A bird is sitting by the window. A black bird, looks like a crow but with a red crest. I can’t recognize it. I noticed it just as I woke up. There’s no curtain on my window, and I still haven’t decided when to hang one. Sometimes I think I should, but then again—what’s the point? This way, I can see the outside whenever I look up. The sky, dressed in new colors each day, keeps appearing before me.
Where are the clouds flying to? I’m staring at the silent sky. A few birds are flying around, but I can’t identify them. I’m no bird expert, though I can recognize a few. Parrots love the kadam flower—I learned that only after I let my pet parrot go. Once, I had a waterhen; one stormy night someone stole it. But within days, it found its way back. My eyes drift again to that black bird with the red crest. Half-awake, I can’t tell if it’s looking at me. Why am I staring back, over and over? Does the bird want to say something to me? I can’t tell. Thinking about it, I try to fall back asleep.
I don’t know how long I’ve been asleep when I start dreaming. I’m standing at an open door, but there’s nothing beyond it—only emptiness and darkness, yet I can see everything. I walk through the doorway, step by step through the void, and stop beside a window. Beyond the window there’s nothing, just darkness. I push the window—it opens. I see a cow standing in the dark, staring at me. As I approach, the cow takes flight and vanishes into the darkness. I run to see where it went, but suddenly I fall—like someone leaping off a mountain cliff.
I keep falling, but in the manner of a bird flying. Then I notice—I’m not falling alone. A bird is flying beside me. A black bird, red crest. It feels like the same bird I saw by my window. The bird flies slightly ahead and bursts out laughing. Startled, I realize I’m suspended in the air. I try to smile back, thinking the bird is about to speak. What will it say?
The bird speaks first:
“We met when you were thirty-three. By a river, near a vineyard. You came to pick flowers. I told you—what will you do with grape flowers? You can’t string a garland from them. You said you didn’t want to make a garland—you’d let the flowers dry and keep them. Do you remember me?”
I try to recall, but I can’t. No river, no vineyard comes to mind. The bird speaks again—
“Your name…”
And then it vanishes. I keep falling through the darkness.
As I fall, a memory stirs—someone once asked my name. I said Shimul. Hearing it, she laughed softly and said her name was Shimul too. We talked about Shimul flowers—those red blooms that cover the leafless trees. As if color itself blooms in Falgun. Talking, we stopped beneath a tree full of green leaves, and our voices rose above the chatter of birds. We discovered that our words weren’t just floating away with the wind—we were, too, becoming the wind, rising toward the center of the world.
But even fountains of words dry up one day. Why do they? As I keep falling through the void, that memory brushes past my mind. I’m breaking through darkness. Suddenly, I stop—suspended again. Perhaps I’ve hit a cloud. Do clouds fear the dark? They drift endlessly yet go nowhere. Strange! They fall as rain, drenching people like us, soaking our fevered bodies. We keep talking as the rain falls.
Humans are, in truth, talking machines. Endlessly spinning words from nothing. But where do these words come from—the mind or the heart? We talk about rain. Why does it fall drop by drop? We reach no conclusion. And the rain won’t stop. Suddenly lightning flashes—startled, I see Shimul is no longer beside me. I wake up. I’m lying alone in bed. The thought keeps returning—Shimul isn’t here. Thinking of her, I glance at the small window again. But I don’t recognize it. Then I look at the bed—realize I’m lying on an unfamiliar one. Lying still, I try to look through the little window. Outside, the green leaves of trees are swaying, and between them, a black bird is staring back at me.
Does the bird want to tell me something?
As I wonder, I realize—I don’t understand the language of birds. I look at the window again; the bird is gone. Strange, why is this happening? If only I knew its name, I could call it—but what would I even say? My sleepy eyes begin to close. Suddenly a gust of wind blows out the light. Darkness again. I walk and walk until I find myself inside a forest. A deep forest, full of strange trees smiling at me—like lovers newly in love. I don’t understand why they’re smiling.
Through their laughter, I hear someone approaching. A shadow passes beside me. It feels like a lost deer—perhaps it met me by mistake. I keep walking, but the forest never ends. I don’t even want to go anywhere, so why am I walking? I stop, and a river spreads its misty shore beneath my feet. I gaze into the water, mesmerized. Countless fish rise to look at me, and suddenly they leap toward me—
Startled, I wake up. Sitting up in bed, I see the whole room filled with light—and around me, ten or twelve familiar strangers staring in astonishment. I ask, “Why are you here?” They smile faintly and reply, “Just because.”
Moments later, I remember—I had shut the door and fallen asleep after lunch.
Translated by AI
@ Belayat Masum
Lisbon/2025
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