by Kaela Noel
Tully pulled out a long green string covered in tiny bulbs. Together, Burr, Coo, and Tully hung it all over the branches. Then Tully crawled around under the table to the electrical outlet and plugged it in.
Coo gasped. The whole tree was glowing!
“Merry Christmas, Coo.” Tully wiped her eyes. “A very merry one indeed.”
Coo insisted that Tully keep the tree lit up that night, even after bedtime. She lay in her little nest on the floor staring up in wonder at the way it glowed so warmly.
“Daylight tree,” Burr said sleepily. “Never seen, me.”
“Special for Christmas, that tree.” Coo tried to explain to Burr about Christmas. A whole day humans had to share and give gifts and celebrate mysteries and think about good things.
“Looks sweet,” Burr said about the ornaments. “But can’t eat.”
Pigeons had no holidays at all. It made Coo feel lonely to think about. Pigeons would like Christmas, she was sure of it, if only they knew about it.
Tiny, bright New Tiktik flashed through her mind. The last she’d seen of her was in the blizzard. A cold chill filled her stomach. Was New Tiktik okay? Coo had no way to know. Were the pigeons hungry? She hadn’t thought about the flock much while she was sick, but now that she was well again, she felt a sudden anxiousness for them.
“Must see flock, me,” she murmured. “Soon.”
Chapter Thirteen
Pigeons Should Have a Merry Christmas, Too
“Must visit flock,” Coo told Tully the next morning as soon as Tully was awake and shuffling around the kitchen making tea and oatmeal. In the corner the radiator hissed and banged. It was a cold morning. The tree glowed merrily. “Now. Miss them. Miss me. Hungry pigeons, too.”
It was a lot to say in human language. Coo felt exhausted afterward. She sat at the table staring at the Christmas tree, then looked back at Tully.
“Please,” she added, taking a deep breath. “My family, the pigeons. Christmas now. Family? Hungry family.”
“Oh, all right.” Tully pursed her lips and wrinkled her brow. “Going back to the alley is such a bad idea, but it hurts me to think of how much you must be worried about them. I’m sure they’re worried about you, too. And they probably need food.”
“Pigeons should have a Merry Christmas, too,” Coo said with great effort.
“True,” said Tully. “We can later today. But you must be quiet and listen to me, understand? It’s trespassing when we’re there. The police could come. It makes me uneasy.”
Tully often looked alert when they were outside, her head swiveling to and fro like a hunting hawk. Sometimes she squinted, sighed, and hurried them across the street. For the first time, Coo noticed how many of the shops had green and red Christmas decorations in their windows.
It was very cold again, and the leftover piles of snow had shrunk and refrozen in hard, spiky, gray drifts.
“You meet so many people when you’re a postal worker for thirty years,” Tully grumbled, nudging Coo around an icy patch of sidewalk as a woman across the street by the pharmacy waved. “Luckily most of them don’t recognize me without my uniform. I’m just not sure I can explain to people over and over who you are without getting us into trouble. Easier to avoid it completely.”
It was very hard not to wiggle free of Tully’s grasp and dash ahead when they reached the alley. So many days had passed, and now only minutes separated Coo from her flock. She wanted to fly across the busy roads.
Coo thought of running into the police, or Lucia, who she didn’t much like, and that helped her slow down. She hopped as she walked and gripped Tully’s hand hard. Inside her red coat, safe in the little pouch Tully had sewn for him, Burr muttered and shifted his wings. He had been reluctant to come along, saying he was tired, but Coo had finally convinced him.
Tully pushed the gate open, and they ducked under the chain.
The alley had turned into a small, rippled mountain range of snow. Unlike everywhere else in the neighborhood, nobody had shoveled here. The snow had melted some, but it was still deep.
“Oh dear.” Tully sighed. “We’re going to have a tough time of it.”
Coo knew what trudging through snow was like from her winters on the roof. She didn’t care. All she wanted was to see the birds. She plunged ahead, one big, snowy stomp at a time.
At last she turned the corner, and the little hut came into view. Snow capped the bushes and small trees that lined the alley, and frosted the parts of the fences and fire escape that stayed in shade all day. But otherwise it looked the same.
