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N a r r a t i v e M a g a z i N e . c o M
I n e v e r c a n quite say as much as I know. I
ook at other parrots an I woner if it’s
the same for them, if someboy is trappe
in each of them, paying some kin of price
for iing their ife in a certain way. For
instance, “Heo,” I say, an I’m sitting on
a perch in a pet store in Houston an what
I’m reay thinking is Hoy shit. It’s you. An
what’s happene is I’m ooking at my wife.
“Heo,” she says, an she comes oer to me, an I
can’t beiee how beautifu she is. Those great brown
eyes, amost as ark as the center of mine. An her
nose—I on’t remember her for her nose, but its beauty
is cear to me now. Her nose is a itte too ong, but it’s
reeeme by the faint hook to it.
She scratches the back of my neck.
Her touch makes my tai are. I fee the stretch an
ruste of me back there. I ben my hea to her an she
whispers, “Pretty bir.”
Jealous HusbandReturns in Formof Parrot
a s t o r y
b y r o b e r t o l e n b u t l e r
robt Ol Butl is
th utho o l
ols d f shot
stoy olltios, ilud-
ig A Good Scent from a
Strange Mountain, whih
wo th 1993 Pulitz
Piz. amog his um-ous oth olds
two ntiol Mgzi
awds i Fitio d
th rihd d Hid
rosthl awd om
th ami admy
o ats d Ltts.
Butl ths ti
witig t Floid Stt
Uisity.
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N a r r a t i v e M a g a z i N e . c o M
For a moment, I think she knows it’s me. But she oesn’t, of course. I say “Heo”
again an I wi eentuay pick up “pretty bir.” I can te that as soon as she says
it, but for now I can ony gie her another “Heo.” Her ngertips moe through my
feathers, an she seems to know about birs. She knows that to pet a bir you on’t
smooth his feathers own, you rufe them.
But, of course, she i that in my human ife, as we. It’s a the same for her.
Not that I was compaining, een to mysef, at that moment in the pet shop when
she foun me ike I presume she was suppose to. She sai it again—“Pretty bir”—
an this brain that works the way it oes now cou fee that tiny itte oice of mine
reay to shape itsef aroun these souns. But before I cou get them out of my
beak, there was this guy at my wife’s shouer, an a my feathers went sick-at
to make me sma enough not to be seen, an I backe away. The pupis of my eyes
pinne an iate, an pinne again.
He circe aroun her. A guy that ooke ike a meat packer, big in the chest an
thick with hair, the kin of guy that I aways sense her eyes moing to when I was
aie. I ha a bare chest, an I’ ook for itte back hairs on the sheets when I’ come
home on a ay with the whiff of someboy ese in the air. She was sti in the same
goamn rut.
A “heo” woun’t o, an I’ recenty earne “goo night,” but it was the wrong
suggestion atogether, so I sai nothing an the guy circe her, an he was ookingat me with a smug itte smie, an I uffe up a my feathers, mae mysef about
twice as big, so big he’ see he coun’t mess with me. I waite for him to raw cose
enough for me to take off the tip of his nger.
But she interene. Those nut-brown eyes were before me, an she sai,
“I want him.”
An that’s how I ene up in my own house once again. She bought me a arge
back wrought-iron cage, ery arge, conince by some young guy who cerke in
the bir epartment an who took her asie an mae his oice go much too softwhen he was oing the seing job. The meat packer in’t ike it. I in’t, either.
I’ misse a ot of chances to take a bite out of this cerk in my stay at the shop, an
I regrette that sueny.
But I got my giant cage, an I guess I’m happy enough about that. I can pace as
much as I want. I can hang upsie own. It’s fu of bir toys. That anging thing
oer there with knots an strips of rawhie an a be at the bottom nees a goo
thrashing a coupe of times a ay, an I’m the bir to o it. I ook at the ery ange
of it, an the thing is rough, the rawhie an the knotte rope, an I get this restess-
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N a r r a t i v e M a g a z i N e . c o M
ness back in my tai, a burning, thrashing feeing, an it’s ike a the times when I
was sure there was a man nake with my wife. Then I go to this thing that fees so
famiiar an I bite an bite, an it’s ery goo.
I cou hae use the thing the ast ay I went out of this house as a man. I’
foun the aress of the new guy at my wife’s ofce. He’ been there a month, in the
shipping epartment, an three times she’ mentione him. She in’t een hae
to work with him, an three times I hear about him, just roppe into the con-
ersation. “Oh,” she’ say when a car commercia came on the teeision, “that car
there is ike the one the new man in shipping owns. Just ike it.” Hey, I’m not stupi.
She sai another thing about him an then another, an right after the thir one I
ocke mysef in the bathroom, because I coun’t rage about this anymore. I fet
ike a amn foo wheneer I actuay sai anything about this kin of feeing an she
ooke at me as though she cou start hating me rea easy, an so I was working on
saying nothing, een if it meant ocking mysef up. My goa was to ho my tongue
about haf the time. That wou be a goo start.
