Of swimming, shells, and change

      Being human is disgusting. Being on the Moors in summertime is disgusting. And I am disgusted.      I am stuck in a stalemate. I can't stay in my shirt — apparently, the darker your clothes, the worse the merciless July sun bakes you. I can’t take it off either — I already tried that yesterday, and now I am red all over and in pain every second that I am exposed. I can’t stay on the ground — here it’s stuffy, here you feel the heat even through the soles of your shoes, here fluff is flying from the trees into the air, making my beak... my nose... making it itch. I can’t even go into the water — too deep, too dangerous, too—      “Diaval, are you nailed to the ground? Get into the water.”      She stands knee-deep, holding a light dress. She did not stray from her new image in the summer and remained in black, and therefore I, as the only member of her team, am supposed to wear the same colour. Not that I wear black solely for her sake... But you'd be surprised to know that ravens wouldn't refuse to be a different shade for a while. Of course, black is the most beautiful and noble colour, but in fact, ravens are not so black after all. Our feathers gleam green and purple when the sun shines on us. There hasn't been a real sun on the Moors for a long while, heat wave notwithstanding. Still, I think green would become me. But it’s no use talking about it. New clothes Mistress bestows me with are not only too open — does she thinks I don’t notice that not a single man exposes his chest in a shirt like that? — but also identical to the ones I got on the very first day of our acquaintance. Mind you, the ones I got from none other than a field scarecrow. Still can't believe that a raven is reduced to wear rags that belonged to a scarecrow.      What was I saying?.. She is standing in the water, glancing back at me over her shoulder. I must say, she looks good — in terms of beauty a bird can notice in the creature of her kind. You wouldn’t say for sure if a rat is beautiful, or a squirrel, would you. That squirrel may be considered the beauty queen of her kind, but you will be none the wiser. Therefore the only thing I can make assumptions on when it comes to her is her beautiful hair, so rarely released from the leather fetters of that headdress, and her eyes. I used to be afraid to look her in the eye. But our relationship used to be different, too. Now it’s a little easier. Now I can see the colour change from blue to green to brown to golden. Ravens have blue eyes as hatchlings and black as we age — the change is one of the things we consider a sign of growing up. Mistress’ eyes are blue, and brown, and a kind I have never seen ravens have. Beautiful.      “Get into the water, Diaval, or I will turn you back.”      Oh, the fright! I’d better go and get into that hostile water lest she turms me back to my actual body!.. Isn’t this ridiculous: for some reason, Mistress is under the impression that my true form is a punishment of sort. Well, I’m not keen on dissuading her. Her delusion gives me a chance to unnerve her enough to become myself again. I don't think she knows, but being human is very tiring. The head hurts, the bones ache, the skin itches as though all your feathers have been plucked out, and then it’s hard to breathe because, apparently, even breathing is something humans do differently. Have I mentioned that my head hurts? Thoughts never used to require forming into words and sentences before, and even after some getting used to it it’s still a torture. Especially when you have to turn what usually just flashes in your head, like a lightning, into long structured sequences of words passing your lips. In fact, she would do me a favour by turning me back. I was a man all morning and my brain is melting. In my own body... in my own body, I might even try to bathe. At least that way I know how to do it safely, neatly. Nothing about the human body is neat, and nothing is safe.      “Those who were born to fly do not swim,” I say with my head held high. I don't look at the lake. Deep.      Maleficent smiles.      “Is that so? But I can swim.”      Well, good for you, what can I say. I am not surprised that you can swim, mistress, despite having had wings. Of course you can swim, mistress. I doubt there is anything you can’t do, mistress. I'm glad you're like a duck. So swim to your heart’s content, and I will stay where it is dry and safe. Ducks in water get shot and caught with the fish.      “So can I,” I say. I even believe it. I have swum, a couple of times! During spawning, when only the lazy ones don’t catch fish. “But... but yesterday you refused to return my hollow to me, so I can refuse to swim with you in favour of sleep.”      Just the other day somebody’s wondrous magic (I won’t point fingers) not only healed some damage done to the bark of one tree miles away, but also closed what was one of my sleeping quarters. Yes, she did not know I lived there. It's not safe to tell others where you live. But I had to declassify it to ask her to give me back my damn home. Oddly enough, she refused and, all in all, found the situation hilarious. Well. Watch this, then. I am a servant, not a slave. Leave vassalage to humans. As a servant, I think I deserve adequate working conditions. First of all, some sleep.      