Two Birds of a Feather

Small, timid hands brought me into existence. Pressed together, my wings came into existence. My neck folded up; my beak folded in. My wings were pressed down and outward. Air was blown into my torso. I existed! Two squiggly eyes were placed on both sides of my face, an unprofessional touch.
He stood there staring at me, a short boy of six. He had large brown eyes which dazzled like his wide smile. His hair was mottled brown cropped just above his ears.
He grinned, lifting me up beneath the torso between his index finger and thumb.
“Zooooom!” He was whirling around the room, and I was flying with him. The air passed beneath my wings. I was lifted higher and higher. He climbed onto the chair and onto the desk. I could see everything! I was soaring!
My place of birth was a study filled neatly to the brim with leather-bound books. The desk beneath the child’s muddy feet was an expensive oak, stained to a darker, intelligent shade of brown. It was a small room but well furnished.
It fit two large, oak bookcases on one wall. Between them was a small wooden table which fit a small green lamp with a golden linked chain. Above that was a spotless mirror with a silver frame. To the left side of the room was the door to the study, engraved with the family crest—a ferocious lion head with tendrils of oak leaves curling about. To the right were two more bookcases of books with golden engraving. The desk I was soaring above was facing a wide window, framed by velvet green curtains. On each side of the desk were long rows of thin, angular paper animals. The evening sunlight streamed in as a dim haze which illuminated the dust particles into small golden threads.
“Wheeee…! –Whaa!!” There was turbulence in my circular flight pattern and my vision went from blurry to bouncing jolts. I was plummeting, down with the boy from the desk, tripping over the chair and landing on the paisley rug. There was a large thump, and my beak was crushed into my neck and one of my wings folded backward at an awkward angle into my torso. In the commotion, I had been tossed aside just beyond the corner of the desk. A few other animals—a thin giraffe with brown penned blotches and a zebra had been knocked off onto the floor as well.
There was the sound of quick thumping from outside. The majestic lion door was opened and standing in the space was a woman in a flowery white dress. Her golden hair was curling in a frizzy madness. Her green eyes were wide as she beheld the boy on the floor who was sitting up and rubbing his knees and elbows.
Her worry dissipated and she put her hands on her wide hips, made wider from her bulky household dress. “Timothy James Alderbreck!” she said. Her hands were clenched at her sides and her thin lips were in a tight frown.
He seemed to avoid looking at her, lightly running his finger against his rug-burned forearm. He gasped softly and reluctantly met her gaze.
She walked over to him, heels clunking on the wooden floor then dully on the rug. “You know you aren’t supposed to be in your father’s study.” She took him by the forearms and pulled him up. He was barely able to catch his balance as she directed him through the doorway.
As soon as he was ushered out the door and his receding thumps could be heard, a dark figure appeared in the doorway. It was a man with a top hat and a long black suit. He put his briefcase down in the hallway and put his hat on the rack. He began undoing his tie.
“Mrs. Benfield, what a commotion! What in the world has been going on?”
“Oh! Mr. Alderbreck,” she hurried passed him and stood in the doorway, smiling politely. “I swear I had my eyes off him for only but a minute.” Her fingers fidgeted behind her back, “Why don’t you just step into the kitchen and I’ll make you a cup of tea—to ease you from your hard day of work.”
He frowned, closely trimmed moustache following his lips down. His eyes darted beyond her and into the study. “That’s very considerate of you,” he said, pulling the tie from his neck. “But what I would really like to do is just sit down for a minute in my study. Undisturbed.” He pushed passed her, sliding into his study, standing just beyond the door. His eyes fell on the misplaced books, mud on his rug and desk, and overturned chair. “As I suspected.” He murmured.
“Oooh, Mr. Alderbreck!” She bent toward him, hands on her apron. “I’m sure he didn’t mean to. In fact, I’ll begin cleaning it up right now--“ she made her way to the leather chair and turned it upright. At the desk, she picked up the old origami book and scattered color paper. Her free hand reached down for me, fingers large and pink.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “I want you to pack up your things.” He slipped from his coat and tossed it over the leather chair. “You’ll be leaving in the next half an hour.”
She stood straight, leaving me on the floor, gasping softly. She leaned against the desk, leaving the papers on the corner of the desk. She neared him haltingly, “Oh, please, Mr. Alderbreck! I have served you for a few months now, and I haven’t made any serious mistakes. Please, don’t make me go.”
He turned to the mirror above the lamp, leaning in closely to examine his moustache. He ran his fingertips over it then straightened up.
“I haven’t anywhere to stay!”
“Mrs. Benfield. You have one job, and that is to manage the house. If you can’t do that, I have no need of you.” He turned to her one arm behind his back, his chest slightly puffed up.
Her eyes fell to the floor just beyond his feet. “I promise I wont let him out of my sight, sir. He just slipped passed me this time..”
“Very well.”
She looked up at him, pursing her lips together and straightened her skirt and then her smoothed back her hair. “I promise.”