But this guy from shipping. I foun out his name an his aress, an it was
one of her typica Saturay afternoons of ague shopping. So I went to his house,
an his car that was just ike the commercia was outsie. Noboy was aroun in
the neighborhoo, an there was this big tree in the back of the house going up to
a secon-oor winow that was making funny itte souns. I went up. The shaewas rawn but not quite a the way. I was hoing on to a imb with arms an egs
wrappe aroun it ike it was her in those times when I cou forget the others for a
itte whie. But the crack in the shae was just out of iew, an I crawe on ti there
was no imb eft, an I fe on my hea. When I think about that now, my wings ap
an I fee mysef ift up, an it a seems so aoiabe. Though I know I’m ifferent
now. I’m a bir.
Except I’m not. That’s what’s confusing. It’s ike those times when she wou
te me she oe me an I actuay beiee her an maybe it was true an we cungto each other in be an at times ike that I was ifferent. I was the man in her ife.
I was whoe with her. Except een at that moment, as I he her sweety, there was
this other creature insie me who knew a ot more about it an coun’t quite put a
the eience together to speak.
My cage sits in the en. My poo tabe is gone, an the cage is sitting in that
space, an if I come a the way own to one en of my perch I can see through the
oor an own the back haway to the master beroom. When she keeps the be-
room oor open, I can see the space at the foot of the be but not the be itsef. I can
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N a r r a t i v e M a g a z i N e . c o M
sense it to the eft, just out of sight. I watch the men go in an I hear the souns, but
I can’t quite see. An they rie me crazy.
I ap my wings an I squawk an I uff up an I sick own an I throw see an
I attack that angy toy as if it was the guy’s bas, but it oes no goo. It neer i any
goo in the other ife, either, the thrashing aroun I i by mysef. In that other ife
I’ hae gien anything to be staning in this en with her oing this thing with some
other guy just own the ha, an a I ha to o was wak own there an turn the
corner an she coun’t eny it anymore.
But now a I can o is try to et it go. I siestep own to the opposite en of the
cage an I ook out the big siing gass oors to the back yar. It’s a pretty yar.
There are great, paci ie oak trees with goo paces to roost. There’s a bue sky
that pucks at the feathers on my chest. There are cous. Other birs. Fy away.
I cou just y away.
I trie once, an I earne a esson. She forgot an eft the oor to my cage open,
an I cimbe beak an foot, beak an foot, aong the bars an cure aroun to
stretch sieways out the oor, an the ast scene of peace was there, at the other en
of the room. I ew.
An a pain are through my hea, an I fe straight own, an the room
whire aroun, an the ony goo thing was she he me. She put her hans uner
my wings an ifte me an cutche me to her breast, an I wish there han’t beenbees in my hea at the time, so I cou hae enjoye that, but she put me back in the
cage an wept awhie. That touche me, her tears. An I ooke back to the wa of
sky an trees. There was something inisibe there between me an that ream
of peace. I remembere, eentuay, about gass, an I knew I’ been ucky; I knew
that for the itte, fragie-bone sku I was oing a this thinking in, it meant eath.
She wept that ay, but by the night she ha another man. A guy with a thick
Georgia-truck-stop accent an pae white skin an an Aam’s appe big as my see
ba. This guy has been aroun for a few weeks, an he makes a whooping sounown the haway, just out of my sight. At times ike that, I want to y against the
bars of the cage, but I on’t. I hae to remember how the wor has change.
SH E ’S S I N G l E N O W , of course. Her husban, the man that I was, is ea to her. She
oes not unerstan a that is behin my “heo.” I know many wors, for a parrot.
I am a yeow-nape Amazon, a hansome bir, I think, green with a spash of yeow
at the back of my neck. I tak pretty we, but none of my wors is aequate. I can’t
make her unerstan.
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N a r r a t i v e M a g a z i N e . c o M
An what wou I say if I cou? I was jeaous in ife. I amit it. I wou amit
it to her. But it was because of my connection to her. I wou expain that. When
we he each other, I ha no past at a, no present but her boy, no future but to ie
there an not et her go. I was an egg hatche beneath her crouching boy, I entere
as a chick into her wet sky of a boy, an a that I wishe was to sit on her shouer
an uff my feathers an ay my hea against her cheek, with my neck expose to her
han. An so the gances that I cou see in her troube me eepy: the moement
of her eyes in pubic to other men, the aughs sent across a room, the tracking of her
min behin her bank eyes, pursuing images of others, her istraction een in our
be, the ghosts that were there of men who’ touche her, perhaps een that ery
ay. I was not part of a those other men who were part of her. I in’t want to con-
nect to a that. It was ony her that I wou uff for, but these others were there aso,
an I coun’t put them asie. I sense them insie her, an so they were insie me.
If I ha the wors, these are the things I wou say.
