The Hen Who Dreamed She Could Fly (5 page)

 

T
he road to the reservoir was rugged. It marked the beginning of their wretched life as wanderers in the fields without the protection of the gatekeeper or the barn, the weasel always on their minds. Sprout asked Straggler to give her courage. She had to protect Baby until he was grown. She'd always talked to herself, but now she could talk to the mallard, who remained in her heart.

Baby grew tired before they reached the reservoir; they had to rest. Sprout led him to a rice paddy. They drank from the irrigation ditch and caught grasshoppers between rice stalks to fill their bellies. Baby soon fell asleep under the shade of curly docks. Sprout, who had spent the previous night with her eyes wide-open, fell into a sweet, irresistible slumber.

“What is this?” A loud quacking assaulted her ears, but Sprout couldn't open her eyes. Her eyelids felt heavy, as if they had been welded together. “You have no idea how dangerous this is!” someone scolded.

“My goodness, what was I thinking?” Sprout jumped to her feet.

The leader of the ducks was looking down at them from the top of the hill. The other ducks were behind him. “Why did you run away? You'd be safer in the barn.”

“Well, I just . . .” Sprout hesitated. Maybe she shouldn't tell him the yard wasn't safe for them. What good would it do to tell him that she'd figured out the farmer and his wife's plans? “I felt bad that you were fighting because of us. We're going to the reservoir.”

Sprout climbed up the hill with her duckling and started toward the reservoir again. The ducks crowded around Baby. The female ducks in particular couldn't tear themselves away from the adorable duckling, but Baby followed only Sprout.

“Thank you for hatching the egg,” one of the ducks said to Sprout. “He's the cutest ever! Our eggs are sold or go to the incubator, so none of us has had the experience of having a baby. What a blessing that there's a baby in the family!”

Sprout stopped. “Family?” she snapped. “I don't plan on giving you the baby.”

“What? What do you think you're going to do with him? You're a hen.”

“I'm his mom. They'll clip his wings. You think I'm going to let him go back to the barnyard?”

“That's why you ran away? Don't be scared. It doesn't hurt at all. It just stings a little. He might not even feel it. So he won't fly away.”

“So he won't fly away?”

“This baby looks more like a wild duck than one of us. If you don't domesticate him, he'll be in danger. He'll forever be a wanderer like Straggler and end up killed.”

Sprout continued on silently. Straggler's end was tragic, but she wouldn't even consider giving Baby away.

The leader followed her and persisted in trying to convince her. “Think about Straggler. He was always alone. It's hard to live in between, as neither wild nor domesticated. He couldn't change his fate. He lost his mate to the weasel and wounded his wing. He couldn't fly, so he couldn't return to the winterlands.”

“The weasel hurt his wing?”

“Who else?”

Sprout nodded in silence. Now she understood why his neck feathers would tremble at the mere mention of the weasel.

“He found a mate in the white duck, but she was done in by the weasel, too.” The leader sighed. “All because he couldn't change his wild duck ways. If the white duck had hatched the egg in the barn, she would still be with us. Well, I guess if the farmer took it, she wouldn't have been able to hatch it!”

Sprout shuddered, that final night coming to her in a flash. Now she knew what Straggler had been thinking. They had been harboring the same wish. If she had only realized it earlier! He had been nervous the entire time, worried she wouldn't sit on the egg if she knew it was a duck's. But she wouldn't have refused even if she'd known. Nobody could possibly know how happy she'd been when she sat on the egg. Sprout slowed down to match Baby's gait. The female ducks fell back unwillingly. Sprout felt surging hatred toward the weasel. He'd taken every precious being. She wanted to be stronger than the weasel to get revenge. But she knew it was foolish. Revenge? Just thinking about living in the wide-open fields again was enough to make her cry. But she held her tears at bay and set her beak.

They arrived at the reservoir. The ducks jumped in, clamoring to be the first to get in. But the leader and Baby remained next to Sprout.

“Look at this. He doesn't know that he's a duck or that he can swim. Even though his feet are webbed, he probably thinks he's a chick!” The leader, wings outstretched, tried to herd Baby into the water. Baby resisted, screaming.

“Leave him alone!” Sprout shot at him angrily, her feathers bristling. Baby scampered under her wings.

The leader sighed. “This is wrong. Even though a hen hatched him, he's still a duck.” He shook his head and swam toward his ducks.

Sprout's heart was heavy. But she had to find a nest. She strolled along the edge of the water away from the clamor of the ducks. She didn't know what to do. All she knew was that she had to stay alert so they didn't fall victim to the weasel. A thatch of reeds appeared. Sprout fell for the place at first glance. Dried reeds were strewn on the ground, and new reeds were clustered together, creating a most excellent hiding place. It was beautiful there, with blooming water lilies and water hyacinths, but the best part was the abundance of food. This area was teeming with throaty frogs perched on lily pads, dragonflies resting on reed stalks, small fish that came to the surface of the water, locusts, and diving beetles. It would make a great home.
I hope nobody finds us.
Sprout constructed a nest of dried reed leaves. Only a small bird would be able to weave through the dense water plants.

Baby hopped on a lily pad.

“Baby, careful!”

“Careful, careful!” He quacked happily before leaping onto another pad. It made Sprout nervous, but she couldn't hold him back. Baby hopped from pad to pad until he was in the middle of the reservoir.

“Baby, come back!”

“Mom, look where I am!” He waved his little wing joyously. The lily pad tipped, and he fell into the water.

“Baby!” Sprout panicked. Surprised, Baby flailed about. Sprout ran into the reservoir, but her feathers became waterlogged, and she barely managed to get out.

“Mom, look at me!” the duckling called out, short of breath, floundering.

