Tail Feathers

At first light of dawn, just as the sky is tinged with pink across the mountain tops and the dew glistens in the first rays, he is up and ready, alert and on the move. Ready to take on every comer in defence of his one – or two or three – true loves.

He looks around quickly to see if there are any intruders, anyone vying for the attention of his beauties. Ah yes, you can’t be too careful. He can see his chief rival staring at him from the huge glass windows reflecting out onto the garden. Even at this hour he is there, watching and waiting, just looking for his opportunity. But he hasn’t counted on the determination and love of this one bold creature.

Look again. The intruder looks back, bold as brass. The cocky way he holds his head, his chest snowy white and crisp, the bright black shoulders handsomely displayed and the sleek sides at just the right angle to show off the bright red beak.

Oh, and those majestic tail feathers, long, dark black and green, iridescent in the bright early light, sweeping down behind him. What a sight, but not someone to be played with. A true foe and worthy rival for the favours of the females.

But not these. Oh no, he is not getting his trailing feathers on these. Whydah takes a quick sip from the clear pond, then lifts his head. If it’s war the intruder wants, it is war he will get.

With a flamboyant little flirt, he sends the females into a flurry and, tail feathers flying, launches himself into the attack. Full speed, red beak angled straight ahead, with nothing else in mind, he flies straight and true and smack, lands a huge hit right on his foe’s face. There, take that, and that. Again and again he flies, screaming and streamlined as a rocket, at the determined foe whose face keeps coming back, closer and closer, just as determined, just as besotted and trying always to free himself so that he can get to those wanton women.

Between the ongoing skirmishes and more violent attacks, Whydah rushes back to his harem of twittering ladies, preens himself and offers his favours to each in turn, though it must be said they fly off with much giggling and protestations, making him chase and flutter and prance to impress them. Then, just as he thinks he is in with a chance, he glances up and there, looking back at him, is the plumed intruder. Staring back, waiting. So it is off to war once more.

And so it goes from first light to the last moment of the dying day with no let up, no respite for the one in love. 

Until one day, in a frenzy of hate against this handsome foe, he takes the plunge and dives right inside his den, down through the deceptive glass and into his home. Ah, at last he is gone. Vanquished. But instead he has cast an evil spell, catching Whydah in a glass cage, unable to move beyond feeble flutterings against the impenetrable barrier. He tries with all his might, until he’s exhausted. Then he sits, whispering despairingly to his loved ones, free and unaware, happily playing around the fountain.

Suddenly, the hand of god comes to his rescue, lifts him bodily and releases him from his prison. Out, out into the fresh air, back to his harem – but short of one enormous trophy, a precious, long, glistening tail feather.

“Look, my love. A Valentine’s gift for you.”

Jonathan holds out the beautiful feather, glowing and sleek.

She takes it, brushing it gently across her cheek.

“Oh Jonathan, it’s beautiful, what a wonderful idea. How did you manage to find it? Thank you, darling. I love you.”

Copyright © Pixie Emslie

Pixie Emslie (formerly Malherbe) is a journalist and writer who lives in Rondevlei in the Southern Cape.  Her home, overlooking Langvlei, is a haven to her, husband Robin and two enormous dogs – and this is where she spends her time writing for newspapers and magazines. She has completed her first novel (which is at a publisher) and has written numerous short stories.

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