Things Must Get Worse Before They Can Get Better
With Pearl and Amelia, one escaped their situation, but the other didn’t
In this pair of chapters, I’m reminded of how Pearl and Amelia had once worked together on Pearl’s Comedy Coop. They seemed to have both been dedicated to the same goal with very few obstacles. Things seem to have gotten worse for them with Pearl facing internal challenges (Chapter 25) and Amelia facing external challenges (Chapter 26). Will they use tragedy to grow stronger in preparation for future challenges?
After Blanche left us and then Amelia flew off to go adventuring, it seemed like a good time for Pearl to rejoin the others, but she was not ready. Even when I told her, “At a time like this, you all need each other,” she just shook her head and looked over at Blanche’s favorite spot.
Pearl hoped Gracie had seen what had happened with the opossum and had told the others, but she would rather not be away from where she had spent time together with Blanche. She wanted to stay close to her hidden treasures, especially her Get Well Soon Hat with Blanche’s sweet smell still on it.
In the mornings, Pearl would stand at the top of their chicken ladder and cry out for Blanche in the Old Chicken language, calling her home for breakfast. Then in the evenings, she would stand on their roost, and cry out again for Blanche, still in the Old Chicken language, calling her home for bedtime.. Filling the time in between was Pearl’s most difficult challenge each day. I did not know what these words actually meant for dictionary purposes, only what them meant by their sound. Perhaps it was good that only other chickens knew that language and the depth of her sorrow.
Pearl wanted to believe that Blanche would somehow return to us, and at times, she even felt what had happened was her own fault.
“If only I was a good normal chicken like the others, none of this would have happened,” she told me one evening. “If I had gone away to the circus with The Sewer Rat, none of this would have happened.”
She sadly hung her head, and we said our goodnights. She was glad she had taken time to draw pictures of Blanche in her heart. The ones she had taught herself how to make on scraps of paper were nice, but she could only see them in daylight. Eventually, they would become old and faded. She could see the pictures in her heart anytime, and they would always be safe there. She would always have Blanche with her. The next evening, Pearl asked me, “Why do you love Gracie so much? Your voice is different with her. So is the way you move.”
These are things I had not noticed about myself. Pearl could be a silly little hen, but she is also a serious observer, just as all great comedians are.
“What is her trick? What did she do to make you love her so much? I never heard her tell any jokes, not a single one ever. She doesn’t even wear silly hats. She has never done a silly dance like one of mine, only serious ballet.”
“Maybe it’s not more love—just different love. But I am beginning to love you in that same different way. The two of you are very similar.”
Pearl tilted her head questioningly. This was hard for her to believe.
“I love Gracie the way I do because she has always had that lump on her side. She was always very timid and shy because of it as a baby chick. It has kept her from doing many of the things she wants to do. But she keeps dancing ballet, even if it hurts at times. She still does all she can to enjoy her life.
“Do you remember the day when Bessie defended all of you against the stray cat? The top of her head was clawed, and I still remember how upset she was when she told me about what had happened. Her comb grew crooked and floppy afterward. Some people would say it makes her look ugly. But when I look at her, I only see how brave she is and how much she loves each of you.”
Pearl grew restless.
“I don’t understand how any of that makes me like them,” she protested. “I don’t have a lump on my side. My comb is as straight as my feathers are white. I am a practically perfect little hen, and you have said so yourself more than once.”
“Yes, I know, but when Blanche left us, it was like a wound to your heart. No one can see your wound, but it is there. And it still hurts. But you are learning to keep going even though the scar on your heart reminds you of unpleasant things.”
She looked down at her breast and saw the pure white feathers on the outside. She felt her broken heart on the inside, but it no longer scared her.
“I am out of jokes and silly hats and silly anything. How can you still love me?”
“I love you all the more, Pearl, when you have nothing to give except your heart. Love covers imperfections. Love fills emptiness. You will sing, dance, and joke again. You will dance again. When my grandparents left me, I felt inside the way you sound when you call for Blanche. You chickens filled my emptiness.”
She looked into my eyes, hoping what I had told her was the truth.
“Do you think those little fireflies are like that too? When I tell them my very-best-never-fail jokes, they don’t laugh. Even when I dress up funny for them, they don’t laugh. But when I cluck, ‘Bawk. Bawk. Bwawk-a-Bock,’ they make a ‘Blink. Blink. Blink-a-Blonk’ with their lights.”
“What do you think that means, Pearl?”
“I think it means, and I hope it means, that they love me even if they don’t understand my jokes.”
