The woman has a white bird
hanging from her neck, pulling down her head. Thick red hair
falls over her bare shoulders like a frozen stream of blood.
The bird looks away from her. He should be flying and living
in the air but for some reason they are locked together here
in partnership. He's been suspended from her neck throughout
the winter.
They exist in a dark, snowbound
hut. The only warmth is generated by their own bodies.
Sometimes the woman grows cold and draws warmth from the bird;
sometimes he shivers and tightens his grip on her skin. They
have both forgotten many things.
The woman can't remember how
the bird arrived with the first snow, a shadow blown through
the door during a gale. The bird can't remember how he
attached himself to the woman with an unnatural desire to
suckle. Neither of them knows the intention of the force that
brought them together and has left them so.
The days are beginning to grow
longer. The sun rises in a higher arc over the land. The snow
melts a little by day but still freezes hard at night. The
moon looks down with a cold face.
The woman has forgotten about
the moon. As her head is always pulled downwards by the weight
of the bird, it is many months since she has been able to
raise her eyes to the window of the hut. But sometimes the
bird can see the moon. He keeps his head turned towards the
window and watches its path across the sky. One night he is
disturbed by the sight of a full moon, enlarged and glowing
red.
The woman senses the bird's
fear. She can feel his heart hammering against her breast. She
tries to raise her head but she is too weak: all her strength
has been drained away by this long winter with her head held
down. She has forgotten about her arms, her hands. Only now
does she remember that she can lift the bird and then she
might be able to raise her head.
The bird feels the woman slide
her hands under his body. They are ice cold and the bones of
her fingers feel like broken twigs. But they lock together and
the bird realises that the woman is supporting his weight. He
is wary of this change. He can't remember how he once had the
freedom to survive without the woman; his body has been frozen
in a hanging position for too long. He snaps his head upwards
and tries to peck her pale face.
The woman jerks back her head
to avoid the jabbing beak but it catches her cheek and draws
blood. She is about to curse the bird when her eyes are caught
by the window and the great red moon glowing behind it.
Her memory is ignited, burning
with images of a life she had before arriving at the hut,
before the bird came and clung to her neck. She tingles with
shock. Her hands drop to her sides and then rise in the air.
The bird, unsupported, falls
from her neck. Instantly he remembers that he has wings and
can hover in mid-air. He quivers with shock.
Separated, they both fight to
leave the hut. Red hairs and white feathers whirl around them
as they struggle frantically towards the door, but it's still
stuck fast by the ice. The red moon may look warm but it casts
no heat. Their frustration turns to rage and, as there is no
one else, they turn against each other.
The woman glowers at the bird
with resentment verging on hatred. After all, it was the bird
who trapped her here, giving her nothing but meagre warmth.
She spits across the hut at his black eyes.
The bird feels that the woman
is to blame. She needs his warmth and now she has turned on
him, her face growing as red as her hair, redder than the
moon. He flies at her and tries to peck at her soft neck.
Locked together in battle
rather than dependence, they both realise that they are alive
and individual. The fight becomes play. The bird glances off
the woman when he flies at her, his feathers tickling her
flesh. She tries to fend him off with her hands, but for the
first time all winter her throat contracts and a sound
escapes. To the bird it is a call of identity which he answers
with a shriek. Tears begin to trickle down the woman's face:
she feels as if a frozen part of herself has begun to thaw.
Neither of them has seen the
moon fade and the sky flood with dawn light like warm milk.
Neither of them sees the sun rising, pouring strong but gentle
heat over the land and freeing the ice. It's only as the woman
staggers backwards and falls against the door that it bursts
open. A spring day washes into the hut.
Light, air and warmth overwhelm
the woman and the bird. They both hurtle through the opening,
squinting and unsteady, but come to a halt and turn to each
other. The woman wants to embrace the bird, he wants to jump
to her neck and hang there again. But neither of them can move
now. It seems that one of them must go, and one must allow the
other to leave.
The bird begins to taste salt
in the air. A tide of memory overcomes him like the push and
pull of waves over stones. He only allows himself to be drawn
away from the woman by the life he once had: then he was
dependent on the sea but, unlike the woman, it asked nothing
of him.
The woman watches the bird take
flight, becoming a white shape as it slips away from her and
diminishes towards the horizon. She finally turns and begins
to tread over the melting snow. Her gaze is fixed on the
upward curve of the land ahead. She never sees the drops of
blood that mark her trail, red on white, dissolving with the
thaw.
