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Authors: Michel Basilieres
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all of life’s mysteries are equally impenetrable, and who could say whether
any
hopes or fears would pay off, ever, in any sort of way? So he continued throwing pencils and forks at the bird, or striking out at it with his hand, but almost always missing, since Grace was as wary of Grandfather as were his wife and family.
But unlike the others, Grace was confined to the kitchen and her cage, and couldn’t escape Grandfather’s presence merely by leaving the house or retiring to another room. So the crow took to perching on the lintel of the kitchen door whenevershe was let loose. There she could see Grandfather before he could see her; and she often took what advantage of this she could. If he entered the kitchen without his old man’s hat, she would defecate on his bald head. If he wore the hat, she would swoop down and snatch it away, and Grandfather would be reduced to chasing her about the kitchen with the broom, swearing and knocking things off shelves and the tabletop. Once, the bird dropped the fedora into the soup, which so distressed her mistress, Aline, that from then on all soups were simmered with the lid on.
One evening, as dusk was settling, Grandfather woke and groggily bethought himself of breakfast. He found the kitchen empty except for Grace, whose cage was set at the open window. Running his hand over his tired, bald and now always scarred head, Grandfather suddenly thought how easy it would be, with no one watching, to open the cage door. At least one of the problems in his life could be easily solved. If Aline wanted to know who had let the crow loose, he could be just as puzzled as she or anyone else in the house. Of course she would
think
it was him, but that didn’t deter him. He had been on decreasingly civil terms with his wife since she had moved out of his bedroom, until now he frankly cared nothing for what she felt or thought, just as he would never stop to consider the feelings of his victims—who of course could have none—or their families.
He tied the sash of his dressing gown and cautiously approached the cage. Grace watched himwith her usual indecipherable stare, head atilt. The crow shuffled to get farther away from him, but when it was clear he was coming for the cage, she broke into screeching and flapping as if he were already poking at her.
Grandfather retreated, listening for any reaction from the rest of the house. None. Good. But how to open the cage without sounding the alarm again? He settled on a yardstick, and held it out at arm’s length, trying to force the small sliding door upwards. Grace watched as if curious, her head swinging from left to right, occasionally pecking at the stick, once grasping it in her beak until Grandfather cursed and yanked it back. Eventually the deed was done, and Grandfather almost smiled as Grace realized she was free to leave.
She hopped onto the threshold and tilted her head in the direction of the open window, and then, as if suspicious, towards Grandfather. “Go on, go on,” he murmured. She seemed to consider first his words, and then the darkening sky, before finally she hopped to the sill, spread her wings and leapt into the air.
Grandfather leaned out the window to see her go, but she was already lost against the deep blue night sky. Could it be true? Was he free of Grace at last? He thought he heard the rustle of her wings; he leaned further out and turned his head to look up the wall above. Suddenly a rush of air hit him in the face as he heard Grace screeching. He swung his head back quickly but couldn’t make it inside the window before she was on him, pecking, cawing and batting him withher wings. Her feathers were razor-sharp, and he felt his cheeks and neck wetting with his own blood under her attack.
Halfway out the kitchen window, with all his weight bearing down on his chest and unable to get a proper footing in his panic, he grabbed at the bird and tried to tear her from his face. That was a mistake. Now Grace
any
hopes or fears would pay off, ever, in any sort of way? So he continued throwing pencils and forks at the bird, or striking out at it with his hand, but almost always missing, since Grace was as wary of Grandfather as were his wife and family.
But unlike the others, Grace was confined to the kitchen and her cage, and couldn’t escape Grandfather’s presence merely by leaving the house or retiring to another room. So the crow took to perching on the lintel of the kitchen door whenevershe was let loose. There she could see Grandfather before he could see her; and she often took what advantage of this she could. If he entered the kitchen without his old man’s hat, she would defecate on his bald head. If he wore the hat, she would swoop down and snatch it away, and Grandfather would be reduced to chasing her about the kitchen with the broom, swearing and knocking things off shelves and the tabletop. Once, the bird dropped the fedora into the soup, which so distressed her mistress, Aline, that from then on all soups were simmered with the lid on.
One evening, as dusk was settling, Grandfather woke and groggily bethought himself of breakfast. He found the kitchen empty except for Grace, whose cage was set at the open window. Running his hand over his tired, bald and now always scarred head, Grandfather suddenly thought how easy it would be, with no one watching, to open the cage door. At least one of the problems in his life could be easily solved. If Aline wanted to know who had let the crow loose, he could be just as puzzled as she or anyone else in the house. Of course she would
think
it was him, but that didn’t deter him. He had been on decreasingly civil terms with his wife since she had moved out of his bedroom, until now he frankly cared nothing for what she felt or thought, just as he would never stop to consider the feelings of his victims—who of course could have none—or their families.
He tied the sash of his dressing gown and cautiously approached the cage. Grace watched himwith her usual indecipherable stare, head atilt. The crow shuffled to get farther away from him, but when it was clear he was coming for the cage, she broke into screeching and flapping as if he were already poking at her.
Grandfather retreated, listening for any reaction from the rest of the house. None. Good. But how to open the cage without sounding the alarm again? He settled on a yardstick, and held it out at arm’s length, trying to force the small sliding door upwards. Grace watched as if curious, her head swinging from left to right, occasionally pecking at the stick, once grasping it in her beak until Grandfather cursed and yanked it back. Eventually the deed was done, and Grandfather almost smiled as Grace realized she was free to leave.
She hopped onto the threshold and tilted her head in the direction of the open window, and then, as if suspicious, towards Grandfather. “Go on, go on,” he murmured. She seemed to consider first his words, and then the darkening sky, before finally she hopped to the sill, spread her wings and leapt into the air.
Grandfather leaned out the window to see her go, but she was already lost against the deep blue night sky. Could it be true? Was he free of Grace at last? He thought he heard the rustle of her wings; he leaned further out and turned his head to look up the wall above. Suddenly a rush of air hit him in the face as he heard Grace screeching. He swung his head back quickly but couldn’t make it inside the window before she was on him, pecking, cawing and batting him withher wings. Her feathers were razor-sharp, and he felt his cheeks and neck wetting with his own blood under her attack.
Halfway out the kitchen window, with all his weight bearing down on his chest and unable to get a proper footing in his panic, he grabbed at the bird and tried to tear her from his face. That was a mistake. Now Grace
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