Sprout looked closely—Baby wasn't drowning; he was definitely swimming, albeit clumsily. Dripping wet, Sprout laughed loudly. Her baby was doing things he hadn't been taught. “Yes, you're certainly a duck!”

D
ays passed peacefully. Sprout lost weight to better navigate through the reeds. She made sure to be quiet so she wouldn't alarm their neighbors. A pair of reed warblers had built a nest nearby and laid eggs. The moon filled out, and nobody peeked in the reed thicket. Sprout felt ill at ease whenever she noticed blades of grass casting shadows under the moonlight or reeds rustling in the wind, but she and her baby were safe. Baby was growing every day, and getting better at swimming, diving, and catching fish. Each evening he liked to settle under Sprout's wing to sleep.

One day Baby swam out far and returned with the leader of the ducks. Or, judging from Baby's slightly scared expression, the leader had followed him uninvited. Under orders from the leader, the other ducks kept back a short distance. They played among the water lilies, chattering loudly. Sprout was displeased. The female reed warbler cheeped nervously, and the male flew up several times to see what was going on.

Sprout shook her head. The silly ducks had never incubated an egg, so they didn't have any idea how a mother would feel threatened by their ruckus. She hoped the weasel wouldn't be drawn to the noise and discover their hiding spot. The leader, who was oblivious to her worries, made idle chatter. “He's grown so big I hardly recognize him. He's gotten the best parts of the white duck and Straggler. It's amazing he's figured everything out on his own! Good for him!” The leader tried to stroke Baby, who slipped away and looked first at Sprout, then at the leader. The leader continued: “Even though a hen hatched him, a duck is a duck! Our kind never forgets how to swim or dive. He knows how to do it without being taught. It's not something a chicken, who is confident in the yard but afraid of the fields, can do!”

Sprout snorted at the leader for bragging like he was Baby's father. He didn't know Baby. Baby wouldn't leave her just because the leader praised him. He would never leave her. She puffed her chest out confidently. “Chickens fear the fields?”

“Oh, not you, of course. But the other chickens don't know a thing. I'm sure they don't even know that their ancestors paraded around the skies, like birds.”

“Chickens? Like birds?” Sprout couldn't believe her ears. Flying with these wings that only scattered dust? She had seen the rooster jump down from the stone wall with his wings outstretched, but that couldn't be called flying. At the very least, flying required floating up higher than a tree and traveling elsewhere, managing to be afloat for a long time. It would be wonderful if she could fly. “But what happened? Why can't we fly anymore?” Sprout stretched her wings. She wouldn't be able to clear even the tops of the reeds.

“Well, that's because all you do is eat all day and lay eggs,” the leader explained. “Your wings grow weaker and your behind grows bigger. And yet you still think you're so great, saying you represent the voice of the sun.”

Sprout thought it was laughable that he was bad-mouthing chickens behind the rooster's back; he wouldn't say a word of this to the rooster's face. “So if our behinds grew larger, why was it the ducks that ended up waddling?” Sprout asked gently. “And you have wings, too. What do you use them for?”

The leader coughed and changed the subject. “Actually, I came to talk to you about the duckling. It's dangerous for him to live like this. Let's go back to the barn. Let him, at least, even if you don't want to.”

“Nothing bad has happened to us here. If you continue to make such a ruckus, everyone's going to find out where we're hiding. Please go home with your family. We're not going back.”

“Two chicks from the barnyard were taken!” the leader pressed. “Because curiosity led them up the hill from behind the garden. The hen is depressed and won't even come out of the barn.”

Sprout shook her neck feathers in fright. She didn't understand why the weasel insisted on devouring the living. “Baby, come,” she said, wanting to keep her baby safe under her wings. But Baby just looked at her and then at the leader, hurting her feelings a little.

“It was too much for the hen to look after all those chicks by herself,” continued the leader. “But we're different. We have a big family, so it'll be easy to look after one duckling. Don't make your life difficult. Let us help. It's inevitable that the weasel will try to take all the chicks now that he's had a taste of tender flesh. You know who's next.”

Sprout tensed her claws. She could sense the shadow of the frightening hunter approaching. The weasel would be here soon enough. He might already be looking this way. She glared at the leader, rendering him mute. “Leave us and go. Now,” she ordered.

“You're so stubborn! You can't keep thinking of him as a chick. Even though a hen hatched him, a duck is a duck!” the leader said in a huff and then left.

The other ducks raised a fuss when they learned the duckling wasn't coming with them. The reed warblers twittered nervously until the quacking died down. Baby sat in the nest, looking at the retreating ducks. He didn't look as carefree as before. The ducks' ruckus must have bothered him.

“Baby, we need to leave,” Sprout said. “It's not safe here anymore.”

“Why not?”

“If the ducks found us, the weasel will, too. The weasel is powerful. He can easily hurt us. He hunts the living, and he never gives up. So let's find another nest before nightfall.” Sprout gathered their feathers that had scattered on the ground and tossed them in the water. She clawed at the nest and smoothed it over with her wings. Quietly she led the way out of the reed fields to keep from disturbing the reed warblers. The duckling kept looking back, reluctant to leave the water behind. His foot-dragging told Sprout they wouldn't get far.

The day was waning. Sprout climbed a shallow slope of grass that overlooked the reed fields. The cow that had been tied to the willow tree during the day had been led home. It had pulled the rope to its full length in order to graze on the grass at some distance from the tree, so the patch of grass just under the tree was lush and uneaten. Cow patties were scattered around the tree. It would be too dangerous to spend the night in the fields without cover. But Sprout mustered her courage. “I think we can spend one night here. The cow patties will hide our scent.” She dug a hole and spent the night in it, her wings wrapped around Baby. The overgrown grass hid them somewhat, but she remained wide awake.