Mistress looks back. If she could allow herself that, I'm sure she would burst into laughter. It’s evident in her eyes. But she only says, “What a resentful bird you are, Diaval,” and her voice has something vaguely sad about it. Well I’ll be... damned…      “Are you disappointed?”      To think of it... If I just stand in the water by the shore... This is a lake, not the Irish Sea. I will not be washed away by the oncoming wave. And I am bigger now, I am human… I am in a human body… water can't just wash me away. And I will be in the water, just like she wants.      The fairy takes a deep breath and dives in the way I used to when I’d fish in the Boyne. Except I’d get back up at once and fly to the shore to butcher the flouncing body. Or — this happened only once, but I’ll never forget it — to negotiate with a bear. We helped each other fish: he took the fat part for himself, as he was about to go dormant, and I took the meat part. I would call it teamwork, but I was not really doing much. I can’t quite hold a candle to a bear, can I.      I wonder... Even if Maleficent is all the more ferocious and obviously stronger than a bear, am I helping her in any way? Does she see my service useful, or is she already tired of me?      She sticks her head out a little. Outlines of horns, her hair shining. Her dress a dark cloud around her. Doesn't turn around but...      “I'd rather look for shells.”      I hear her laugh, she dives again. Out of sight. She laughed. Everyone laughs at it, but I like collecting trinkets. In my nest, in my hollow, there were all kinds of beautiful, shiny things, the blues and the greens. Pebbles, shells, glass, clay, feathers, claws, moss and fur, teeth, bones, hairpins, combs, flowers. And she sealed it shut. I need to recoup the losses.      So I am collecting things from the shore for a good minute or more — I am waiting for her to return. How come she can swim? Isn't she half-bird? I used to like the thought. That we have something in common. I, too, am only half a bird now, for all my trash collecting, and ravenous eating, and water avoiding.        Or maybe her distant ancestor birds, if there were any — were swans? Anything is possible. Were her wings white, then? I’ve never seen them. But I’ve seen pictures of humans with white wings in some beautiful buildings. I think they’d suit her. But she also has horns. There are pictures of horned creatures in those buildings too, but they look different. They seem to represent evil. Is she considered evil, then? Humans call all kinds of evil things “the Devil” — that's what they call me, too. We are both considered their enemies. Do we have that in common?      Is she still underwater? She probably swims fast, she would have made it back already. If she doesn't show up on the count of ten, I'll go after. One. Two. I am a raven, not some crow. I can’t be afraid of water. Three. Four. Five. I have fished with a bear. Flown over the Irish Sea. Six. Seven. Become a likeness of a man. Experienced magic. Eight. Handed my life away to a fairy. Nine. Even if she is tired of me. Got to help her. Even if she doesn’t... Ten.      I dive underwater. Wet. Cold! Clothes are stuck. Pull me down. Hands... what do I do with hands? She is nowhere to be seen. Water in my beak! I am a bird! Not a human, not a fish, not a bear, not a fairy. Fly away! How I am going to help? Air. We’re both going to drown instead. No. Up! I go up.      Sun... blinding. Good.      Open your eyes, damn it.      I see greenery. No water in the nose. Wonderful. Look around! Grab. Boulder. Hold onto it. Need to climb it. So I can see better. Up.      Up I look.      Her... Safe!     ...Well, well.      On this very boulder, my esteemed Mistress: streaks of water down her arms, hair wavy from water. Is her hair wavy? Never would have thought. Is my hair wavy?.. I'm soaking wet. But I'm alive! Heavens, what a horror this was. But she is laughing. And at me, dammit! Would you look at that. I want to look at that. But I wish she was smiling, not laughing. I wanted to help, and she’s laughing.      “What's so funny?” Bird pride takes its toll. My voice must bear no confidence, because Mistress laughs harder.      “I knew I would drag you into the water eventually.”      “What for?!” I say. Ears stuffed up, maybe I’m loud. The shirt is terrible on the skin, like someone sticky is touching me underwater.      “You would get sunburnt all over otherwise.”      “Did you have to disappear in the water?”      “You would not be persuaded otherwise,” she grins victoriously at me. She knows everything, everything, doesn't she? That I will give my life away, come she need it, and I will get underwater too? And she uses it like it costs me nothing. What a menace.      