Dispatches from the Fury Road: Week 3
This week I made a new friend.
At first I didn’t notice him. That’s how it is with most friendships and relationships. You don’t notice that person until they’ve been hanging around for a while. They don’t get in the way of you physically or emotionally. They’re just there on the periphery filling in the gaps of your view. At some point they say something that tickles your fancy and you file that throwaway comment to think about later. Eventually you have an opportunity to talk without distraction. It is at this point you begin to bond and actively seek each other out. That’s how most long term friendships begin. Life long pals. Passionate love affairs. As per usual, I didn’t notice him at first. And then from the balcony I heard:
Ah.
Oh.
Ahhhh.
Sitting on the railing of my balcony was a crow the size of a toddler that had never rejected a snack. He looked at me and moved his head to one side and then back again. I was laying on the lounge wondering if there was any point to wearing clothes. I looked over at the crow who appeared to be staring at me through the window. It was at this point I thought it definitely was a day to get dressed. A few seconds later I returned from my bedroom dressed in shorts and a t-shirt with the crow still sitting there staring intently into my abode.
Ah.
Oh.
Ahhh.
I felt like he was calling to me to come out onto the balcony. Do crows get lonely? I had no idea. I only know a little bit about crows, some random facts at best. I know in certain folklore and mythological tales the crow can be everything from a harbinger of doom to a symbol of transformation. Alan Moore taught me way back in the 80s that the deliciously poetic collective noun for a group of these jet black birds is a murder of crows. I know that crows have their own language, that they’re considered smarter than chimpanzees, that they make their own tools, that you can make friends with crows just by feeding them and if you do, they’ll bring you presents in return. Most fascinating of all is their ability to perceive the difference between red and green stop lights. Crows have been recorded watching a stop light turn green and then throwing a walnut onto the road for a car to drive over and crack open. When the light returns to red they know that the traffic will stop so they can fly down and pick up their tasty treat. It turns out crows know shit.
I wandered over to the tinted screen door and slowly slid it open, the glare of the autumn sun causing my pupils to involuntarily reduce to the size of pin pricks. I shook off the light and popped my head out to look at the crow who moved back and forth on his legs like he was warding off a cramp. His head moved sporadically, a missing frame in a reel of film, the type you attribute to old news footage of Don Bradman. I gave the crow a head nod as if we were in rival gangs.
“Hello,” I said.
Ah.
Oh.
Ahhh.
This certainly felt like the beginnings of a conversation and it would be rude to not reply. I asked him how his day was and he answered. I wondered what he thought of the current situation and he gave me a response that was surprisingly forthright. I asked him if he was hungry and he shook me off. There’s plenty to eat out here, he answered. Besides, you’re a vegetarian and if I’m going to get any food from your kind, I would prefer it was some tasty meat.
“Alright. No need to get bitchy”, I replied.
He hopped along the railing a little closer and looked me up and down. He was certainly unimpressed by my NBA shorts and black t-shirt ensemble but as I pointed out to him, I did this all in a hurry since he was staring at me while I was in the nude, a dirty peeping tom. Once I pointed this out, the crow thought about what I had to say and then leaned his head back.
Ah.
Oh.
Ahhh.
At least he saw the funny side.
We chatted for a little while longer and then suddenly we both heard another crow nearby calling out to the suburb. Was it his friend? Maybe his lover? Perhaps a child needing some food? We looked at one another for a moment and then without warning, he leapt into the air and flew away. I watched him soar above the tree across the road and then up and over the buildings and out of view.
I’ve been fascinated by animals all my life and especially in recent weeks. There was the groundhog who stood on the safe side of a door and watched the dogs watching him eat a slice of pizza. What about the translucent creature that is thought to be the largest animal ever discovered living off the coast of Australia? Wales has turned out to be a hotspot for animals to make forays into areas they’d usually avoid, from the sheep at McDonalds to the Kashmiri goats wandering the consonant heavy roads. Closer to home we’ve seen kangaroos hopping down the main streets of our cities finally fulfilling the presumptions most Americans have of our country. What must the animals be thinking as we hide in our homes away from the world? Are they enjoying the peace and quiet? Do they get together and make bold plans for what they perceive as this post-human world? Do they know something we don’t? Do they hope that the worst predator this planet has ever seen is on the way out? Personally I like the idea that they’re having a laugh and sharing tasteless jokes at our expense.
The next day I was stepping out to grab a coffee when I heard my feathered friend nearby. I walked around the corner and there he was, standing on the sidewalk, talking at a chef who had his head down, texting on his phone with one hand while a cigarette burned away in the other. The crow was acknowledging the distance rules but only just. He kept at the chef who continued to stare at his phone. I called out:
“Hey, I think he’s talking to you.”
The chef looked up and replied, “I think he’s telling me off.”
No shit. He’s probably telling you to get off the phone so you can have a little chat. I’m certain that crow has more fascinating takes on the world than whoever was texting on the other end. Maybe if the chef listened he’d learn something new about the world? By the time I returned with my steaming coffee, the chef was still staring down at his phone and the crow was long gone. As far as I’m concerned, the chef is the loser in this story.
I haven’t seen anyone I know in over five weeks. I hope the crow comes back to my balcony. I’m up for whatever interesting thoughts he wants to share.
Ah.
Oh.
Ahhh.
Justin Hamilton
25th of April
Surrrrrrry Hiiiiiiiills