Hawfinches
Feng Jicai

What a fine pair of hawfinches myfriend has given me! I put them in a simple bamboo cage with a bundle of strawto make them a warm and comfortable nest.

Some say this bird fears people.

I hung the cage in the window,where a pot of luxuriant spider plant hid the cage behind small green leaveswhich sprouted from their trailing stems, making the birds feel as peaceful asif they were in the woods. Their flute-like warbling became happy andunrestrained.

The sun shone through the windowso that the small, spear-shaped leaves sparkled like pieces of jade,fascinating and exuberant. The birds hopped hither and thither behind theleaves; neither they nor their nest could be clearly seen, only their scarletbeaks reaching out from amongst the leaves.

I would rarely part the foliage towatch them. But, gradually, they began to stretch out their heads to take alook at me. Bit by bit we became acquainted with each other.

Three months later I heard a sharpyet delicate peep from behind the lush leaves. I guessed they had a nestling. Itried not to look at it or frighten it with my curious eyes when feeding them.A few days later a tiny head appeared between the stems: the chick! So this wasthe little fellow.

It was small enough to stealbetween the bars. How much it resembled its mother: red beak and feet,grey-blue feathers, but as yet without the pearl-like white dots on the back,as plump as a ball of fluff.

To begin with it would only playnear the cage, and then it began flying about the room from the cabinet to thebookshelf — where it boldly pecked at the illustrious names of theintellectuals — sending the light cord swinging from side to side and escapingto the top of the picture frame. Yet as soon as the mother bird gave an angrypeep, it would quickly fly home.

I did not disturb it. Later when Iopened the window it just flew as far as the window sill.

Gradually it gained the confidenceto land on my desk. First it kept its distance from me, then hopped nearer,then stood upon my glass and eventually lowered its head to drink my tea. Whenit turned to look at me, I smiled and continued to write, and it plucked up thecourage to run on to my manuscript and hop around the nib of my pen, makingscratching noises with its little red claws.

I wrote on in silence, quietlyenjoying the little thing's companionship. This put it completely at ease. Itwould even peck my bobbing nib with its waxy red bill. I stroked its sleek downand instead of being afraid, it would give my fingers two friendly pecks.

In the daytime it was mymischievous companion; when the shades of night fell it flew back to the cageas its parents' repeated calls and, with a twist of its dumpy form, squeezed inbetween the green leaves.

One day it landed on my shoulderwhile I was hunched over the desk writing. I automatically halted my pen, forfear of scaring it away. I froze for a moment, and when I turned my head thelittle chap had gone to sleep perched on my shoulder, its eyes liddedsilver-grey and its little red feet covered by the long down on its breast. Igently shrugged my shoulder without waking it. It was sound asleep, its beakstill working. Was it dreaming?

Feeling flowed from my nib at thatinstant:

Trust makes a better world.