Read Online When Crickets Cry by Charles Martin - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles Martin
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like fishing with live bait.
The male stood over her, next to her, encircling her, singing and calling at the top of his lungs. When I walked outside, he hopped up on the railing and eyed me with anger and suspicion-the feathers rising to a point on the top of his head and back of his neck. And when I cupped her in my hands, he flew in circles, just a foot or two from me, between the porch and the branches.
"It's okay, girl," I said. "Let me get you inside where I can take a look at you."
The male cardinal flew up to a branch, changing his tune to alert and alarm. Halfway through the door, I turned and said, "Don't worry, sir. I won't hurt her. You can look inside my window if you want."
I took her inside, placed her under my magnifying glass, and immediately saw the problem. Somehow during the storm, debris had blown through her wing, bending a few feathers, marring the skin, and placing a deep cut in one wing. The fine bone wasn't visibly distorted, but I'd have bet my microscope that it was fractured. I cleaned out the fine debris and then taped her wing closed, but not so much that she felt trapped. I pulled my birdcage off the shelf, filled the water bottle, and placed her inside.
All the while, watching me like a hawk, her fire-engine-red mate was sitting outside my window, singing at the top of his lungs. I knew that cardinals mated for life, so he wouldn't be going anywhere. "Don't worry, sir. She'll be okay. I'll take good care of her."
The loneliest sound I have ever heard is that of a male cardinal calling out for a female who does not answer. And he will stand on that limb and sing at the top of his lungs for days.
Emma whispered, "He's crying."
"You sure?" I asked.
"I know," she said matter-of-factly.
"How? How do you know? Doesn't sound like crying to me."
She looked back at the cardinal and said, without feeling the need to prove it, "That's 'cause you're listening with your ears and not your heart."
"What do they do when they find each other?"
"They sing together."
Emma slid across the floor, sat Indian-style, and bumped knees with me. She raised an eyebrow and whispered, "No man is an island, entire of itself. . . " She placed a finger on my nose. "Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind ... therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls ..." She tapped me twice. "It tolls for thee."
I have since come to believe that the cry of the cardinal, heard at random across the planet, out every bedroom window or screened back porch, is the sound of the multitudes pleading for the one.
I SET THE BIRDCAGE ON A SMALL TABLE NEAR MY SECOND-STORY window so the female could see her mate and he could see her. I changed the tape every few days, careful not to ruffle her feathers, and let her stretch her wing. And every day, that male cardinal stood like a sentinel at Buckingham Palace, singing for her. Most afternoons I'd collect some seeds, place some in her cage and on the sill, and let them eat together. They seemed to appreciate it, because they didn't waste any time. Eventually, he would fly to the windowsill and then onto the cage, where she'd peck at his feet. He'd flutter to the side of the food tray, and they'd peck beaks through the cage.
After three weeks of recuperation, I took the tape off completely and let her stretch inside the cage. Then I opened the cage door and turned it out toward the window. "Go ahead, girl. It's okay."
She flew gracefully out the door and lit on a small branch next to the male. Those two stayed in that nest outside my window throughout middle school and high school. And every day they sang their love song to each other. Emma used to tell me, when they'd come back to the window, that they were singing for me.
Chapter 12
y piece of property faces Charlie's. We own the opposite sides of a little finger off the eastern side of the lake. My view is of his house and vice versa, although he owns a little point that allows his guests-if he
The male stood over her, next to her, encircling her, singing and calling at the top of his lungs. When I walked outside, he hopped up on the railing and eyed me with anger and suspicion-the feathers rising to a point on the top of his head and back of his neck. And when I cupped her in my hands, he flew in circles, just a foot or two from me, between the porch and the branches.
"It's okay, girl," I said. "Let me get you inside where I can take a look at you."
The male cardinal flew up to a branch, changing his tune to alert and alarm. Halfway through the door, I turned and said, "Don't worry, sir. I won't hurt her. You can look inside my window if you want."
I took her inside, placed her under my magnifying glass, and immediately saw the problem. Somehow during the storm, debris had blown through her wing, bending a few feathers, marring the skin, and placing a deep cut in one wing. The fine bone wasn't visibly distorted, but I'd have bet my microscope that it was fractured. I cleaned out the fine debris and then taped her wing closed, but not so much that she felt trapped. I pulled my birdcage off the shelf, filled the water bottle, and placed her inside.
All the while, watching me like a hawk, her fire-engine-red mate was sitting outside my window, singing at the top of his lungs. I knew that cardinals mated for life, so he wouldn't be going anywhere. "Don't worry, sir. She'll be okay. I'll take good care of her."
The loneliest sound I have ever heard is that of a male cardinal calling out for a female who does not answer. And he will stand on that limb and sing at the top of his lungs for days.
Emma whispered, "He's crying."
"You sure?" I asked.
"I know," she said matter-of-factly.
"How? How do you know? Doesn't sound like crying to me."
She looked back at the cardinal and said, without feeling the need to prove it, "That's 'cause you're listening with your ears and not your heart."
"What do they do when they find each other?"
"They sing together."
Emma slid across the floor, sat Indian-style, and bumped knees with me. She raised an eyebrow and whispered, "No man is an island, entire of itself. . . " She placed a finger on my nose. "Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind ... therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls ..." She tapped me twice. "It tolls for thee."
I have since come to believe that the cry of the cardinal, heard at random across the planet, out every bedroom window or screened back porch, is the sound of the multitudes pleading for the one.
I SET THE BIRDCAGE ON A SMALL TABLE NEAR MY SECOND-STORY window so the female could see her mate and he could see her. I changed the tape every few days, careful not to ruffle her feathers, and let her stretch her wing. And every day, that male cardinal stood like a sentinel at Buckingham Palace, singing for her. Most afternoons I'd collect some seeds, place some in her cage and on the sill, and let them eat together. They seemed to appreciate it, because they didn't waste any time. Eventually, he would fly to the windowsill and then onto the cage, where she'd peck at his feet. He'd flutter to the side of the food tray, and they'd peck beaks through the cage.
After three weeks of recuperation, I took the tape off completely and let her stretch inside the cage. Then I opened the cage door and turned it out toward the window. "Go ahead, girl. It's okay."
She flew gracefully out the door and lit on a small branch next to the male. Those two stayed in that nest outside my window throughout middle school and high school. And every day they sang their love song to each other. Emma used to tell me, when they'd come back to the window, that they were singing for me.
Chapter 12
y piece of property faces Charlie's. We own the opposite sides of a little finger off the eastern side of the lake. My view is of his house and vice versa, although he owns a little point that allows his guests-if he
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