Reading on birds makes me sick. In a newspaper I read about a newly discovered bird, the Aurornis xui. It makes me sick. I start to vomit. Someone turns to the table where I sat. Can I help you, she asks. It's Madeleine. Madeleine is a cute blonde. She's half naked, which she shouldn't do. There's no reason why I need to see tits, whenever I look at Madeleine. There's no reason why I need to see fat, worn out meat and quite often even a punch of more delicate matter, whenever I look at Madeleine. This time her charming altruism didn't disturb me all too much. Birds make me sick, I said. Laurey, she said, honey, wouldn't you get home. I will, I said. Standing on the concrete path, next to the gasoline station, in a swing of dazzling light, a blue Chrysler took off to the highway, I tried to foresee the misery, walking home, and for a second or two I felt bright and lighthearted as in Medieval times sure enough quite often must have happened to that ancestor standing in front of a bleeding blade, nearly half a thought before it reached the skin it now had as a new switch of unfortunate fate.
I opened the frontdoor. Birdsong came from the main room. Ssssshut up, I shouted. I never, I really never would have raised my voice, not with Madeleine, not in front of anyone, but that bird felt too much at home. It had been there, in the livingroom, on the dresser, next to a pile of nude zines and dirty daily's. I went to the kitchen, took a can of China beer from the fridge. Damn, I said. You may accuse me of anything, major, I thought, but don't even start to sweat on the idea that I would be able to touch Madeleine. She's killed so often, major, being Jack's bride. I swallowed the can and lingered for a while on Madeleine. She didn't have much of a future. Cars ate from the concrete and a song of Cooder came to my mind. I had to think about it and I didn't. For some reason I failed thinking about the thing I had to be thinking about. Madeleine? Such noble feature. What could be wrong with such noble feature. I opened a door, stepped through the main room. There it stood, next to a pile of newspaper. The bird made it's usual noise. I opened the cage, dragged the bird from it, sat on the floor, had the bird in one hand, ripped my pants off with the other, jee, I hadn't been aware of the fact that I was able to do such a thing. I really had to. After doing what I had to do I gently put the bird in its cage and closed the cage.