I'm tired and angry and frustrated and useless and ridiculed and homeless and cold and I want to sit down in a dry place.      I flap my hands on the water as I would flap my wings. Splash right at her. There you go. My sweet revenge. Her face falls. Wonderful.      “Oh, you scoundrel, just you wait!” and she leaps into the water right there. The boulder is free. I try to aim so that I can grab it with wet palms and climb up, but my legs are slipping and something— someone—      Water! Seized! Her? I snap my eyes open. I didn't hold my breath. Wring my hands — let me go! Seized tight. I am a bird. What am I doing here? I'm tired of not understanding you. She unclenches my fingers. I do not understand. Something in my palm. Bubbles in my face. No air? Got to breathe in, breathe in, brea— water!!! What am I doing! Fire inside. Up-up-up-up-up — I push off nothing. Fling my arms like a bird, like a man. Please help me.      I'm on the coast. It's a miracle, but I'm alive. Trying to clear my throat before I pass out or something. My mother never taught me to swim, and humans bathe twice in their lives, can’t watch them do it. Got to tell her all this. God, I am so tired. I'll build a new nest. I want to stay safe, isn't it clear? I've already lost my body, I don't have much left. Is it even possible to stay safe when you’re on Maleficent’s side? Apparently not, if I want to help her.      “You cannot swim.”      “Oh really? Forgot to mention I’m not a duck, sorry, mistress,” I snap, wrestling a sore throat. “Do you enjoy humiliating me, mistress?”      “It’s too easy to pass up the opportunity,” the fairy says. Well, isn’t that nice to hear. She must have been standing behind me — now she circles me. “Stop complaining,” voice stern. “I saved your life.”      “You nearly drowned me.”      Unbelievable, but Mistress seems to have nothing to object with. At any other moment, pride and gloating joy would overwhelm me, but my head is spinning, as though water is still gripping me in its cold, soulless embrace.      I have no strength — and no right — to quarrel with her. I am almost not angry anyway. Surely there is some meaning to her actions that is so far out of my depth. My service is my own decision, and I should have known from the very first transformation into another being that I would have to undergo various metamorphoses of my life.      I serve her because I want to help. Human thoughts are a very viscous, slow, tedious thing, but this one — biting, bright, born the very night her dark, slender, tall and lonesome burnt match of a figure crossed my path among gray ruins of an old castle — it stays buzzing somewhere on the back of my mind, which must mean it truly belongs to me. Maybe this thought — this audacious dream, to be precise — will be that stable thing carrying me on despite all the changes in my body, and my life, and my head. If I need to change to achieve it… so be it.      I look at the lake, trying to calm the trembling in the body. I like its colour, dirty blue, with touches of green, like her eyes, I like how it glitters in the rare, as if modest, rays of the dim sun. Maybe a little later… when Mistress is not here, when there is no one to disgrace myself to, when it gets a little warmer and I dry out… But not in the human body. I don't trust it. Yet.      “Mistress, turn me back, please.”      She is somewhere to my side — if I shake my head, get rid of some water, I might hear her better. But I feel Mistress approaching, standing over my pitiful figure, like a tower.      “Would your claws be as useful as a pair of hands with all these things?”      And her voice disappears again. Is there something in my hands? I unclench my fists, just remembering I have them.      The shells are larger than the ones on the shore, pearly white with a yellowish and pink coating, still wet and a little slippery, twisted like snail shells. I peer inside — vacant, no signs of life. But it's still too small to capture the sound of the sea — I check and make sure I am right. A few pebbles, all black — might turn gray when dried, but even so, not bad at all. Chips of something that looks like fish scales. I roll the tiny bits between my fingers as the colour slowly shifts from orange to pink and back again. Beautiful.      Thank you?      I turn around in her direction, head empty — she’d better not tell me this is what she disappeared into the water for — to give me — does she know what gifts mean to birds? — I’d better not take it close to heart — I wish to thank her, but there is no trace of her. It happens often, Mistress disappearing the very unfortunate moment I dare to turn away and be distracted, never leaving a clue as to where to find her. Maybe I shouldn’t, after all. I have things to do too.      Yes, I did not become a raven. My previous plan is gone. But I'll come up with a new one while I'm drying. That’s right.      I look back at the lake, looking for something in common with the river I used to fish on, the sea I flew over. The colour of gems immured at my home. And her eyes.