by Kaela Noel
Tully, cleaning up the towels and hair and plastic sacks on the floor, wasn’t paying her any attention. Burr had hopped out in the kitchen to eat the last of the breakfast scraps.
“Everything different now,” whispered Coo, staring at herself. “Everything.”
Whirling snow. Snow in her mouth. Snow burning her skin. Naked. No hat, no scarf. No plastic bags, even. Snow in the darkness. Snow everywhere.
Coo ran and ran and ran across the roof, but the dovecote never got any closer. No pigeons flew to meet her.
“Help me!” she screamed. “Help!”
Warm arms and a soft voice pulled her out of the nightmare.
“Hush. You’re safe here. Shh. Everything is okay.”
A light switched on. Yellow, like warm sun. Tully sat beside her on the squishy plank. She stroked Coo’s hair. Burr hobbled across Coo’s shoulder and nestled into the crook of Tully’s arm.
Slowly, Coo woke up.
“Stay here, me!” Coo said urgently, sleepily. She couldn’t go back into the cold. “Please!”
“Only pigeons know what you’re saying, Coo,” murmured Tully. “But don’t worry. I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to take care of you. Nothing and no one will stop me. You’re safe here now.”
Chapter Eight
Goodwill
There was so much to learn. Everything was new.
Tully taught Coo about light switches, refrigerators, faucets, and stoves. The more Tully babbled, the more Coo began to understand her words. Tully showed Coo how to make the bed—bed was an easy word; it was a human’s nest—and talked about going to the thrift store to find a little cot to make Coo’s own, so Tully could get her own bed back.
But Coo preferred to sleep in a more pigeonish way. After a few nights, Tully understood and let her make a pile of clean blankets and cozy old newspapers in a corner of the living room.
Coo learned to drink water from a glass without spilling, fix a peanut butter sandwich, brush her teeth with sweet-tasting soap, and turn the shower on and off, discovering in the process that it was not as much like a thunderstorm as she first thought. Tully taught her how to use the rest of the bathroom, too.
Tully’s house was full of mysteries. There were orbs of sunlight in the ceiling that turned on and off with a switch. There was a freezer, where food lay in piles of icy snow behind a plastic door.
There was endless food, all of it fresh and clean and tasty. The words Tully had for it were as delicious as the food itself.
Lemon cheesecake.
Fruit cocktail.
Tapioca pudding.
Oyster crackers.
Toast with strawberry jam—how strange! Humans made their bread hard and stale on purpose, then added rotten-looking fruit slime. Yet it somehow tasted good.
Cheddar cheese on saltines.
Buttered noodles.
Potato chips.
Shrimp lo mein and vegetable fried rice from something called Jade Moon Kitchen, which a man delivered in fragrant cartons right to Tully’s door.
Coo had never imagined food could be so different and miraculous.
On a cloudy afternoon soon after she arrived, Coo watched in awe as Tully used two sticks and a big ball of stringy fluff to make a small red scarf for Coo, one to match the big red hat Coo refused to take off.
“I love having someone to knit for,” said Tully, her hands flying. “Ever since the postal service forced me to retire, I’ve been up to my ears in knitting, trying to kill time while I figure out what to do with my life. I’ve made some things for my little neighbor Aggie, but I’m not sure she wants ten more hats and a dozen scarves.”
Burr was sitting on Coo’s shoulder, and she reached out to touch his sling. He had many different ones, and Tully changed them almost every day. Today’s sling was blue and white and covered in tiny bumps Tully called popcorn stitches.
“Oh yes.” Tully laughed. “I love knitting for Milton, too, but there’s only so much you can knit for a pigeon, even one as willing to wear my outfits as Milton.”
A few mornings later, Coo woke up and found Tully frowning.
“The blizzard was a wonderful excuse to avoid taking you anywhere, but I have a long to-do list now. Including getting you to a doctor, I think. You’re terribly thin.” She sighed and shook her head. “But first, some shopping. I can’t knit all of your clothes, and you need a winter coat. We’re going to Goodwill. Luckily it’s right around the corner.”
