Chapter 2, "Goldfinch," from the novel BACKYARD BIRDS GO BESERK by Jefferson Hansen

Diabolism 7

Lisa: “I don’t know what got into me that night, Jésus. I’m not that kind of girl. I’m really not.” We were in the same bar. With the same bartender. This time, Pity and Hiero, again in trench coats, stuck around. They talked quietly on the other side of Lisa.

Jésus: “I don’t know what got into me, at all. I’ve never been so, uhm, uhm…”

Lisa: “You were a tiger. A real tiger, Jésus.”

Jésus: “Thanks, I guess. But that’s what’s weird. I’m not a tiger. All my girlfriends have complained about how rotten I am in bed.”

Lisa: “You were a little scary. But you weren’t rotten.” She sipped her wine. “But talking about scary! That roommate of yours, the Wolf.”

Jésus: “I don’t have a roommate named ‘the Wolf’. What are you talking about?” I live with a couple women in their 30’s and this little Chinese guy from Toronto.”

Lisa: “Then who bit me?”

Jésus: “Nobody bit you. You’re not accusing me of biting you, are you?”

Lisa: “No. Your roommate. The Wolf. He bit me.”

Jésus: “I don’t have a roommate named ‘The Wolf’.”

Lisa: “Then who bit me?” Her mouth hung open, and her brown eyes went round and haunted. “My God, that’s right. There was no wound in the morning. When I woke up there were no teeth marks. And he drew blood.”

Goldfinch 1

American Goldfinches stand about five inches tall and feed at vertical tubes holding thistle seeds. They perch on small dowels situated right under small holes they can peck their small, conical beaks into. In the summer, the vibrant yellow male cannot be missed. The female is less noticeable. Sociable birds, they tend to hit the feeder in groups.

Goldfinches do not sit still for long. Nervous and chirpy, they flit and bounce from dowel to dowel for no apparent reason.

The Narrator 7

You can call me “Goldie,” or “Cindy.” You may still call me “Jackson,” if you like. However, the name “Jay” may have become old hat by now, if you prefer.

Diabolism 8

“Jésus, I’m feeling antsy,” said Pity, his round albaster face hanging like the underside of hell. “Let’s move around.”

“You mean you want to barhop.”

“No, let’s move seats. Let’s get a different view.” He grew agitated, and gesticulated grandly, in a manner unusual for him. “Let’s go sit on the other side of the bar.” The bar was a large oval with the bartenders moving about in the middle.

“Hey, that sounds good,” said Lisa. She popped up and skittered down behind the bar stools, finally selecting one about halfway down one side of the oval. I took a spot opposite hers.

Chris, the tall young bartender, in a white shirt and black tie, scowled at us. “Are you guys trying to mess with me?”

“No, haven’t you ever needed to get a different view? Just try something else out? Just do something new?”

“Jésus, are you all right?”

“What do you mean? I feel great. I got all this energy. Don’t know where it came from.”

“Stop picking on him, Chris,” said Lisa. “Can’t a guy just be keyed up?” He mumbled something about how we couldn’t expect him to be saving our seats if we acted like that, then shook his head and went to wait on someone else.

Pity sat down next to me. He spoke quickly, his fleshy face bouncing. “What do you say, man, what do you say? Hey, I watched this TV show last night about dolphins. Turns out that if kids with autism swim with them when they’re young, they get cured. I wish my nephew could have done that. He’s 16 now. He wouldn’t have autism. I’m a member of Cure Autism Now.” Pity took a quick, jabbing peck at his beer. “Some people don’t believe in that. They don’t think autism is something that should be cured. They believe we need to accept people just as they are. Now I believe that, too, but you got to be realistic about things, know what I mean? You can’t just be idealistic. Now, take this job I had once. Teaching calculus at a Prep School. You know that some of the rich parents call the shots. But I decided I had to be absolutely fair and true and did all I could not to know the status of the kids’ parents, and if I did find out I tried to forget all about it right away. Well, ignoring that sort of social reality in that kind of setting is like trying to ignore gravity, my man, my man Jésus. It’s just the fact, the foundation, the basic IS. I got nailed, man. I held everyone to the same standard, and some rich parents did not approve when I disciplined their kids. No way. They had this administrator interview my students to try to drum up stuff on me to get me fired. Guess what? Her conclusion. ‘To a person, your students said they learned more about math from you than from any other teacher’. So the next year they hired an outside consultant to come in and write me up like I was the worst thing going. I got the job I have now as an accountant before they fired me.” He took another peck at the beer. I could see he was about to keep going, but I jumped in.

“The insipid dialysis of unneeded organs costs the taxpayers untold numbers of seeds and thistles every year,” I said. “We need to fornicate in new patterns.”