His eyes fell upon her, “You may stay then.” He did not blink. “On the condition that you do your job without further failure.”
She nodded avidly, “Oh, sir. I will, sir!”
“Now, fetch my son,” his lips were drawn tightly together and he approached the desk. He opened a drawer just above me and rustled through it while the maid lifted her skirts and clomped away.
He took a long leather strip from his desk, a belt with the buckle removed. It looked worn, crinkling along one edge. He pulled the leather taut between both hands and waited.
A few slow minutes later, the boy trudged up to the doorway, his head hung and hair hiding his eyes.
“Come closer and close the door.”
The boy shuffled forward and towards the door and pulled at its weight.
“Quick now.”
He hurried behind the door and pushed, pushing it closed. He turned, leaning against the door, running his fingers against the engravings. Then he stepped forward, approaching his father in eight slow steps. He stared at the paisley rug which had given him his rug burn then let his gaze crawl from his father’s shoes to his father’s stern eyes.
They were dark and cold. “You are not ever to enter this study.”
The boy nodded, pursed his lips, and kept his hands behind his back.
“Onto the chair.” He snapped the belt.
The boy ambled up onto the leather couch. He turned and looked at his father, who met him with an empty gaze. He closed his own eyes then leaned over the closer arm of the chair. His feet dangled before me, a few inches from the floor. His fingers held tightly onto the leather seat.
SNAP! The first blow had come. His legs and feet went stiff before me and he barely let out a whimper.
SNAP! He exhaled heavily, kicking at the chair once in a spasm. As soon as he relaxed, the third blow came.
SNAP! And a fourth. SNAP. A fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!
The resounding sounds of the snaps seemed to hover in the air even after the deed was done. His feet twitched in front of me, and his grip on the chair lessened.
“You may stand up.”
He slid from the chair and turned around, staring up at his father. His father re-opened the drawer and folded the belt, putting it back neatly.
“I’ve made a decision.”
The boy looked up, the area around his eyes damp and blotchy. He wiped at them with one hand then dropped it back to his side.
“I’m sending you to boarding school.”
His eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly. He made a slight sound. “But father—“
“You are going.” He lengthened his face and brushed away an itch. “I have the papers and brochure here. You will look over them. You will have your bags packed for next week.”
The boy gripped the bottom of his pants tightly. “Yes, Father.”
He handed the papers to the boy. “You may leave.”
“Yes, Father.” He continued to look at him, jaw set back, muscles clenched. Then, he left, padding down the hallway papers in hand.
The man closed the door behind him, and that was the last I saw of him for seven days. Until then, I remained beneath the desk while the zebra and giraffe were picked up and put in their rightful places.
~*~*~*~
On the evening of the seventh day, I could see the shadowy form of the boy in the hallway just beyond the door. The maid was with him, straightening his tie and hat. His father had just stood up and walked into the hallway.
“Will you be coming to the station, Father?”
“I am.” He said, pulling his hat down from the rack and pulling it on. The maid hurried into the study and retrieved his jacket, bringing it to him and helping him into it. “Let’s be quick now, you wouldn’t want to miss your train.”
“Of course not, Father.”
The maid stayed behind as Mr. Alderbreck patted his son gently on the shoulder, guiding him out the front door and to the carriage. There was a faint clip clop until the maid closed the front door and then the study door.
~*~*~*~
Three hours later, Mr. Alderbreck opened the study door with a sigh. Off came his hat and his coat. He tossed them off towards the maid who caught them and hung them on the rack before he could close the door. He loosened his tie and approached the desk.
“Well, well,” he said to himself with a sigh and sat down into his chair. It squeaked as he prepared some paper and ruffled through his drawers.
“What shall I make today…?” There was the faint sound of him turning pages of the book; I could only speculate that it was the origami guide. “Not a frog. Not a swan. An elephant?” There was a deep sigh, and the sound of some scribbling, pen to paper.
The brown pen he had been writing with, rolled from the desk and dropped down onto the floor roughly an inch away. He reached down, long fingers brushing across the rug. His fingers did not encounter the pen, however, but my bent wing. He captured me between two fingers and lifted me from the floor. In the palm of his hand, he brought me to eye level.
He blew gently across me to rid me of a weeks worth of dust. “Hello.” He said, his gaze narrowing slightly. “I don’t remember making you.” His brown eyes locked with my scribbled eyes and he stared at me for quite some time. I stared back. Would he toss me into the trash? Surely he would. My wings were bent and cramped, and my beak broken.
He sighed for the third time that evening, and life seemed to fill his cold eyes. “I’ve already made a crane.” With his free hand, he selected a beauty—she was white and elegant. He had penned in her slender beak, made two dots for eyes, and drawn feathers for her graceful wings. “So where did you come from?”
He smiled, chortling quietly and running his fingertips over my broken form. He un-cramped my wing from my back and laid it flat on the table. He ran his hand over it, smoothing it as many as four times. Then he fixed my neck, unfolding me at first, then refolding me and fixing my beak as well.