“Flock! Flock! Here, me! Coo!”
“Not so loud! Remember, we aren’t supposed to be here,” warned Tully.
The beating of many wings drowned out Tully’s nervous voice. The flock came rushing down and crowded around Coo, landing on her arms and head and on the ground at her feet. She had forgotten the blissful, safe feeling of being enveloped by feathers, wings, and gentle claws.
“Back, you!”
“Hungry, us!”
“Healthy, you!”
“Gone so long, you!” New Tiktik said. “So worried, me! Hungry, you?”
“No, not hungry, me,” Coo said, kneeling close to the ground. New Tiktik landed on her shoulder. “Hungry, you? No new dumpster?”
“Long way away,” said New Tiktik, hopping back to the ground. “Hungry times, here.”
Pigeons cooed all around her. Hoop, nestled close against her neck, peppered her with questions about Tully. Pook interrupted to ask about food. Ka asked about Burr.
“Wait. Surprise for you, me.” Coo reached into her jacket and pulled out Burr, plopping him on her other shoulder.
“Burr!” said New Tiktik.
Pigeons shoved one another aside to get closer, rushing at Burr with cooed greetings. Burr hooted happily but shrunk back against Coo’s neck.
“Back, flock,” Coo said. “Slow, flock.”
It was sharp-eyed New Tiktik who noticed first how oddly Burr’s left wing hung from his body.
“Wing, Burr!” she said. “Still broken?”
Stunned silence spread through the flock. The birds closest to Coo and Burr edged away. A few abandoned the ground entirely, retreating to the roof of the factory.
Burr turned twice on Coo’s shoulder, and then whispered urgently, “Pouch now, me.”
Coo felt numb as Burr climbed down into her jacket.
“Fine, Burr is,” she said to the other birds. “Can’t fly, but lives with me. Happy, he is. Safe. Fine!”
“Can’t fly!” the remaining pigeons murmured, shocked.
“Everybody okay?” Tully stood by the hut holding the little brown sack of birdseed. “You look upset, Coo.”
Coo couldn’t bring herself to explain. How could she have forgotten the way the flock treated sick and injured members? Hoop and the other birds Tully had healed came back cured, or never came back at all.
Tully frowned. “I know I haven’t been here in ages, but I’ve never seen the flock this subdued. Maybe some food will cheer them up.”
The flock sailed over to the snow where she scattered the seed, leaving Coo standing alone with Burr who was quiet and still in his pouch.
“What’s wrong, Coo?” said Tully when she finished throwing the food.
Human words cluttered Coo’s head. She struggled to make order of them.
“Flock is sad,” she said finally. “Sad for Burr.”
Sad was not the right word at all. But it would do.
“Tell them Burr will be just fine. He’s safe with us. Aren’t they happy to see you after all this time?”
Coo had planned to tell the pigeons all about Christmas. She’d even wondered if they could come over to Tully’s house to see the tree and celebrate together. But the way they treated Burr made all those thoughts vanish.
Plump purple Roohoo landed on Coo’s head.
“Broken wing, Burr?” he said. “Show me, you.”
Of course Roohoo would be the one to come pe
ster Burr. Coo was wary.
“No, Roohoo. Go eat, you,” said Coo, pushing him off.
Her time with humans had made her bolder in dealing with him. Roohoo took off from her head and landed on her shoulder.
She shooed him off again.
“Stop, you,” Burr said to her. He wiggled his head out toward Roohoo, then hopped onto Coo’s other shoulder.
“Seem okay, you.” Roohoo leaned around Coo’s neck and nudged Burr’s wing with his beak. “First healed broken wing seen, me. Hurt much?”
“No,” said Burr. “Sling helps.”
“Sling?” Roohoo nipped at the pink and white yarn. “Strange bird, you.”
“Christmas now, Roohoo. Heard of it, you? Human day for being nice,” Coo grumbled. “Be nice!”
“Humans? Nice? Killing flocks, them.”
“What?” said Coo.
“Heard rumors, me,” said Roohoo. “Flocks at the new dumpster said. Lots of pigeons dying.”