Tully pulled two matching pink objects with flat bottoms off a shelf. “Temporary shoes,” said Tully. “I found these in the free pile in the laundry room a few days ago. They look almost your size. And here’s the smallest pair of socks I own.”
Clumsily, Coo rolled the socks over her rough, wild feet. Tully ripped open the tops of the shoes—they made a gnashing sound and Coo jumped—and Coo pushed in one foot, and then the other. It felt like stuffing them into a stale bagel.
“Sneakers,” Tully said slowly. “See? Now you can walk and not get cold or hurt. Less slippery, too.”
Coo wiggled her toes. Her feet were strange and tamed, and standing felt like floating.
It was odd to be outside again. Tully had bundled her in several layers of too-big sweaters, and for the first time ever she was walking around in winter without feeling cold. The air was fresh and familiar, and felt good to breathe.
Goodwill turned out to be a squat little brick building a short walk from Tully’s house. Coo gasped at what was in the big glass windows. Humans? Frozen humans? They stared straight ahead, very still. Their eyes didn’t blink.
She pointed, then hid behind Tully.
“Oh. Mannequins!” said Tully. “To show clothes. Weird looking, right?”
Coo soon forgot about the frozen people. There was so much else to look at inside Goodwill. It was like Tully’s house, if Tully’s house was huge and cluttered with tons of things. Piles and piles of fabric everywhere. Worn-looking pieces of furniture. Many cups and spoons and plates, all jumbled in groups together on long metal shelves. Coo sniffed. Goodwill had an unusual smell, too, a bit like very old damp newspapers.
Coo wondered how many humans lived in this place. She looked around, but there was only one other woman wandering among the heaps of stuff.
Tully nudged Coo toward a tall rack of cloth in the back. “These are the kids’ clothes,” said Tully.
Purple! Pink! Green! Gray! There were sparkles, and puffy things called pompoms, and shirts with words and pictures on them like cartoons. There was shiny fabric and soft dull fabric and very rough heavy fabric, too.
“What do you want, Coo?” asked Tully. “Pick some things out.”
Coo couldn’t. It was too overwhelming. She plopped down on the fuzzy brown floor and stared at her shoes.
“It’s okay, love,” Tully said gently. “I’ll pick for you.”
While Coo watched, Tully scrutinized the different pieces of clothing. Sometimes she made Coo stand and held them up against her body. Finally, when there was a big colorful pile in Tully’s arms, they went to the front of the store where someone helped Tully put them in a bag. Coo sat down in a big brown chair and watched. Then Tully beckoned her, and they went past the frozen people and out the door.
On the way back home from Goodwill, Coo stopped suddenly. Limping down the sidewalk ahead of her, between the snowdrifts and frozen slush puddles and litter, was a small white pigeon.
“Hurt, you?” Coo asked, dropping to a crouch. As soon as the pigeon was at eye level, she saw the piece of glass embedded in her foot.
“Speak, you?” the pigeon gasped. “How?”
“Oh dear,” Tully groaned. “Not another hurt bird, not right now.”
“Learned from my flock, me,” Coo said to the pigeon. “Fix your foot, me. Let me, you?”
Too shocked to resist, the pigeon let Coo take her foot. Coo carefully plucked out the glass and dropped it down a crack in the sidewalk.
“All done, me,” said Coo. “Heal now, you.”<
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“My goodness, Coo, good job,” Tully said. “Now hurry up and say good-bye to the—”
A sudden rush of pigeons drowned out Tully’s voice. Others had heard Coo speak and now they crowded her, asking her questions.
“Speak, you!”
“How, you?”
Unfamiliar birds landed on Coo’s shoulders and swooped around her head.
“Learned from my flock, me,” she said.
“From the strange flock, she is,” said a dappled gray bird. “Roof flock, east.”
“Heard of human there,” said another pigeon. “Didn’t believe it, me.”
“Food, you!” Several pigeons at once started asking about food. “Get us food?”
Coo stood up slowly.
“Coo, dear, you were very kind and helped the poor pigeon. Now come along,” Tully said, shifting the big sack from Goodwill and grabbing Coo’s hand. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “People are starting to stare.”
