable dash, because somebody was finally, finally! playing with me (I was actually CHASING him!), and I didn't care how long it would go on, or if it would end right away. I was happy, and not alone for a moment -- and what more could one expect from a summer afternoon?
On Saint-Gédéon beach, Lac Saint-Jean, Québec
posted by Tijana | 12:46 AM
2 Comments:
I must confess that after the second paragraph I had to go back to the beginningt o start all over since I didnt "get it" at first. Although the endind left me wanting a bit more, the rest of the story was extremely well written, clever, and beautiful. Thank you!
this one was actually for martin. he felt so sad when we had to leave that duck, that i figured he'd feel better if he knew how the duck felt. et voilà! :-)
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