Texts for Translation 2009:
  Michael Kerins

The Varonna and the Seagull

Written by Michael Kerins

Far away from here, in the land of the mile high trees, a crow was being expelled from the tribe – old crows, young crows, all of them chased the crow away.

“Clear Off”, they squealed.

“Clear Off” they cackled.

“Clear out ‘n’ stay out” they screeched and squawked

In a great cacophony of angry noise and almost visible hatred, the rather nervous but beautiful shiny black bird flew far away from the mile high trees. No longer a chick ,and certainly not yet an adult, Crow had never fitted in to tribal ways. For some individuals colonies are not the best place to be. Crow flew and flew and flew across the open fields, high over cultivated and well-farmed land, far above open roads and narrow lanes. After some time Crow flew over a village surrounded by farms. One very large farm stretched all the way to a river. . It was a wide and very very deep river with steep sides on one bank that reached high and tried to touch the sky. Crow looked and saw a jetty. The jetty stretched far out into the river. The currents were fast flowing and well hidden, enabling a little boat to bob purposefully on the water. Crow landed nearest to the house, They were cold, round metal bars and they stretched in two lanes out from the house. The feet of Crow did not stand easily on these poles for although claws can grasp well to many surfaces, alas for Crow they do not grip to metal shiny rounded poles. At the far end of jetty on one side of Crow saw twenty one seagulls, as each seagull found a mate, pairs formed and flew away, squawking noisily, their cries filling the sky. After some moments, all the seagulls, save one, the lone twenty first bird, had left the jetty. Crow looked along and saw Seagull. Seagull looked and saw Crow. Each bird separate from its tribe, each alone on the jetty. The long jetty was not an ideal roost for either bird. The bars were rounded , steel-hard, cold, metallic and afforded no grip from Crow’s webbed feet. Nor did the jetty offer any benefit to Seagull whose flat webbed feet were in their own, but different way just as awkward. Seagull floundered slightly.

Crow looked at Seagull.

Seagull looked at Crow.

And again

Seagull looked at Crow.

Crow looked at Seagull.

Once more

Crow looked at Seagull.

Seagull looked at Crow.

Presently and without any warning the door of the house opened, a young pretty girl in her early teens stepped from her living room onto the jetty. A budding artist, she was going to collect some flowers from her father’s garden. She had waited for some days to collect them for she wanted to paint. Her art was everywhere she painted since childhood and could sculpt and draw very humorous cartoons and was skilled in water colouring. These tiny blooms that she was just about to pick, were destined to become immortal in her soft delicate water-colours where even tiny raindrops would be captured and set on her picture forever.

The combination of noise, movement and a human meant that the birds flew away from the jetty. Crow turned away from the river and soared. Seagull followed as Crow soared so did Seagull. As Crow swooped Seagull swooped too, soon they flew in harmony. First Crow led, in direction, pace and style, and then Seagull led after a little while. When Crow had resumed pole position, a raw homing drew the leader homewards and after a little while Crow had flown back to the mile high trees. Seagull followed and presently they landed some distance away from the colony. The mile high trees were all but empty, as the tribe had gone out foraging and scavenging. The weather was bright and sunny and the wind from the south was refreshing and cooling. Safe and comfortable on the ground,

Crow looked at Seagull.

Seagull looked at Crow.

And again

Seagull looked at Crow.

Crow looked at Seagull.

Once more

Crow looked at Seagull.

Seagull looked at Crow.

The birds had landed on a large flat area, the soil had been newly tilled a day or so previously and although the easy pickings had long gone the relatively fresh tilling meant that worms, grubs and other small creatures would be easy to find. Crow ate a few, greedily, quickly and for no reason Crow lifted a worm and threw it in the direction of Seagull. Seagull caught the worm, simply, with grace. The earth was rendered and it was a simple task to find worms. The two friends, for by now they were friends, worked as a team. The soil was perfect for Crow and as claws and beak delivered worms, they both devoured with relish and gusto. The friends had been feasting for a while when the crow colony returned. When they saw Crow and Seagull they called them names, they bullied and shouted that Crow had already been told to leave. One old and

well respected crow called out

“We told you to leave here and you have defied us. Worse than that you mock us by bringing back a Seagull”

Crow did not know what a Seagull was and continued to throw worms in Seagull’s direction. Again the crow elder called “Stop this at once! It’s unnatural, it’s abnormal, and it’s against the will of nature.

Seagull did not understand crow language but tone and anger needed no translation. The young crows of the tribe, ridiculed Seagulls appearance – flat feet, bare yellow beak and grey and white feathers.

