X )   F E B U A R Y , 1 9 4 5   -   T H E   G I F T   O F   T H E   B I R D S ,   I N D I G I R K A   R I V E R   D E T L A

The small island of matted reeds sits becalmed in the great marshes, motionless. There is no wind, no current, even thought has ceased to move. Meanwhile, animals go about their business, purposely avoiding the island and its creeping inertia. Peter stares blankly into the water, wondering how he came to be in this swoon.
Then, a large spoonbill lands gracefully on raft; a short while later it is joined by a heron and a mud-hen; then a warbler, a group of mallards, and a large goose. They continue to come: a woodpecker, two grouse and an egret; a cormorant, a fulmar, a flock of bush wrens; a kestrel, a shrike, a mavis; three widgeons, a pair of grosbeak, a penguin, a guillemot, and several ostrich; an albatross, 5 quetzal, a kookoobura, an emu, a road runner, a gryphon. As more and more birds arrive, a thin glaze of water appears on the island’s surface as it starts to sink under the weight of so many plumed aviators. Finally all are in attendance; silently they sit, staring at the astonished Peter. The spoonbill, with the air of a diplomat, steps forward and speaks:
“German, we have seen you fly. Our brothers the sparrows have seen you in the dirty sky above the chimneys of the city. Our brothers the petrels have seen you leap from the cliffs and glide between the stacks and arches above the stormy sea. Our brothers the storks have seen you riding the thermals in the scorched whiteness above the desert floor. German, we have seen you building wings!”
A ripple of rustling feathers passes through the bird-mass; Peter stares at an emu and wonders in a vague sort of way what is troubling him about this strange pageant. The crowd opens to reveal a small, wizened, chewink; there is a hushed, reverential silence.
“German, behold the King of the Birds!”
Awed, Peter bows reflexively.
“German, the King, who has been King since the day the first story was told, is old. Look at his left wing, it has succumbed to time - he can no longer fly!” Squawks and chirps pass through the crowd. In this lucid, hazy mind state Peter is sure he hears “Amens” and “Hallejulahs” in the mass of bird-speak.
“German, we ask you to build a wing for the King of Birds!” (continue)