Bird on a Wire

I tended the religious land. That was my job in NV state prison. About 1.5 acres of land in the high desert smack in the middle of a maximum-security prison. This land is set aside for the Native Americans and Wiccans and the sorts of religions that don't worship indoors. If you kept your eyes low enough or high enough, you may miss the 10ft fence crowned with razor wire too so all in all, it was maybe my most tranquil times in the last decade of my life in prison was there, outside and watering the sage in little canals, willows and flowers... even a peach tree! Though the fruits were always dry as the weather.

I was mostly alone out there for 3-6 hours a day. I say "mostly" because there were a few cops posted in a gun tower about 100yds away that liked to remind me of their presence with loud guffaws breaking the silence or by making sure I saw them watching me through the rifle scope. Still, they couldn't ruin those moments of peace outside. Those are rare enough for anyone, but for a prisoner and especially for me, those times outside and away from the masses of people and noise are almost as cherished as times with family.

I really wasn't alone ever though. In the desert, life will find a way and may even thrive under the right circumstances; namely, water. I was delightfully aware of the little oasis I watered with hundreds of gallons every week. I had snakes and tarantulas and birds and wasps and a fox that I never actually saw but who left evidence of his loitering in little piles all over the little yard. By a similar method I knew there were owls that would frequent at night. I even saw a burrowing one that scared the bejesus out of me one morning.

These burrows, not to be confused with the several annoying moles that must have a hell of a metropolis below ground. I dropped a hose accidentally near one of their entries and came back 10 minutes later and... not a drop was spilled or running in the nearby canal. I don't know how many gallons were swallowed up in that neighborhood of theirs, but just a clue to how industrious the little rats are.

Even though the little buggers ate my sunflowers (stem up!) and were the cause of twisted ankles and rerouting canals. I left them alone. They at least seemed to appreciate the garden and they were a peaceful little species.

Not so the ravens.

Every morning I'd scatter the bologna sandwiches from the daily sack lunch and let the water run in the canals, reading for hours and listening to them croak and squawk and hop nearer and nearer but.. never close enough for me to touch! I never really tried, never betrayed my desire with a quick movement so as not to make them nervous. After a while, I figured I could just put the food in my hand and leave it, so with a big dirt mound I'd rest my hand there with a piece of bologna. I'd let them get close, but they never went for it. I'd wait an hour or more and... nothing. I just wanted to pet them. Little ingrates would take my food, gather round every morning, harass me if I was gone on a lock down, but wouldn't play with this earth-bound misfit.

There was a little one I named Clarice (no idea why). They all had names though: ravens, snakes, spiders and moles...) Clarice was dainty and maybe a she and maybe younger. She was definitely more trusting or daring than the others and she'd get closer than all of them: close enough that if I were to lean all the way over, stretch my arm waaaay out... I may have been able to touch her. I don't know how much I’m projecting my own humanity outward, but I swear some of the others were squawking at her in warning, but she'd defy them all. Maybe that’s why I liked her best. All of them liked the nasty meat the prison gave us, but I'd put a big piece near me, knowing the other ravens wouldn't get close and only Clarice would get it. She'd drag it away as soon as she got it, but still... we were close!

One morning, I stepped out to the yard to a ruckus. The birds were hacking and flapping around the top of the fence like they do when they see a hawk, swarming. I got a little closer and some of them cleared and I saw Clarice stuck in the concertina wire. It's made to cut and dig in when you struggle, and she wouldn't stop. She was strangely quiet like the rest of them, and the only sound was the jingling of chain-link fence moving under her convulsions.

I was right below her, within arm’s reach and I don't remember if I actually reached up or not, but I looked over and saw the cops in the tower watching me, leaning on the rifle. It was too far away to read any subtle facial expressions, but I imagine a sadistic smile on both. They're very liberal with the bullets in NV state. Even now, I'm nervous thinking about whether or not to reach up. If I touch the fence, that would be all the excuse they'd need and there are no cameras and no getting unshot.

I ran inside to ask the chaplain to please call the tower and tell them I was trying to get a bird out but in his usual uncaring way (ironic, right?) he ignored me, even after he realized that I wasn't trying to clear the goddamn fence and I didn't care when the crew whose job it is to do that would be by. I just knew she would die if something wasn't done quickly.

I went back outside, peeking and trying not to scare the ravens off because it kind of looked like... .they were trying to help her. I've read so many stories about how smart these birds are, and I was hopeful. I kept looking out here and there to see what was happening and also looking to the gun tower where the cops still stood making sure in their ever-vigilance that nothing compassionate should happen on their watch.

I don't know when she died but she stopped moving around late morning. By noon, I think she was done struggling. I went back to the cell block early. I don’t think I had much to begin with, but my faith in humanity wasted away so much in those few hours.

The next day, her body was on the ground on my side of the fence. I guess the cleaning crew had been by. The fox also had stopped in. Glossy black feathers were strewn in the little yearling willow branches. I don't blame him. I blame the people who make fences that kill and the people who would have happily shot me had I tried to save her life.

This happened. This story isn't an allegory, and the bird isn't my soul or anything. Or maybe... well it could mean more than I realize. I find lessons all over the place these days.