The Crane and the Spear
by Nolan Williams
[Author’s note] Prior to the discovery of bird migration in 1822, many theories tried to explain where some bird species were disappearing to in winter. All of the ideas put forth in this story were at one time actual theories proposed by naturalists.
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Germany, 1820
There were a dozen or so others in the meeting hall when Hans arrived. Many of them looked up when he walked in and nodded or waved, but all of their faces were strained or furrowed with deep lines of thought.
Liam Fischer, the organizer of the meeting, spoke: “Other than Jonas, everyone is here, so we should get started. I know that many of you still need to tend to your animals for the day, and I do, too, so we’ll try to move through this quickly if we can.”
There were sounds of approval from around the table.
“Thank you for coming. A few weeks ago, when we decided to make this meeting, I told you that I would write to some of the contacts I have around Germany, and the problem seems to be everywhere. A friend from Salzburg said it’s happened again in Austria and in Lichtenstein, too.”
Several faces around the table looked frightened, a few of the men gasped.
“So, the birds have gone away again?” asked Anton Wagner, shaking his head.
“My family counts on the geese and the ducks, that’s what we eat most of the time before the piglets are grown. But as soon as it gets cold, off they go,” Hans said.
“We, too,” Liam said, holding his hands up in an attempt to quell the rising voices. “But let’s not panic, that’s why we’re here. I invited you all because you are the smartest men I know, and you have a good understanding of this country. Together, I think we can figure out where the birds are going and either get them back or figure out a way around this. Jonas Schmidt is coming later and told me that he’s bringing something that will help clear all this up.”
A few people around the table nodded, including Hans.
“But not all the birds go every year,” Max Lange said. “My chickens have never gone anywhere, and they were still in place this morning.”
“You keep the coop locked?” Anton asked.
Max nodded. “At night, but they’re out in the yard during the day.”
“That’s it then,” Anton said, getting to his feet. “Some bastard probably came in at night and took all the birds that weren’t locked up.”
Max frowned but didn’t say anything.
“How would he do that?” Hans asked. “And where would he keep them?”
“In his own coop,” Anton said, as if the idea should have occurred to anyone. “He’s got them all. Got all of them to himself.”
Several heads were shaking around the table. Luka rubbed his forehead and looked down at the tabletop.
“Okay, maybe, maybe,” Liam said. “What are some other thoughts? Where else could they be going?”
Marcus Krause leaned forward and cleared his throat. “Many times, when I’ve been at the river, I’ve seen ducks and geese dive down into the water. At the time, I thought they were eating something, but maybe they have some home down there? Maybe they’re digging houses in the riverbed like moles?”
“But they’re gone for months at a time,” Anton said, standing up and pounding one of his fists on the table. “They’d drown right off.”
Marcus stood, too, “But thousands and thousands of them being stolen in the night and kept in a gigantic coop that none of us have seen, that’s more likely? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, please,” Liam cut in, “there are no bad ideas here. That’s why we’ve come together, to come up with anything that strikes us.”
With furrowed brows and snarled lips, the two men continued to look at one another, but both were quiet for the moment.
Liam cleared his throat and spoke again. “So far, the propositions are that they’ve been stolen and hidden away or that they’ve submerged themselves underwater and might be able to do so indefinitely. What else?”
Anton sat back down in his seat and looked around at the others, silently challenging them to come up with an idea that was better than his.
“Around my land,” Max began, “I’ve been seeing — as recent as this morning — more carrion birds. I saw some vultures eating a rabbit yesterday, and last week I saw a flock of eagles circling above my fields, more than I’ve ever seen before. Maybe the birds that are missing have changed into something else? Maybe they’re all vultures and chickens and eagles now?”
No one spoke. Anton tilted his eyes down toward the floor for a moment. Not a bad idea, Hans thought. And thinking back over the last few weeks, maybe he’d been seeing more birds like that, too.
“That’s not a bad idea,” someone on the other side of the table said, echoing Hans’ thoughts. “But I’ve never seen one change, or seen one in the middle of changing.”