Coo looked up to see dozens of wary humans standing on the sidewalk and peeking out of nearby shop windows, staring at her and the clusters of circling pigeons.
“Go now, me,” Coo said to them. “Bye-bye.”
She couldn’t even see the injured bird anymore, there were so many pigeons. Hooting questions, they followed for a full block as Tully hurried her along.
Pigeon words tumbled around in Coo’s mind as they walked up the steps to Tully’s building and into the hallway. Meeting the unfamiliar flock made her suddenly miss her own. So much had happened, she’d hardly had time to think about them, but now she felt ill with worry. Were they still hungry? Did everyone make it through the storm?
Coo barely noticed that on the stairs inside the building sat a small human with a big purple knit hat, black hair, and peculiar glass circles over her eyes.
“Hello, Tully!”
The small human shot up and smiled.
“Oh my goodness. Hello, Aggie.” Tully paused, her eyes darting from Coo to Aggie and back again. “What are you doing here?”
“Waiting for Octavia to come down. We’re supposed to pick up some stuff for dinner at Food Bazaar.”
“How nice. Well, tell your sister hello from me.”
A look of confusion passed over the girl’s face as Tully opened her door and pushed Coo through.
“Thank you again for my hat, Tully!” Aggie called. “It’s so toasty.”
Coo peered around Tully and back at Aggie, who looked at her curiously.
“I’m so glad to hear that. Speak soon!” Tully shut the door and then leaned against it, eyes closed.
Coo stared at her. Burr hopped down the hallway and stuck his head into the Goodwill bag.
“Sorry, Coo,” Tully said, sighing and opening her eyes. “I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to tell people about you, and it makes me nervous. This is just all so complicated. At least you have proper clothes. Now I need to figure out how to get you to a doctor.”
Chapter Nine
Pigeons Leave, Flock Stays
Back at the apartment, Coo carefully went through her new treasures from Goodwill. Tully helped. She gave Coo words: shirt, pants, dress. Mittens, hat, boots.
Best of all, there was a soft, warm, heavy thing, red as a fresh tomato, with a big fluffy hood that nestled around her head.
“A red corduroy coat,” said Tully. “I hope it keeps you warm. It just about matches your hat.”
For lunch that afternoon, Tully made Coo one of her delicious mud-and-weed sandwiches, which Coo now knew was hummus and sprouts. Afterward she made a drink that was like a warm, chocolate-flavored puddle. Hot chocolate, it was called. It was extraordinary.
Coo’s eye kept falling on the slabs on Tully’s shelf, the things covered in little newspaper marks. There were no newspapers in Tully’s house, but there were these things that seemed almost like them. Tully got a few down and opened one. Pictures of pigeons stared back at Coo.
“I collect books on pigeons. Some of them are more like medical books; they’ve helped me fix hurt birds,” Tully said.
Tully pulled down another book that showed pigeons who looked sick, but quickly put it away.
“This one might be too much for you, Coo. Almost too much for me. I have a bird veterinarian friend, Nicolas. I take the worst cases to him, the ones I can’t handle.”
Coo opened a book with pages as glossy as glaze frosting.
“Other books are just nice to read and look at,” said Tully. “That one is about a special kind of pet pigeon. They’re called fancy pigeons.”
Coo flipped through the pages. The birds were shaped like pigeons—same bodies, toenails, beaks, and eyes—but their feathers were like nothing Coo had ever seen. Wild plumes jutted out from their heads like curling clouds. Thick, white feathers obscured their faces, even their beaks. Bright purple-brown tufts spiked out around their necks. It was like they were wearing special pigeon clothing, but when Coo looked closely she saw it was all just feathers. Did some human make special feather suits for them, like Tully knitted slings for Burr? She didn’t know how to ask Tully.
“They are bred to look like that. Amazing what feathers can do. They’re like the Paris fashion models of the pigeon world, aren’t they?” Tully laughed. “Honestly I prefer the humble city pigeon myself. Like Milton here.”
Burr hopped over and sat on Tully’s lap, happy to get a neck scratch.
Tully didn’t call Burr by his real name. She called him Milton.