“Do you feel the emptiness in your heart being filled?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Then that is certainly love. And the best kind of love, the same kind of love Blanche had for you. The fireflies love you even though you have nothing to give them in return.”
We said our goodnights, and Pearl stood alone and waited for her new friends, the fireflies, to come out.
Amelia had remained hidden under the protective covering of the forest for most of the next day after her arrival. She did not want anyone from the circus to spot her, but once the sun was down, she wanted to see exactly what was going on there.
She stayed clear of the main tent because it resembled of a big mouth ready to eat whatever would fit inside, but she was able to pick out the wagon that seemed to belong to Professor Accipiter since it was the one he went in and out of most of the time.
That night, as the evening show went on, she found a spot to perch at the side window of his wagon. There was a slight ledge there with several baskets of wilting flowers.
“Last Welcome Home Show until our Christmas Eve Extravaganza!” she heard someone calling out. “Get your tickets here!”
She listened to the music of the show and the applause, all the while thinking about the captive birds forced to perform. She knew that she needed to find out as much as she could about Professor Accipiter, but there were no songbirds to ask any questions anywhere near the circus grounds. Having been on the lookout for them all day, but not seeing a single one, Amelia felt they were aware of the danger.
Finally, the show seemed to be over, and she watched as the people left and headed home with trudging steps. Then she watched as Professor Accipiter entered his wagon, removed his hat, and placed it carefully into its box. The kerosene lantern gave the interior a golden-yellow glow while casting wild and wicket shadows throughout the interior of the wagon.
Amelia noticed a desk that must have also served as a table because on it was a plate with what looked like a slice of meaty pie.
An imposing cabinet stood at the far end of the wagon, opposite its only door at the back. Professor Accipiter walked towards the cabinet, took a worn key from his vest pocket, turned it in the keyhole of the cabinet ever so carefully, and swung the doors open.
He took the lantern from its hook over the desk and held it in front of the cabinet. Then, as if smoky veils were slowly being lifted, a solid white peacock appeared. The light of the lantern seemed to warm it as this magnificent bird slowly opened its eyes and fanned its tail feathers w into a spectacular display of pure whiteness unlike any Amelia had never seen, even on Blanche or Pearl.
“My Treasure, we had a good crowd this evening with extra money to spend. Let us dine together and celebrate. Cook has prepared one of your favorites, Carrion-berry Pie. The pastry looks especially flaky this time, just the way you like it.”
He brought over his chair and sat down with the plate of pie balanced on his right knee, and fed the peacock with what appeared to be a solid gold fork. When the plate was empty, he took his handkerchief from his pocket and carefully dabbed a few drippings of gooey pie filling from the peacock’s beak.
“What may I serve you this evening, Master?” asked The White Peacock.
“Do you, by any chance, have a message for me from The Absence of Love?”
“Only to continue influencing the people in your audience,” said the White Peacock. “This may mean continuing with shows through to Christmas. Newcomers and unique attractions would be most helpful. The one you serve is quite unpleased by your inability and delay in fulfilling your obligation to him with many more coins.”
“Let us start with a hearty loaf of bread from the Moulin de la Galette and escargot from Henri’s Café.”
“As you wish, Master,” said the White Peacock, and then rattled its feathers within the cabinet.
Professor Accipiter stood and reached far into the cabinet with both hands. Amelia leaned in closer to the window, but she could not clearly tell if the feathers parted or simply became transparent.
When he withdrew his hands, in one, there was a fresh loaf of bread twice as long as the cabinet was deep, and in the other, a plate of perhaps a dozen very large broiled snails flavored with butter and garlic.
This is quite curious indeed, Amelia thought to herself. And this is simply not right. No bird can do this, not even a rare exotic bird like a white peacock. There is something very evil going on here, veiled in the innocence of whiteness. Maybe he realizes it, but possibly, he doesn’t. He may be as influenced as The Absence of Love wants people in the audience of The Blue Moon Circus to be. But I know absolute greed when I see it, she said to herself.
After Professor Accipiter ate his snails with a good portion of his bread, he announced, “And now for your dessert, My Treasure, before my own dessert of crêpes with strawberries and confectioner’s sugar on top.”
He closed the cabinet doors and locked them back again. Near the top of one door there was a smaller door with a handle. He turned the handle and opened the little door. He took a small cage with a young mouse in it from beneath his desk and carefully extracted it by the tail.
The mouse struggled and cried out frantically as Professor Accipiter put the mouse through the little door and withdrew his empty hand. Amelia heard the scrambling of bird feet, then the crunch of tiny bones, and then nothing.