He put the graceful, slender crane back to her space in line on the right side of the desk. Once more, he held me to his eyes and smiled. He set me down in the middle of the desk to the right side of the middle lamp and writing implements.
There I stayed for many years.
*~*~*~*
Every night he came home after being out in the day. He would eat dinner, sometimes in the study, then open his origami book. Creatures came in went. Lines shifted down along the desk. Eventually they were thrown out, but I always remained to the right of his lamp.
Sometimes he would pick me up and brush off the dust. He would run his fingertips across the creases I was made of—along the wings, the slope of my neck, and bridge of my beak. Then he would smile faintly and put me back down to sit and rest.
Time had gone by, and his youthful vigor had faded. He had filled out with age, no longer the tall, skinny man he had once been. His skin had paled and sagged. His long lips had thinned and were often lined with spittle. Instead of doing work in the study, he had come to take naps where he wheezed and snored faintly. Once he had collected energy, he would huff a little then pick up some square pieces of paper, beginning a new creation.
Inevitably, there came a time when he no longer visited the study. People would come to the front door and pass the study to another room to see him. And eventually even they stopped visiting. Finally, not even old Mrs. Benfield (she was still there) shuffled about to clean the study.
I collected dust in a quiet home. No footsteps. No men. No maids. I remained there; my only companions the remaining origami figures. I went to sleep.
~*~*~*~
“Oooh no. My father was not a likeable man.” I could hear a voice from down the hallway. “He never addressed me as anything but ‘Son’ with a capital ‘S’ and never did anything for me but send me to boarding school.” A tall and thin figure wearing a top hat and a long black coat appeared in the darkened hallway.
It was the splitting image of a younger Mr. Alderbreck! Was this a trick?
“No, my dear. He had no fondness for me at all, and I had none for him.” He neared the study, leaned in, and flicked on the nearest lamp.
There was a young woman in the doorway who followed him in. She wore a lacy yellow gown and a straw bonnet with yellow ribbon tied around her chin. Definitely not Mrs. Benfield. She was brunette and had dazzling green eyes.
“Ah. And this was his famous study. He would never let me in here.” He circulated the room, staring up at all of the books and then came to the desk. “Ah, and his origami.” He plucked one of the creatures from a line, a lion, and held it above his eyes. He examined it. “He was always doing origami. He would come in here and pretend to be doing work when in reality he was fooling around with this ridiculous figures.”
“But surely you are being too harsh on him,” the woman smiled.
He sighed and put down the lion a little off center from his line. No, this was not at all the Mr. Alderbreck I knew.
“Everything was so neat and tidy. I remember, I once came in here with the intent to figure out what it was my father loved so much. That’s when I discovered his origami book.”
There was a thunder of pitter pattering down the hall. Two small children came clattering down the hallway and up to their mother. They held onto her yellow skirt and she put a hand around each of them. One was a girl, a miniature of their mother, but with brown eyes. The other was a boy, a remarkable double to the young Timothy James Alderbreck I had not seen in years.
“So, I came in here, sat myself down at his desk.” He closed his eyes and sat down in the leather chair. “I imagined him sitting here, choosing his next animal. A turtle? No. A frog? No. How about…a crane?” He looked to his wife with golden brown eyes. She smiled faintly at him.
“So I took some paper, a sheet of plain white paper. I wanted to see what it was he loved so much about it. I opened the book to the crane and began making it. And when I had made it—oh—I saw what was so fun. My bird had come alive. I gave the crane eyes, then life! I flew it around the room!”
The children giggled as he got up onto the chair—a full grown man! Mr. Alderbrech would have never done that! He hopped down in front of them.
“Then the maid caught me. I had fallen over and made quite a racket. Oooh no, it wasn’t enough to be punished for it.” He went over to the desk drawer and opened it. He grinned, finding the belt. “I’m glad you two are so well-behaved!”
The girl tilted her head then giggled a little at the wide-eyed look her father gave her. She moved further into the room and the boy followed.
“Yes, yes! You are allowed in here.” There will be no room of mine where you will not be allowed in.” He lifted his daughter up and put her onto the leather chair. She stood there and looked at the desk. She smiled. “Daddy. What’s that?”
“It’s called origami. Your grandfather used to make them.”
He looked towards me and, for the first time, noticed me. He blinked in what I would imagine was bewilderment. He reached for me and gently put me in the palm of his hand. These hands! I knew them. They had the unmistakable touch of my maker!
His let out a slow breath, and his lips curved into a trembling smile. He stepped back from the desk and put me down on the corner.
“Hey kids?”
“Daddy?” The girl hopped down from the leather chair and rushed to be in front of him. Her brother joined her.
“Would you like to learn how to make a paper crane like my father used to make?”
“Oh, yes, daddy! Could we? Could we really?”
“I want to make an ox,” the boy said sulkily.
“That’s fine. That’s fine.” The father smiled. “It’s all fine.”