Rhapsody

- SPARROW AND THE SEA -

SPARROW AND THE SEA

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there lived a little sparrow. It was rather ordinary even for a sparrow, with brown-striped wings and brown feathers on its back and a smooth, white underbelly, its size no bigger than that of a man’s hand. It was free and carefree and spent its days—and nights—singing those songs that only birds could understand from its perch in a big oak tree. It was a he, and he was called, simply, Sparrow.

He didn’t live alone. His neighbors included a gorgeous bluethroat with a red spot at the centre of his blue bib who could only make these clucking noises that sounded quite strange to Sparrow, and a parrot with that had learned the words ‘Away, away!’ many years ago from a stray human that had ran through this part of the forest. Compared to them, the sparrow always felt a little uncomfortable, for he had neither colorful plumage nor the skill of repeating human-words.

Sparrow’s favorite friend, though, was a gull that only sometimes visited from her home by the sea. He delighted in hearing her tales of home—of stark cliffs dropping to a long stretch of yellow sand (not that he could comprehend what ‘sand’ was) and beyond, waves and waves of rolling blue, soft and gentle save when it crashed violently against the rocks at the base of the cliffs. The sea was great, the gull told the sparrow; so great that even the sun bowed to it, and drowned in it every night before the sea released it from her embrace in the morning. There was a sea-longing in the little sparrow that he could not explain. He did not understand much of what she spoke of, and couldn’t imagine even more of it; but he loved her words anyways.

One day, the king and his huntsmen came riding through the woods, hot in pursuit of a doe. Their dogs barked and growled in the heat of the chase, and the even the poor doe knew it was doomed. It paused for a rest near Sparrow’s tree, despite the closeness of the hunt. All the other birds had fled at the loud sounds, but Sparrow did not care much, and he had stayed behind, curious, for humans were a rare sight in his part of the woods.

The doe was breathing heavily, but then she noticed Sparrow perching on his branch, feathers unruffled and proper as usual.

‘Are you not a sparrow?’ she asked, astonished.

And the sparrow answered politely, ‘Of course I am. I am Sparrow. Good morning to you.’

‘Oh, it’s no good morning for me,’ the doe sighed. ‘I fear the hunt is close, and so is my end.’

‘You could still run,’ the sparrow suggested—very reasonably, he thought.

The doe felt that the sparrow was slightly naïve. ‘The hunt is close,’ she repeated, ‘and there is no escape left for me—no hope, no hope at all!’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say that,’ the sparrow mused.

The doe shook her beautiful head and said, ‘I cannot run much longer, Sparrow. Will you do something for me?’

And the sparrow answered, ‘Of course.’

The doe kicked and kicked at the ground with her hoof, her movements becoming more frantic as the sounds of the hunt grew louder, the shouts of the men gaining in excitement. A few more kicks and then—behold! She had unearthed something!

The sparrow leaned over his branch, very much curious, now, and watched as the doe nudged a little black pouch from the hole she had made. She took it in her mouth, and raised her head as high as she could to the sparrow.

He understood what she wanted, and fluttered down in a flurry of wings, deftly plucking the little pouch from her before settling back on his branch.