Maggie

Arthur gazed lovingly at the bird sitting next to him on the garden bench. He leaned over and whispered, so his wife couldn’t hear. “You’re looking particularly beautiful today, Maggie.”

Maggie fluffed out her black and white feathers, squatted, and blurted out a bird turd. Arthur sighed. His wife was always going on about the bird droppings, like they could help it! Maggie pecked hopefully at his pocket. He always had treats hidden away in there, and he didn’t disappoint her this time. He took out a packet of mealworms and the bird delightedly scoffed down a handful before squatting out another turd and flying off, singing happily.

A minute of silence, then the shrill voice of the harpy he was married to split the air like splintering glass.

“Arthur! Arthur!” she yelled. “Where are you? The garbage ain’t gonna take itself out, you useless …” the rest of it faded out as she moved towards the back of the house to see if he was maybe hiding in the grass on the back lawn.

He sighed and eased himself to his feet. “Out the front, dear.”

His wife, Agnes, stormed around the corner of the house like an avenging angel of death. “What are you doing out …”. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Maggie’s leavings. “You better not have been feeding those dirty birds again. Look at the mess it’s made! Who’s gonna clean that up?”

“I will, dear” said Arthur, unrolling the garden hose and spraying the bench clean.

“Well don’t mind about that now! I’ve asked you three times to take the garbage out, and you could mow the back yard, ANYTHING could be hiding in it. Snakes!”

Pfft, thought Arthur. Like they’d bite you, you poisonous old bag.

“But no,” continued Agnes. “You’d rather be out here with those flea-bitten birds than helping your own wife …” Arthur tuned out. Blah blah blah.

Arthur’s resentment bubbled and burbled in his stomach. He worked five and a half days a week while his wife sat on her widening butt watching her daytime soaps and feeding snacks into her gaping maw. Surely a man deserved one day off to relax and do what he enjoyed!

He finished his chores while Agnes watched him and followed him to make sure he did what he was told. He half hoped that a snake would bite him while he mowed the lawns, but who would look after his birds once he was out of his misery? Maybe he could throw the snake at Agnes, who was smoking a cigarette and still running at the mouth, describing his shortcomings as a man and a husband, and bemoaning the fact that she hadn’t hooked somebody better. Blah blah blah.

Chores finished, Arthur showered off the itchy grass cuttings that clung spitefully to his skin, then heated up some soup for them both. His stomach turned as he listened to her rude slurping. Like a pig in a trough, he thought. A particularly obnoxious sow. A stream of cigarette smoke drifted across the remainder of his soup as she lit up one of her interminable cigarettes, killing what was left of his appetite.

He went to the fridge and, blocking her view of what he was doing, pulled out some cheese and a packet of cubed beef. His birds were waiting for him at the front door, hopping and flapping with him as they accompanied him to the bench. Wow, there had to be better than twenty magpies now in his little feathered family.

Agnes followed him out and watched as the birds gently took the food from his fingers.

“And look at what they get fed! Better than canned soup and a slice of bread,” she steamed. They are costing us a damned fortune!” Arthur glanced disparagingly at the cigarette clamped in her fingers. Agnes scowled, her mean face reddening and wrinkling.

Arthur breathed in deeply, searching for a nugget of calm. “I’ve got to go away for two days for a work conference,” he began. “I was hoping you could feed my birds while I’m away. I’ll pay you,” he added with contempt.

“I’ll do it for a hundred bucks, and you better leave the food. I’m not wasting my time and money …” blah blah blah.

He nodded stiffly, agreeing without listening. Two days away! Oh Lord, what bliss.

Arthur set out early the next morning before Agnes was awake. His carry bag and laptop sat on the passenger seat, his only companions. He spent a few minutes saying goodbye to Maggie and fed her and a couple of her friends some grubs he’d found during the previous day’s gardening, and ran his finger down her neck and between her wings. “I’ll be back in a couple of days,” he whispered. “Agnes will take care of you.” Maggie had a deeply cynical look on her face, but that was probably his imagination.

Two days later, Arthur came home, refreshed from his two-day break. He saw his magpies on the front lawn, scuffling and singing while they ate. Oh well, he thought. At least Agnes kept her word about feeding them.

He looked closer. He caught glimpses of something pale beneath the clustering birds. What was that? Was that … A pale bloody hand broke through the black and white flock. One of the birds jumped on it and started stripping flesh from the fingers.

Arthur went inside and had breakfast.