“Cook has promised us a grand and glorious feast of her special Pigeon Pie soon. One of the old girls is reaching the end of her career. She will soon make her final appearance for only the two of us, dressed in a costume of flaky pastry perfected in the cook’s oven for your enjoyment.”
The Professor turned and looked around as if he sensed hidden eyes watching and a hidden pair of ears listening. Amelia stepped back from the window and looked down at a small patch of ground lit by the lantern hanging from a post by the back door of the circus wagon. She had certainly seen and heard enough for one night and hopped down as quietly as she could while smelling the sweet fragrance of fresh crêpes and strawberries.
Without any warning, she felt a cord tighten around her feet. Then a voice from under the wagon said, “I’ve got you now, you naughty bird.”
“Let me go!” said Amelia.
Teeny Clotilda was so startled to hear people words coming from a chicken that she shot upright and bumped her head on the bottom of the wagon.
“Ain’t you just the naughtiest bird ever? And a people-talkin’ bird at that! You were spying on the Master of the Circus, weren’t you? Soon he will be the Master of you too, or else he will turn you over to me. You’ll make a fine Sunday dinner. You will indeed!”
The door of the wagon opened abruptly, and Professor Accipiter surveyed the situation.
“What did that chicken say?” he asked. “Don’t give me any of your twisted lies, Miss Teeny.”
“As soon as I snagged her with this lasso, I heard her say ‘Let me go!’ as plan as day and as good as any person could have said,” she replied.
He examined Amelia more closely, but not so closely that she could peck his face.
“I recognize you. Friend of the Barn Owls in the forest by the river, aren’t you? Smart enough to get away from me once were you, but not again. You owe me a hat. Let’s see what tricks you’re smart enough to do tomorrow after you’ve had a chance to think things over.”
He snapped a small brass band like a shackle around Amelia’s left leg. It had a long brass chain attached to it.
“And just so you know, I can speak your language as easily as you can speak mine. Kü-BaK-aK?”
With one quick hand, Teeny Clotilda snatched up Amelia by the feet and carried her into a tent filled with rows of cages that had become the permanent home for dozens of helpless birds. Amelia flapped her wings, struggling to upright herself and to be free.
The Cook took the loose end of the chain and fastened it to a metal perch beside a cage. After she placed Amelia inside the cage, she slammed the door and fastened its lock. Then she laughed as Amelia surveyed her new home and its occupants.
“Welcome to your new home, The Circus. It’s where you belong, you’re a runaway just like everyone else here, even The Master. He is The Master of The Runaways and The Misfits.
“You will soon learn that my opinion is the only opinion that matters. I will make you doubt everything you once believed—even what you have figured out with your own brain. Receiving my approval will be your highest goal and your greatest joy.
“It’s not that I think I am superior to you. Oh, you do some things quite well.
“Just remember that I am only trying to help you along here in the world of The Circus. Look at that other chicken, the one named Peggy.” She said, turning to speak to Peggy, “Performance from the heart, but much too long. I gave you a song with errors, but you were expected to correct my errors and your own. It doesn’t matter how long it took you to sing it—what matters is doing for me and anticipating what will makes me happy. That is what makes you truly fortunate along with a pinch of rosemary and thyme!”
She laughed at her own humor and turned back to Amelia.
“Sweet dreams,” she said. “I’m sure our Master has wonderful plans for you. And if he doesn’t, I know I most certainly do.”
Fun Fact: We struggled over how to spell the descriptive part of the character’s name: “Teeny” or “Teenie,” and so we checked the definitions. “Teeny” means “very small.” “Teenie” means “a sixteenth of a dollar.” She is intended to be an opposite for Big Willy, The Beer Vendor who you will meet soon. Now we are checking with you, or actual readers! Which looks better and feels better?
Next week you will meet Big Willy, The Beer Vendor. (Of all the odd characters you will meet in Professor Accipiter’s Blue Moon Bird Circus and Sideshow Extravaganza, he is the only one based on a real person that I know. He was my favorite character to write about, and we think you will be just as delighted to meet him as Amelia was herself!
Thank you for reading!
John, Gracie, Bessie, Blanche, Pearl, Emily, and Amelia
For a good, long while now, we have been thinking of writing and publishing a collection of stories for the Halloween season. Quite honestly, some of the characters from Professor Accipiter’s Circus would be perfect for some scary stories.
I voted for Teenie because it reminds me of Mabon "Teenie" Hodges, a highly talented R&B guitarist who was a stalwart in the house band for Hi Records, backing Al Green and many other artists.
D.H. Lawrence wrote a novel about a White Peacock. Same one?
And carrion berries I assume you made up....