month had passed since I left my house—or rather, my mother’s house—where I had endured my long and painful period of unemployment. In the end, a company in the capital district broke my streak of bad luck. The company hired me as a janitor and allowed me to live in a beautiful and cozy house. The home, located in a small and rugged suburb, had three bedrooms. The company authorized me to bring two companions. In the end, I moved in alone.
A few days later, my mother took pity on my loneliness and came to visit me. I told her that the house belonged to a well-known financial multinational, which had claimed property rights after a long legal process. She brought me two gifts: a delicious goat roast, which I devoured instantly, and a charming parrot, which she had bought at the market supposedly to keep me company.
“What do I feed it?”
“Chocolate and bread, mijo,” she replied before getting into the taxi.
I hung the cage in the patio and opened the door. The sweet bird looked at me with her large, round orange eyes. Using her pale, sharp beak, she climbed down from the cage and walked across the tiled patio floor. Her wings had been clipped, and she couldn’t fly. I grabbed the broom handle. She happily climbed on, and I carefully carried her back to her cage.
Her feathers were green like the branches of the guayacan trees that bordered the house. A large yellow patch adorned her head like a crown. I imagined her ruling over a flock of Amazons from her comfortable and well-crafted wooden throne, worthy of a queen. Soon, I noticed the black color of her beak and the red feathers on her wings. Her femininity became clear.
As a good Catholic, I believed all living beings should be baptized. What name would I give this charming creature? I remembered the sweet girl with cinnamon skin and bright honey-colored eyes whom I had met during my university internship. Our love was beautiful and fleeting like a spring flower. When the internship ended, she left for the capital in search of a better future, and I wept inconsolably over her absence. I decided to name the bird after her: Lucrecia.
My feathered friend adapted to home life. Lucrecia fluttered silently throughout the house. I, on the other hand, spent my days cloistered in my room, which I had turned into a study space.
At dusk, I called my mother.
“Alexito, my love,” she greeted sweetly.
Lucrecia listened attentively to the phone conversation.
Though sweet and gentle, my companion was extremely taciturn. Her lack of extroversion began to worry me. I convinced myself that her inability to mimic human speech must be due to some physical limitation. That misfortune only made my love for Lucrecia grow stronger.
At midnight, her loud squawk woke me. I immediately ran to the patio and turned on the light. My presence startled the predator, which vanished into the shadows with feline agility. I never left her cage open again.
One day, I forgot to give her the usual bread with chocolate. Her piercing squawk woke me at dawn:
“Alexito, my love!” she mimicked in my mother’s sweet and gentle voice.
I smiled, relieved. Her gloomy and persistent silence hadn’t been due to some strange illness. Then I realized how dreadful and urgent hunger can be.
Her shyness dissipated like mist at dawn.
“Alexito, my love!” she chirped, demanding her breakfast at exactly 6 a.m.
I never used an alarm clock again. Her sweet and gentle squawks replaced it.
One day, a heavy storm flooded the house. Armed with a bucket and mop, I bravely launched into fierce battle. In the heat of cleaning, I stubbed my little toe and let out a curse. It was a word I only used in moments of anger and frustration—and Lucrecia began to imitate it. How amusing it was to hear her.
Lying in bed, I sank into slow reflections: What would become of Lucrecia, my beloved? I convinced myself she had found new love in the capital, and our messages grew shorter.
“Distance cools everything,” I thought.
I wondered if my feathered friend had ever had a love of her own. I imagined her soaring through green tree branches, eating fruit and seeds with her mate, and I felt compassion.
I realized that taking her away from her habitat and from the company of other parrots was depriving her of happiness.
By the third month, her flight feathers had grown back.
“Alexito, my love!” she squawked joyfully.
I smiled. And I embraced my silence and my solitude.