The WWII Collection. William Wharton

I come in the room, there’s a rush of wings as they all take off up to a high perch. I spend much time with them and they’re all tame. I clean out the aviary every day. The birds don’t mind me at all and will land on my head or shoulders. It’s only if I make a fast move that they get scared and fly away The feed bills are mounting up. I search around downtown by the central market till I find a big seed store where I can buy birdseed roller mix by the hundred-pound sack. It costs eighteen dollars, but that’s less than a third what I’ve been paying. They say they’ll deliver right to my house.

      When it comes, I put the sack out in the garage inside an old oil can I found down at the dump and cleaned out. With birdseed you really have to watch for mice. In the dusk or early morning, it’s hard for a bird to tell between a piece of mouse shit and a seed. Mouse shit is poisonous for birds.

      Speaking of mice, my mother is sure the birds are going to bring mice into the house. She has a regular passion against mice. One morning I catch one on the floor of the aviary. He was probably already in the house anyway, but I could never convince my mother of that. I put it in a small box and let it free near school. If she ever finds this out, I’ve had it. Birds, cages, everything, out the window. She’s liable to do it any day anyway. I half expect it every time I come home from school and go up to my room.

      Every bird hatches in the third nest; five of them. When I look in, I see that most of them are light this time. There’s such a crush in the bottom of the nest you can’t be sure of anything. It’s warmer now, so Birdie doesn’t sit as tight. She mostly spreads her legs over the nest and hovers. The young birds get to be such pests, I close the cage door to keep them out. I put feed in for her during the day while I’m gone. As soon as I come home, I open it and Alfonso dashes up to help with the evening feeding. Birdie has developed into a wonderful little mother.

      In the warm weather and with the increase in birds, even I have to admit the room definitely smells ‘birdey’. I’m using a dozen eggs and a package of pablum a week making egg food. I’m also soaking regular birdseed and mixing it with egg food to start the young ones cracking seed. I feed in the morning when I wake up, just before I leave for school, when I come back, and then again before night. They eat tremendous quantities. Buying seed and eggs has almost used up my bankroll. I’m going to have to find some way to make money over the summer.

      It seems no time at all before the third nest is ready to jump. There are three yellow ones like Birdie. Two of these have marks on the head, one a dash over the left eye, and the other a black cap, slightly off center to the right. There is one Alfonso-dark, and another dark-winged and light-breasted with a pure yellow head. It really makes a crowd. Birdie is a heroine, hauling up food, keeping the nest clean, and mothering the whole batch. There isn’t enough room for all of them on the edge of the nest and they start pushing each other off. Luckily it’s much warmer now and there’s no danger they’ll freeze. At three weeks, all five of them are out of the nest and on the floor.

      It’s right here I make my mistake. I should’ve taken Alfonso out of the aviary and put him in a separate cage. Before I know what’s happening, Birdie is building another nest. I haven’t put in a new strainer but she’s building in a corner at the back of the cage, wedged between a perch and the wall of the cage. Alfonso’s done his trick and she’s heavy with eggs and no place to go. I pull the nest apart but she frantically puts it together again. I take all the nesting material out of the cage, but she starts attacking the babies and pulling feathers out till it looks like it’s snowing yellow. Several of the babies begin to look bare around the thighs and under the breast. I give in. She seems in good condition so I clean out the nest, wash it, and put it back with some nesting material. She finishes it in one day and the first egg is laid that night.

      She lays five eggs again. She sits this clutch rather lightly and I’m half hoping they won’t hatch. I watch Birdie carefully for signs of fatigue but she peeps at me friendlily and, despite a certain frantic air, appears happy and content with her lot. I wonder if she realizes that the whole aviary full of singing, screeching, scrambling birds, with the exception of Alfonso, came out of her somehow. It’s as if it all came out of nowhere. I still can’t believe it.

      The whole clutch hatches again. I have to leave the doors open all the time so Alfonso can help with the feeding. I don’t think Birdie could make it without him. Alfonso keeps the other babies out of the breeding cage and stays with Birdie in the cage most of the day and all of the night. I’m getting so I hate to open the boiled eggs in the morning and smash them into the pablum. The smell of the two, mixed with the smell of the fork I mash with, is too much.

      This nest is very dark. There are three as dark as Alfonso and two light ones with head markings. They have the same crowded nest conditions and it’s even hotter. I take Alfonso out as soon as the first bird climbs up to the edge of the nest. I find an old cage at the dump and fix it up. I don’t want to scare him by catching him. I’d certainly lose any points I have if I chase him around the aviary and grab him with my hands. He’d probably bite and give me blood poisoning. So, I put the cage in the aviary with some egg food in it, wait till he goes in on his own, then jump up and close the door.

      I take the cage out of the aviary and hang it over my desk by the window. There’s all kinds of peeping and queeping back and forth. Alfonso is sure I’ve finally shown my true colors. I wonder what he’s telling Birdie about the situation. She’s torn between abandoning the nest for Alfonso and taking care of the babies. She flies over to the screen of the aviary and looks across at him. Alfonso breaks into a song of great bravado. I feel terrible. I hate it when people tell me they’re doing something for my own good, and here I am doing it to Birdie and Alfonso. I’m almost ready to put Alfonso back in the cage and take the chance. But, I know, they’d have another nest and it’d probably kill Birdie. It’s getting time for both of them to go into the yearly molt and they shouldn’t be having babies during this time. It’s a tremendous strain on birds when they molt and change their feathers.

      Birdie finally resigns herself to the fates, that is, me. She goes back to feeding the babies till they get out of the cage. As soon as they’re all down on the floor, I take out the nest. This time, Birdie shows no signs of nesting again. She goes out in the aviary and flies around.

      As soon as the birds are feeding themselves, I remove Birdie from the aviary and take out the breeding cage. I put Alfonso back in with the young ones. I want Birdie to have a complete rest. Anytime I’m in the room, I let her fly free. It’s like old times. She sleeps in the cage up on the shelf above my bed where it used to be.

      Al and I take the job dogcatching and I make enough money to pay my feed bills. I spend all my free time watching the birds. I’m trying to figure what’s the next thing to do.

      When I go for my session with Weiss, I can smell right away he’s going to work on me. I know for sure I’m not going to tell him anything; I’m certainly not going to tell anything about Birdy. I don’t want him to find out about Birdy feeding himself or standing up and walking around. I’m convinced Weiss can’t do Birdy any good. If only I can stay a little longer maybe Birdy’ll come around.

      We salute and he leans back, crosses his hands over his fat stomach and smiles at me. He’s got the folder open on his desk. He has another folder there, too. I’m willing to bet it’s my records from Dix. He’s working himself up a thing OK. There’s nothing I can do but play it by ear. I try to get myself into a good Sicilian mood. I pretend we’re sitting at a cafe in Cambria with sunshine streaming down on us. Weiss is a tribal chieftain from the other side of the hills.

      ‘Well, Sergeant. How did it go yesterday?’

      ‘Fine, sir. I talked to the patient about how we used to ice skate in the winter sometimes. I think he might have been listening to me, sir.’

      ‘What made you think he was listening, Sergeant?’

      ‘Just the way he was sitting, sir. He seemed to be watching me.’

      I’ll have to be careful here. Whatever happens, I don’t want Weiss charging into the ward. Birdy’d be sure I’m working against him. I back off some.

      ‘How is your jaw coming along, Sergeant? I have your papers