Pity jumped in. “Man, Jésus, my man, you can’t force the issue on the thing. It’s the thing, not the issue and not the idea. Like the untold brick that bumps the brat. Like the instant of the seismic shiver and the dimpled downsize. Like the—“

“Hey,” I interrupted, “medical devices such as the Pacemaker save lives but what about souls? Why save a life if the life ain’t worth living?”

“When did you start saying, ‘ain’t’, my man?”

“Hey, it just popped out. When did you start saying, ‘my man’ all the time? You’re so straight—” Before I finished Pity grabbed his pint glass and hopped off the stool. He practically skipped to a booth where Hiero and Lisa sat. I turned to my right and engaged this couple who seemed on a date. Why would I bug them?

“The riff went instantaneous and we cried out the ensemble of the nightmare,” I began.

“Right on, man,” said the guy. “Look, we’re in the middle of something.” I ignored him and talked to his back about how the underside of music, even the most upbeat and celebratory, even the most gushy of Mozart, must always hint at the weird, the subversive, the taboo, the ghastly, the …

The Narrator 8

All the diabolical birds were born in 777 AD. None of them die. They flit from body to body like parasites, possessing them, turning them to “personalities” other and ridiculous. The sober gone stoned. The drunk gone straight. The shooters gone clean. The jailed gone confusedly free.

It’s all in good fun.

Sometimes games rule the world.

Not everyone thinks birds are evil. A friend of mine keeps them as pets.

But I know some birds thoroughly.

The Narrator 9

Trait psychology holds that each individual can be described by a list of adjectives and nouns, known as ‘traits’. For instance, a person is introverted, optimistic, has a good sense of humor, is well-adjusted, and so on.

This is bunk. Yes, people have habits they fall back on frequently. A person has a way of greeting strangers, a way of behaving around the parents, a way of cheering up when feeling alone and isolated.

But these habits are fragile and changeable. A flip of the coin. A slight alteration in the laws of nature. A quantum bubble working through the neurons.

The birds.

There is no getting a grip on a person. We are all capable of most anything given the right situation.

Goldfinch 2

Molting: The Goldfinch loses all but its wing and tail feathers in the spring. In the fall it loses all of them. After the autumn molt, the goldfinch turns a duller color. During the nonbreeding season, finches love one another and are quite gregarious. However, when breeding and building nests, the males in particular become quite territorial.

Blue Jays may kill the young and steal eggs.

Diabolism 9

I flitted over to the booth where the others sat. Lisa was chattering quietly about how she wanted to steal the dollars and coins—the tip—lying on the booth behind her. She said she had never done that before.

            Hiero said, “That’s not like you, Lisa. Let’s talk about The Simpsons. It’s the longest-running show in TV history. When it started, there were no animated situation comedies…”

            Pity spoke over him. “I am your friend, Lisa, and I stand behind you no matter what you do short of genocide.”

            Lisa was looking around the bar, waiting for her chance. “Hey, Lisa, sister,” I said, “why do you want to do that? Where’s the kicks? Where’s the fun? Hey, the waitress may be a single mother.” She leapt up and swung around, then swiped the money in a gesture swifter than aerosol spray right as it bursts from the button.

            Dolly walked over, roses tattooed to one forearm, a falcon on the other. A big head of red hair frizzy and down to the shoulders. Sometimes she was mean, sometimes sweeter than sugared tea on an afternoon of incineration.

            “Lisa, why did you steal my tip?”

            “I didn’t steal your tip. I don’t know what you are talking about. Talk to the manager if you have a problem.” Dolly stood above us, her mouth a straight line.

            “Know what I keep for a pet?” asked Dolly. “A falcon. Do you know what a raptor is?” Lisa shook her head ‘no’. “A bird of prey. They feed on other birds, on mice, other weak things. I like falcons.” While she said this she reached into her pocket in her apron. Something clicked. “When I have problems, I don’t go to no manager.” She showed us the handle of the switchblade, the tip still in the apron pocket. “You guys are regulars. You’ve always tipped well. I would hate to lose you—in any way whatsoever. I would hate to lose you in this way, or that way, tortured this way or that way.” She stared at Lisa. “Cough it up, bitch.” Lisa reached into her pocket and gave her the money.

            “I’ll put it down to your not being yourself today. Could happen to any of us.” She leaned over, her thick forearms on the table. “You mess with me again, well, you know.”

            “Hey,” I said, “What do you feed the falcon.”

            She stood back, folded her arms, and stared at me. “You know that exotic pets store on 38th? I buy dead frozen mice by the bag, thaw them in the micro. I’m not supposed to do that, but I don’t got all day to let them thaw on the counter.”

           

Goldfinch 3

Toward predators, the goldfinch’s only protection is alarm calling.