XXIX.

I have decided to take master's advice, and write some stories which have some pain
and some death in them. Therefore I wrote a fairy story, a moral tale. I'm going to try
it out on Tetsuwon's nephew when he gets here.

One day after a long flight, a bird landed in a man's garden.

He'd been expecting her, and had laid out some crumbs and a bowl of water.

So the bird ate and drank and rested.

"Come inside and rest," offered the man.

The bird followed him, and just before folding her head underneath her wing,
she whispered, "Thankyou."

During the night, the man woke, and getting up out of bed,
looked upon the bird sleeping. Its plumage was brown and flecked, but as he
moved he was blinded by flashes of turquoise and bolts of electric blue which
irrupted from the feathers. He was suddenly filled with a sense of great joy and
wonder.

"Oh beauty!" he cried.

The next morning, he invited the bird to stay one more night.

She cocked her head and whispered, "But I must fly."

However, seeing the tear in the corner of the man's eye, she added,"..Tomorrow."

The man was so overjoyed that he began dancing, which amused the bird greatly.

The next morning, the man pleaded with the bird again not to leave.

"But I must fly," she said, "I have a path to follow."

"Please wait one more day," he begged, the tears now running down his face.

The bird was so touched by his earnestness that she made him a promise.

"I will send you one of my feathers every day," she said,
"until I can return to you next year. This will be a sign of my promise."

So the man accepted the first feather which glowed in his hand at the plucking,
and watched the bird take flight, his heart heavy and his eyes red.

"Maybe I will never see you again," he thought to himself.

A year passed, and as promised, he received another feather each day.

When he had accumulated exactly 365 feathers, his heart began to pound and
he went outside to scan the the skies.

Night fell, and the bird had not yet arrived.

All night he sat awake watching and waiting, but still she did not appear.
Finally, exhausted, he fell into a troubled sleep on sleeves wet with the
sorrows of waiting.

When he woke, the bird was sleeping at his feet.

He bent over her thankfully and peered down at the now dusty feathers,
and the patches of skin which were visible through them.

Still he cried to himself, "Oh beauteous bird," at which point she woke.

"I am sorry to be late for my promise." she whispered,
"I find that each feather I lose makes me one degree less strong.
It is as if my strength, my lustre, my swiftness and direction are
all contained within my feathers.
I have learned something about myself because of you."

Then she put her head under her wing again and fell into a deep sleep.

The man prepared some food for her breakfast, and as she ate he asked
her to stay with him always.

"I must fly," she replied, "but I cannot fly very well in this condition.
Will you let me stay here one month while I regrow my feathers?
And after I am strong, I will always return to you, every year."

"But I love you dearly!" he cried, "I will take care of you always!
Never will any harm come to you here! Oh, please, do not leave me again!"

The man did not want to spoil their first day together, but he could not help
bursting into tears at the thought that she did not love him as much as he
loved her.

"Don't cry," she said, "I am a bird, that's all."

"Oh yes!" he said, "Your feathers, your ellipsis, your beak, your very claws
are all beauty to me!"

"But I must fly," she replied, "to be the bird I am."

He sighed, and said he understood, and yet he feared the emptiness of her flight.

It must be understood that he was just a man, and so he is not to be despised for
what he then proceeded to do, for he very much feared to be alone again after
possessing so much joy.

And so it was, that every night while the bird slept, he crept to her side and plucked
one more feather, which he then kissed in his hand and took it to hide in the cellar,
its very luminosity guiding his path.

At first, he did not notice any change, but gradually as the month wore on,
he noticed her growing smaller and weaker.

"It is strange," she said to him one morning, "I should now be ready to fly,
but I find I am always so tired, I beg you to forgive the burden I am placing
upon you."

And indeed, he noticed that her remaining feathers were dull and without the
flashes of light that first inspired him, that her beak had lost its sheen and the
eyes that once pierced him so brightly were covered with film.

After that, he did not pluck any more feathers, but it was too late.

It was not long before she was unable to take any more food, and the
remaining feathers fell leaf like onto the floor.

Finally, with her head in his lap she whispered to him, "Death is not the end."

But it was the end of her life, and he stood up and looked in anguish at
her shrivelled remains, and saw that it was ugly.

And in seeing this, he knew how it was he could recognise ugliness,
and grieved for the skies she would never fly on her way always back to him.

<-- scene XXVIII

--> scene XXX