“Me neither,” Max said, “but maybe they do it underwater. Go down there in the tunnels, like Marcus said, but then they come out looking like something else.”
A few heads around the table nodded. Hans felt himself nodding.
“How would we know?” Liam asked. “How would you check that?”
Max thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. “Seems like you’d have to trap one of them in a cage or something and watch it til it changed back. But when you went to catch it, I don’t see how you’d know if it was a real vulture or just a pretender.”
“Okay,” Liam said. “Next time someone can shoot one of these vultures down, we’ll see if maybe it looks different or if there’s parts of another little bird in there or something. Max, do you think you can trap one like you said?”
Max nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
The people around the table murmured in agreement.
Liam began to count on his fingers. “So, someone’s taken them, they’re hiding underwater, or they’re changing into other birds. We got a good list but let’s keep going.” He looked over at the door for a moment, then back to the table.
Fredrich Braun laid his palms down on the tabletop and leaned a few inches forward. “Before all this, I hadn’t really thought about it, but there have been a number of times in which I’ve seen a bird flying up into the sky, growing smaller and smaller, until they disappeared. And times, mostly at night, when birds seem to just appear from above me, lit up by the moon. And lately I’ve been thinking that’s where they’re going: to the moon.”
The room was quiet as the men around the table digested the theory, several heads began to nod.
“Maybe they’re changing into vultures and eagles up there, I don’t know, but if I was a bird, I might try to hide out, maybe sleep up there for a while.”
“The moon,” Anton said, rising to his feet again. “It’s got to be a hundred miles up there. A few months ago, Eric and I tried to hit it with his longbow and you know how far that thing can shoot — didn’t even come close. No bird can fly that far. You’ve all seen them out there, they fly a few hundred feet and then set down on a tree or in the grass to rest.”
“I don’t know,” Hans said, “I’ve seen birds just appearing up there at night sometimes. Like they came from further away than I could see.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Anton asked, hitting his palms against the tabletop again. “You saw them at night? When you can barely see anything? This is nonsense. They’ve been stolen, clear as day.”
“Anton, please!” Hans said. “We’re just trying to come up with ideas here, stop crapping on everyone who doesn’t immediately agree with you, and please sit down.”
Anton hesitated for a moment and again looked angrily around the table, but eventually he sat back into his chair with a huff.
A chair near the rear of the room squeaked against the floor as a young man, Ernst, slid an inch or so toward the table. He cleared his throat once, twice, apparently having trouble removing whatever obstruction lay lodged in there. On the third try he appeared to succeed and finally began to speak.
“As a child, my mother told me stories about a group of small people who live far away from here, down in the hot arid lands of Africa. Pygmies, she called them, and once a year, during the winter months, the Pygmies would travel to the shorelines in search of chickens and crane eggs. At other times of the year, the Pygmies all but starved, and this was their one chance to eat well and feed their children. But as they arrived at the shore, every year, they were met by an army. An army of giant cranes that only appeared during their pilgrimage to the shore and upon seeing the Pygmies, the cranes attacked.”
Some of the men around the table gasped. Even Anton lost the angry look that had covered his face for most of the meeting and looked toward the door as though one of the cranes might be waiting for him on the other side.
“Some years, the Pygmies were strong and came with large numbers and they were able to eat well. Other years, though,” he looked down at the table and shook his head, “Other years, the cranes were stronger and pushed the Pygmies back toward the dry and barren inlands. Sometimes the cranes pushed the Pygmies so far back that they took their lands and their homes, ate their women and children and what little crops they’d been able to cultivate in the harsh, dry climate.”
Ernst cleared his throat again. “Maybe when the birds leave, it’s to invade and conquer some other place. This might be the time of their crusades. They might even be close, attacking some place like France or Poland right now? What if someday they all come here in the winter and try to do the same thing?”
The room was quiet again, each man looking down at the tabletop in deep contemplation.
“Maybe we don’t want them back?” Ernst said.
Again, Anton got to his feet and slapped his hands down on the table. “This news, and I think you all agree with me, is absolutely terrifying. It could still be that the birds have been taken somewhere and are being held but, if what this young man says is true, and I don’t think we have any reason to doubt him, we should stand ready to kill any returning birds on sight.”