“Milton?” Coo had asked him the third or fourth time she heard Tully call him that. The word was slightly pigeonish at the beginning, but hard to say at the end. “Burr, you. Milton, no.”
“With Tully,” Burr said. “Milton, me.” He couldn’t quite say it either, but got close enough.
Tully brought Coo a dish of pretzels, which she shared with Burr while they paged through the wondrous books all afternoon.
Books were a lot like newspapers. They were wonderful but not totally unfamiliar.
Much more mysterious was the shiny gray box that sat on a shelf near Burr’s cage.
“I’ve been keeping this off when you’re awake because I wasn’t sure how you’d react,” Tully said the morning after their trip to Goodwill. “But maybe you’ll like it.”
Tully pressed a black button on a small stick in her hand and the box erupted with loud voices and pictures of people moving just like in real life.
Coo tapped the screen—it was hard as the windowpanes—and stuck her head around the back. Dust bunnies the size of week-old squabs clung to the wires and plastic bits.
“How?” Coo pointed at the television. She was picking up some useful human words.
“It’s an image,” said Tully. “It was recorded someplace like Hollywood and beamed into the box.”
Tully pressed another button. Suddenly the people disappeared, and drawings like the ones Coo knew from newspaper litter danced like they were alive. Tully kept pressing, and a plastic circle glided by itself across a carpet.
“Cartoons and commercials. See? Channels, Coo. There are lots. Why don’t you watch some television? Maybe you can pick up some more English that way.”
You were supposed to sit while you watched television, sit for longer than Coo had sat in one place ever except to go to sleep. She did learn new words, but after a few episodes of cartoons she wanted to flap her arms, run around the room, and most of all climb onto the windowsill and look out at the wedge of sky. It was wonderful getting to eat as many sandwiches and pretzels and pancakes as she wanted and to be with Burr. But as the sharpness of her memories of the storm began to wear off in the warmth of Tully’s apartment, Coo started to miss the roof.
There were things in Tully’s apartment that Coo only noticed as she got more comfortable.
Hanging on the walls, nestled in small windowpanes, were pictures of people. Some were small humans, like Coo. Others were bigger and seemed more like Tully.
Coo had learned that Tully would talk about thin
gs she pointed to. Sometimes now the words even made sense.
“Oh, that was me when I was about your age,” Tully said when Coo pointed to a small, round girl who stared cautiously out of a black-and-white picture. Coo had been at Tully’s house for more than a week. “Tully. Little Tully. Me.”
“You?” Coo was shocked. How could Tully have ever looked so different? But when she squinted at the picture, she did see that their eyes were the same.
One picture was of a plump, smiling human with laughing eyes.
“Ben.” Tully smiled in a way that was happy and sad at once. “My husband. I wish you could have known him.”
“Where?”
“Where is he? Oh, he died, dear.” Tully sighed. “I miss him. He would have known what to do with you. He would have figured out how to make everything okay and tell me not to worry so much.”
Coo peered at Tully’s eyes. They looked strange. Shiny. Almost wet, like rain.
She stepped back in surprise.
Tears. Tully was crying!
Coo touched her own eyes and cheeks. They were dry. Many times on the roof, when she was sad or upset or angry, she had found her eyes and cheeks suddenly burning with tears. Pigeons didn’t cry. But it turned out other humans did.
As the days passed, Coo missed the sky and the sound of her flock shifting their wings and chatting more and more. She missed her flock mates.
“Visit the roof, us?” she asked Tully in pigeon one morning.
Tully shook her head. “Can’t understand you, dear.”
Burr didn’t think Coo should return to the roof.
“Human, you,” he said. “Stay here, now.”
“The flock. Needs us, right?” Coo thought of New Tiktik, Hoop, Pook . . . even Roohoo. What if they had been hurt in the storm? What if they were hungry?
Or what if they were worried about Coo?
“Not worried, them,” said Burr. “Pigeons leave, flock stays. Always flock, different pigeons.”
Coo stared at Burr. Didn’t he miss the others? The roof? The dovecote? Weren’t they missing him, and her, at least a tiny bit?