Racism is as racism does. An unseen signal, at least a signal that was unseen by Crow and Seagull unleashed wrath and anger from the crow tribe. The whole clan squealed and squawked and with anger and serious aggression they attacked the two friends.

Crow had been expelled and thrown from the tribe for the very individuality that made return impossible even potentially fatal.

Immediately Seagull and Crow flew fast as they could.

The oldest crow, a nasty bitter female crow shouted abuse at Crow

“ its unnatural, stick to your own kind”

Crow thought

“ my own kind – my own kind but my own kind don’t want me “

Other crows joined in squealing and squawking terrible abuse about the stupidity of yellow beaks and the absurdity of flat feet and the ugliness of white and grey feathers.

Seagull did not understand these words, as they were in a foreign language. Crow, who understood the language did not understand them at all. – for in truth Crow’s own kind had been responsible for the very exclusion. That exclusion had taken Crow from the mile high trees, to the jetty in the first place.

The pair flew high and fast leaving the squabbling evil mouthed band of bigots behind them. They flew back across the band of flat earth back across the line of the river. They soared high and swooped low passing over a beautiful young deer as she grazed on lush grass below her feet. Her fawn, dappled with white spots against the golden brown hide was barely a few days old, staggered close by. Pastoral bliss yet tranquillity and terror juxtaposed by on a couple of hundred feet. Unaware of the birds, the deer ate grass and new shoots from the trees on the edge of the forest, vigilant more than ever.

The birds flew on. Instinct told them both, “we cannot go back to the mile high trees” Instinct told Crow to follow Seagull. Seagull’s place was on the river, and no sooner than Seagull had landed in the water, Crow joined Seagull in the water. Seagull was absolutely at home there. Beak, feathers, feet all designed to ensure that Seagull was efficient in that domain. Crow had none of these advantages genetics and evolution had afforded Crow nothing of benefit in the watery kingdom where Seagull excelled. Instantly Crow was in difficulty. The feathers became waterlogged; the feet were useless for paddling or steering. The bird began to sink.

Struggling, Crow slipped under the water. The commotion on the surface drew the attention of great predators below, predators large enough to swallow a bird whole. Indeed many of Seagulls own clan had disappeared from the surface of the river, plundered from below and never seen again. If strong healthy birds were unfortunate enough to loose concentration on their home surface, and be swallowed whole. A drowning crow would perish in moments. A great fish, a sturgeon, pushed through the icy cold, fast flowing, and clear blue waters, faster and faster. Seagull swooped. The sturgeon swam. The seagull under passed Crow lifting clear and free of danger. The fish lunged…… The birds were out of the water. Sturgeon followed leaping out of the water breaking the surface moments after the two friends. Sturgeon opened its mouth to swallow them both, but gravity pulled and the fish splashed back to the murky depths with an enormous thump sending water cascading everywhere. Crow clung and stretched out across Seagull’s shoulders. Crow was saturated and completely waterlogged. Seagull was as dry as a bone!

The paradox of point of purpose. Whatever the creator wanted for Crow in shape of beak, feet or density of feathers was in truth the opposite of that design for Seagull. After a little while, they landed on a rocky promontory. The wet bird plodded to safety staggering to a rocky outcrop. Seagull utterly exhausted, nevertheless helped Crow to a flat narrow rock and there the two birds lay in the sun and baked. After a few hours the sun had done it’s job. Crow’s feathers were drying and restored to him. The friends fed each other, looked after each other, and loved each other. But they had nowhere to go. A certain, visible death awaited them at the mile high trees, and death too stalked, invisible in the unseen, unknown depths of the river. They had nowhere to go. Nowhere, except of course, the jetty, where they had first met each other. Without thinking or planning they went there together. Each unsteady as their individual feet found difficulty in grabbing, groping grasping the cold metal poles. Webbed feet are not designed for these poles, they are too rounded and too smooth for seagulls to hold on to. Crows feet need surfaces with more purchase, more holding power. They were unsuitable in that place, but they were safe and they had each other. When they looked in the river they did not see the wrong beak, the wrong feet, the wrong colour of feather. They saw friendship, deep true friendship. Perfect that cared nothing for the colour of feathers or style of feet. They leant over the jetty stared at each other in the calm still water.

Crow looked at Seagull.

Seagull looked at Crow.

And again

Seagull looked at Crow.

Crow looked at Seagull.

Once more

Crow looked at Seagull.

Seagull looked at Crow.

And they saw a friendship in reflection.

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