“Beak sick?” Coo shrank back, pulling Burr off her shoulder and tucking him back down into his pouch. She remembered her own illness last month. What if her flock got sick? Or Burr? Would Tully be able to help them?
“Not beak sick. Human sick. Bad seed, maybe.”
“Hush, Roohoo.” Old Tiktik landed on Coo’s head. “Just rumors. Sick, no flocks we know.”
“Yet,” Roohoo snapped. He took off and zoomed up toward the roof.
Coo was very quiet on the walk back to Tully’s apartment. Worries swirled through her mind. Burr dozed in his pouch. Dusk fell. The sky was turning gray and purple. The bright holiday lights in the shops looked suddenly silly. Why did humans bother with holidays?
“Did it make you feel funny seeing them?” asked Tully. “You seem down.”
Coo hugged herself. She felt Burr shift under her coat. At least they always had each other. She felt a pang of guilt for bringing him to the alley.
“Need to go back soon,” Coo said, her worries for the flock overtaking her disappointment in how they had treated Burr. “Flock is hungry.”
“Can’t they look for more food on their own?” Tully sighed. “I want to help, but it makes me nervous going there.”
“Very hungry. We go back soon? Important, Tully.”
Every day she was able to say more and more in human language. She was about to tell Tully what Roohoo had said about other flocks falling ill when Tully hushed her.
“Oh, what luck.” Tully’s voice was suddenly sharp and quiet. “Coo, don’t say anything.”
“Tully! Merry Christmas!”
Standing in front of them, barely recognizable in a great swath of scarves and her long purple coat, stood Lucia. She was holding a bunch of Food Bazaar bags, and Tully seemed to wince when Lucia plopped them down on the sidewalk.
“Merry Christmas, Lucia,” Tully said. “How’s it going?”
“Too cold for me.” Lucia pushed her scarves around until more of her face popped out.
Coo noticed her eyelids were somehow lime green this time, but she was relieved to see there were no cats hanging from her ears. Instead there were tiny dark green cars—not much better, when Coo thought about it.
“Now that I’m retired, I don’t know why I don’t move somewhere warm. I’m ready to be done with blizzards and winter,” Lucia said. “A question for another day. More important—how are you, Coo?” She smiled down at her. “Excited for Christmas? Still staying with your . . . aunt?”
Coo stared at Lucia. Tully nudged her, and she slowly nodded.
“Tully, you have to tell me this story! I’m dying to know. So you found a long-lost sister from somewhere in Europe, and she left her granddaughter with you?”
“Oh, it’s such an interesting story but we’re running late for an . . . appointment.”
“Of course, of course. When can we meet up? How much longer is Coo staying with you?”
“At least a few weeks.”
“She’s not spending the holidays with her family?”
“We’re going to celebrate here,” said Tully.
“Wonderful! Wait—oh my—what is that?” Lucia shrieked. The cars hanging from her ears jumped.
Confused by how long they’d been standing still, Burr had managed to wiggle himself to the top of his pouch and stick his head out from Coo’s coat.
Lucia was so shocked she stumbled backward, nearly tripping over her groceries. Tully caught her arm just in time.
“Burr,” said Coo. “My pigeon.” She helped him up onto her shoulder.
“I rescued him this fall,” said Tully. “He has a broken wing, so he’ll live with me forever now. Coo really took a shine to him.”
“Good grief.” Lucia stared at Burr warily. “I forgot about all your pigeon stuff. Are you sure it’s safe having a wild animal in the house?”
“Of course it’s safe.”
“He doesn’t have . . . diseases?”
Coo studied Lucia. She could tell Lucia didn’t like Burr.
“Burr is a good pigeon,” Coo said.
“I’m sure he is,” Lucia said, smiling faintly. She picked up her grocery bags and started walking down the street. “Call me, Tully!”
“Oh, what a mess!” Tully said when they got home. She helped Coo out of her coat, then went to the kitchen and started making grilled cheese for dinner. Burr settled down to nap in his cage.