But haf an hour ago, there was a moment that thrie me. A wor, a wor we
a knew in the pet shop, was just the right wor after a. This guy with his cowboy
bet bucke an rattesnake boots an his pasty face an his twanging wors of oe
traie after my wife through the en, past my cage, an I sai, “Cracker.” He een
ippe his hea back a itte at this in surprise. He’ been cae that before to his
face, I reaize. I sai it again, “Cracker.” But to him I was a bir, an he et it pass.“Cracker,” I sai. “Heo, cracker.” That was een better. They were out of sight
through the ha oorway, an I huste aong the perch an I caught a gimpse of
them before they mae the turn to the be an I sai, “Heo, cracker,” an he shot
me one ast gance.
It mae me hopefu. I ease away from that en of the cage, moe towar the
scene of peace beyon the far wa. The sky is chaky-bue toay, bue ike the brow
of the bue-front Amazon who was on the perch next to me for about a week at the
store. She was ery sweet, but I watche her carefuy for a ay or two when she rstcame in. An it wasn’t ong before she nuzze up to a cockatoo name Wiy, an
I knew she’ break my heart. But her coor now, in the sky, is sweet, reay. I eft a
those feeings behin me when my wife showe up. I am a faithfu man, for a my
suspicions. Too faithfu, maybe. I am reay to gie too much, an maybe that’s the
probem.
The whooping began own the ha, an I focuse on a tree out there. A crow
appe own, his mouth open, his throat throbbing, though I cou not hear his
soun. I was feeing ery o. At east I’ mae my point to the guy in the other
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N a r r a t i v e M a g a z i N e . c o M
room. “Pretty bir,” I sai, referring to mysef. She cae me “pretty bir,” an I
beiee her an I to mysef again, “Pretty bir.”
But then something new happene, something ery ifcut for me. She appeare
in the en nake. I hae not seen her nake since I fe from the tree an ha no
wings to y. She aways ha a certain tiiness in things. She was nake in the be-
room, cothe in the en. But now she appears from the haway, an I ook at her,
an she is sti sim an she is beautifu, I think—at east I ceary remember that as
her husban I foun her beautifu in this state. Now, though, she seems too nake.
Pucke. I n that a sa thing. I am sorry for her, an she goes by me an she isap-
pears into the kitchen. I want to puck some of my own feathers, the feathers from
my chest, an gie them to her. I oe her more in that moment, seeing her terribe
nakeness, than I eer hae before.
A N d S I N C E I’ v E ha success in the ast few minutes with wors, when she comes
back I am moe to speak. “Heo,” I say, meaning, You are sti connecte to me, I
sti want ony you. “Heo,” I say again. Pease isten to this tiny heart that beats fast
at a times for you.
An she oes inee stop, an she comes to me an bens to me. “Pretty bir,”
I say, an I am saying, You are beautifu, my wife, an your beauty cries out for
protection. “Pretty.” I want to coer you with my own nakeness. “Ba bir,” I say.If there are others in your ife, een in your min, then there is nothing I can o.
“Ba.” Your nakeness is touche from insie by the others. “Open,” I say. How can
we be whoe together if you are not empty in the pace that I am to ?
She smies at this, an she opens the oor to my cage. “Up,” I say, meaning,
Is there no pace for me in this wor where I can be free of this terribe sense of
others?
She reaches in now an offers her han, an I cimb onto it an I trembe an
she says, “Poor baby.”“Poor baby,” I say. You hae yearne for whoeness, too, an somehow I faie
you. I was not enough. “Ba bir,” I say. I’m sorry.
An then the cracker comes aroun the corner. He wears ony his rattesnake
boots. I take one ook at his miserabe, featheress boy an shake my hea. We keep
our sexua parts hien, we parrots, an this man is a pitifu sight. “Peanut,” I say. I
presume that my wife simpy has not notice. But that’s fooish, of course. This is, in
fact, what she wants. Not me. An she scrapes me off her han onto the open cage
oor an she turns her nake back to me an embraces this man, an they augh anstagger in their embrace aroun the corner.
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N a r r a t i v e M a g a z i N e . c o M
For a moment, I sti think I’e been eoquent. What I’e sai ony nees repeat-
ing for it to hae its transforming effect. “Heo,” I say. “Heo. Pretty bir. Pretty.
Ba bir. Ba. Open. Up. Poor baby. Ba bir.” An I am beginning to hear mysef as I
reay soun to her. “Peanut.” I can neer say what is in my heart to her. Neer.
I stan on my cage oor now, an my wings stir. I ook at the corner to the ha-
way, an own at the en the whooping has begun again. I can y there an think of
things to o about a this.
But I o not. I turn instea, an I ook at the trees moing just beyon the other
en of the room. I ook at the sky the coor of the brow of a bue-front Amazon. A
shaow of birs spanks across the awn. An I sprea my wings. I wi y now. Een
though I know there is something between me an that pace where I can be free of
a these feeings, I wi y. I wi throw mysef there again an again. Pretty bir. Ba
bir. Goo night.
From Taboi dreams: Stories ( Holt, 1997).
nN
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