ButlerRobert_JealousHusbandParrot

8/6/2019 ButlerRobert_JealousHusbandParrot

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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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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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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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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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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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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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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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