“I love Lucia, but why oh why, of all the people, do we keep running into her?” Tully said, getting the bright orange cheddar out of the fridge. “Luckily it seems Burr scared her off. I’m just concerned she’ll keep asking questions I don’t want to answer. Even though I really do need some of the answers she could give me.”
Very little of what Tully said made sense, but Coo understood her anguish. Coo’s troubled thoughts about the flock vanished. Gently, hesitantly, she rested a hand on Tully’s arm.
“Everything is okay,” Coo said, as clearly as she could. “Fine here. Tully and Coo.”
Tully smiled at her, but it was a smile that looked almost like crying.
“It makes me so happy when you speak, Coo. I wish everything was okay. But Lucia knows Ben and I didn’t have any siblings. That means we can’t have had any nieces—or grandnieces. Do you understand?” Tully got out a pan, turned on the stove top, and started slicing cheese.
Coo nodded, though she was unsure. Humans had so many words for family. Pigeons just had flock mates.
“She used to be a social worker. She worked for child protective services for years. I don’t think she’d turn me in, but I don’t know what to tell her.” Tully paused. “I should tell you it’s a possibility. If the state looked into things, they might take you away.”
“Away where? Back to roof?”
“No. Somewhere else they would consider safe. Without me, or your flock, or Burr.”
“How?” Coo’s stomach flipped. “Tell them no. I stay with you.”
Slowly Tully began to explain to Coo about things called government, laws, and rules. About humans who made decisions about other humans, about where they could live and who they could be with. “The authorities,” she called them.
It was bewildering, but as Tully spoke, Coo understood more and more. Coo’s hands turned clammy. All along she had assumed Tully was the strongest and most important human in the world. But apparently, this was not so.
“Remember the other people I brought with me to find you, before you came to live with me?” Tully gestured for Coo to sit down. The grilled cheese was ready. “The day you hid in the bush and a cat ran out. I knew you were in there, even though they acted like I was nuts.”
With a jolt, Coo remembered. The clanking metal. The crackling boxes. The blue clothing. The loud voices.
“The police,” said Tully. “They also do good things. They protect people. But if they think you are doing something wrong, they stop you.”
“Wrong, me here with you?”
“No. It’s not wrong. But I have made a lot of mistakes trying to keep yo
u. It’s my fault.” Tully sat down across from Coo and sighed. “The police, other authorities, social workers like Lucia . . . they would think it’s a problem. Because it’s not official. And for other reasons. You should eat, Coo. Your sandwich will get cold.”
But Coo wasn’t hungry. “Other reasons?” she asked. “What are other reasons?”
“Well, they need to check that you aren’t a missing child. I looked at lists of missing children on the computer at the library after I met you, and I didn’t see any that seemed likely to be you, but who knows? It does trouble me.” Tully frowned. Coo noticed she wasn’t eating her own sandwich, either. “And there’s the fact you haven’t seen a doctor.”
“Doctor?”
“People who help people who have been sick. And also help you so you don’t get sick in the first place. You’ve been gaining weight so fast I haven’t been as worried, but I need to make an appointment eventually. Doctors are good, but I’m worried if anyone found out how you were raised by pigeons, there would be such a circus—you’d become the Bird Girl; everyone would want to study you,” said Tully. “You wouldn’t have a normal life.”
Tully tried to explain, but Coo could no longer listen or make sense of what Tully said. All Coo heard was that she might have to go somewhere else, somewhere that was not Tully’s apartment or the roof. Her heart was pounding. She pushed the sandwich away. Grabbing a sack of Food Bazaar cinnamon buns from the counter, she dove into the deepest part of her nest and shut her eyes.
“Okay, you?” Burr asked, hobbling out of his cage.
“Humans,” Coo whispered. “Scary.”
“Tully?”
“No. Other humans.” Coo thought about Roohoo’s dark warnings. “Humans do bad things to humans, too.”
“Some humans, bad,” said Burr. “More humans, good. Understand, you?”
“Understand, me,” Coo said in a very small voice.
She pulled out a cinnamon bun and slowly began to eat it, sharing it with Burr. He let her have all the raisins.
“No worries, you,” Burr said, pushing another raisin in her direction with his beak. “Together, us. Always.”