Several of those around the table voiced words of agreement. Max slapped his hand on the table in support.
“Wait, wait!” Liam said, “I appreciate young Ernst’s insights into this matter, but again, this is just a thinking session, a reasoning session. Not an excuse for us to go on a bird-killing spree when we know nothing more now than we did an hour ago. It is something to be looked into, I agree, but nothing that we should be acting on until we have more information.”
“I agree with Liam,” Hans said, also getting to his feet. “No bird has ever attacked me, nor have I ever feared attack from a bird. And this story, although interesting, may be just that: a story. As Liam has said many times today, we have several ideas about what may have happened to the birds and we need to take some time and investigate each of them before coming to any kind of conclusion.
“And I would like to add one more theory for the group to consider. Twice in my life I have been lucky enough to escape the cruel and overbearing German winter by journeying south to warmer climates. Although somewhat difficult, it was worth the trip, because one does not constantly need to maintain a fire, food is more readily available, and snow does not cover the ground. It seems possible to me that these birds could have developed a similar idea.”
Anton immediately began to laugh and was quickly joined by a number of others. He did not stand when he began to speak this time, but leaned forward placing his elbows on the table.
“That is ludicrous, Hans, by far the dumbest idea we’ve heard today.” He laughed again. “The birds like to winter in the tropics? That’s your theory? That somehow these idiot creatures have come to understand the complex workings of global climates and go so far as to plan their vacations? Maybe they have maps tucked in their back pockets too? Or have them drawn on the underside of their wings?” He laughed again and slapped the table. More people laughed with him, including Ernst and Luka.
Hans frowned and began to shout over the tumult. “You just agreed that it’s possible that they go to Africa to invade villages, how is this so much more ridiculous?”
Anton began to shake his head. “Ernst’s theory is that these birds are mindless, ruthless, killing machines that go where the taste of blood and the greed for land leads them. You’re suggesting that they plan and take vacations during the winter in order to spend time on the beach and try new cuisines. The two theories are miles from one another.”
Ernst was smiling and nodding. A man to his left patted him on the back.
The door to the meeting room was thrown open and crashed against the wall, all present stopped laughing and joking and jerked their heads toward the source of the sound. There in the doorway stood Jonas Schmidt, his hat askew from the building wind, his beard peppered with small twigs and bits of leaves, and his boots caked with mud. Dangling from one hand was a large, ruffled crane, clearly dead, and from its neck there protruded a two, maybe two-and-a-half-foot stick that was wide and sharpened at one end. A spear, Hans realized.
Without speaking, Jonas stepped forward and tossed the crane’s carcass onto the table. Everyone stood and leaned forward to run their eyes over the specimen. Ernst covered his mouth and began to shake his head back and forth. “I shot this bird down yesterday, and that spear was already in its neck,” Jonas said. “Brought it here from somewhere.”
Ernst cleared his throat. “That’s a Pygmy spear,” he said softly. “My mom used to draw me pictures of them. Looked just like that.”
Liam glanced up at Hans for a moment, then back to the bird. “So, Ernst is right. Clearly this bird has come here from some battle in Africa, which means that the rest of them might soon be on their way.”
Anton and several others got to their feet.
“But isn’t it possible that the bird was just hit with a spear? That it was being hunted there just like we hunt them here?” Hans asked, his voice rising as he was forced to compete with the increasing sounds of panic in the room.
“Who would hunt with something like that?” Jonas asked, pointing at the table. “Hunters use guns or bows — that there is a weapon of war. We need to prepare ourselves before it’s too late.”
Hans looked around the table once more, but it was clear that the debate was over. Heads were nodding at him from all directions and many were already moving toward the door to prepare for the oncoming battle. To ready their homes and families for the great bird invasion that was soon to come.
“There’s a bird there,” he heard someone shout from out in the street. A moment later there was a volley of gunfire followed by a chorus of celebrating voices.
Copyright © 2021 by Nolan Williams
