Natalia Ortiz was an 87 year old former showgirl living in San Antonio, Texas. She loved the shock which registered on people’s faces when she told them about her past. She believed nobody considered the history of old people. They see them wrinkled, and withered somehow believing they arrived on earth old and tired. Natalia’s past was filled with heart ache, scandal, and glamour. She sang in nightclubs when she was younger wearing glittering gowns as she shimmied her shoulders and seduced the crowd with her charisma. Now Natalia lived with the retired show birds she kept as company.
Pepito was a small green parrot who rode a tiny bicycle while wearing a sombrero edged with gold pom-poms. Natalia acquired him from the Aquarina Springs Amusement Park in San Marcos. All her birds once performed there. Pepito must ride the bicycle or his muscles would atrophy. Claude was a white cockatoo who strummed a toy guitar with the claws on his right leg. In his act a recording of the Elvis song Teddy Bear played. Claude displayed his feathered yellow crest every time Elvis sang the words teddy bear. When he did this his crest resembled an Elvis style pompadour. Claude was her favorite. There was also a large Macaw parrot with red, yellow, green and blue feathers; his name was Buzzy. He was a comedian. He only told the punchline to a joke. Still, he was fascinating. “I’m a cashew,” Buzzy squawked nonstop. The joke was: What does one nut tell the other when he’s chasing him? He knew other jokes once but his memory faulted him now.
These three birds were Natalia’s reason for living but her son Anthony urged her to find them a new place to go. He was worried that their care was too taxing. She argued her case but he didn’t listen. He was 62 and thought he knew everything. Sometimes he went so far as to threaten chicken frying her beloved birds. This afternoon a young lady from a bird sanctuary in Houston was coming to take them away. It was for their own good, Anthony claimed.
Natalia understood these birds. Their story was her story. Once people paid good money to be amused by their talents but now, past their prime, people looked the other way. They looked away trying to ignore their existence. The glitter loses some of its shine but tarnish is not necessarily trash. Natalia knew these birds still had songs to sing and jokes to share even if she and Carmen were the only ones willing to listen. And maybe Carmen only listened because Anthony paid her, Natalia couldn’t know for sure.
Carmen, Natalia’s aging housekeeper, sat on a tufted leather bench, rolling down her knee-high support stockings. She was enjoying a cigarillo. Normally smoking in the house was forbidden but today the boss lady was not herself. Carmen’s mother began working for Natalia beginning soon after the unplanned pregnancy of 1955 was discovered. There were rumors that the baby belonged to Tony Bennet; others said Tony Spilontro, a minor mobster who migrated from Chicago to Vegas. Whoever the father was, Natalia never said. Carmen didn’t pester her with questions. The job became hers after her own mother retired. Carmen’s job was to keep the house spotless. It didn’t even appear that birds were allowed to fly about and do as they please. She took good care of the house and scrubbed it clean. She’d started working for the boss lady in 1978 when Natalia left Vegas, returning to her hometown. Carmen was 64 now and eagerly anticipating retirement. Her mother retired at age 65l; so would she.
Natalia was sitting in the blue velvet wingback chair with the high back. She wearing a gold sequined cocktail dress, and waiting. She hadn’t smoked since 1976 but her nerves were shot. The doctor had warned her that she could keep smoking or keep singing but she couldn’t do both. A young woman with green hair who was sitting at the bus stop in front of her house had let her bum the cigarette. The girl with tattooed knuckles giggled nervously and said she’d heard rumors the large Victorian style house was haunted.
“Boo!” Natalia said before tottering away in her gold open toed stilettos.
Natalia shook her head at the image of a beautiful young woman with tattooed knuckles, like a biker wears. What had happened to the glamour? Women today liked to look rough. Maybe it was how they asserted their independence. They were sending a message to the men: this is my armor. I’m tough. Don’t mess with me.
When there was a knock at the door Natalia snuffed the cigarette out in the delicate porcelain teacup she was using as a makeshift ashtray. Carmen rose to open the door. She was dressed in her traditional maid’s uniform that the boss lady liked. Appearance meant everything to Natalia. Claude was on Natalia’s shoulder. He raised his yellow crest to greet the stranger.
The girl said her name was Jennifer. She wore her hair in a messy bun. Her jeans were ripped. Natalia bet she had bought them like that. Why young people liked to look slovenly she didn’t understand. Jennifer had brought three cages with her. A man named Brian trailed behind her carrying two of the cages. Jennifer held the third.
“I don’t put them in cages,” Natalia said, shrilly.
“It’s necessary for transport,” Jennifer explained.
Brian was looking at the pictures on the wall. “Is that Aretha Franklin?” He asked.
Natalia nodded. “I sang back up for her in the sixties. We had fun.”
“Wow,” Brian said. “You’ve lived an interesting life. Is this Frank Sinatra?” He pointed at another picture.
Natalia answered yes. “I wrote a poem,” she said.
“A poem?” Jennifer asked.
“About not caging birds. Putting birds in cages is against my religion,” Natalia asserted.
“What religion is that?” Jennifer was confused. Anthony warned her that his mother was demented; no longer capable of caring for the birds.
“Kindness. I belong to the brotherhood of kindness. Join us. We have meetings at the waffle house on Saturday mornings,” Natalia chuckled at her own joke.
The birds squawked in protest of being caged. Natalia was tearing up. “Pepito has to ride his bike or his muscles will degenerate.”
“I know,” Jennifer said, taking the little bicycle in her hands.
“Claude likes pumpkin seeds the most. Promise me you won’t give him sunflower seeds. They don’t agree with him.”
Jennifer nodded but Natalia didn’t know if she should trust her. She watched from the picture window as Brian and Jennifer placed the bird cages in the back of their van. The black van was painted with images of bright, tropical birds. Anthony promised her the birds would be well cared for. That they would be happy. What did he know of happiness? He didn’t even listen to music. He preferred the quiet. Natalia sighed, watching the van back away. The birds were gone. The house was quiet.
“Take the day off tomorrow Carmen. I need to be alone.”
Carmen nodded her head and left. Occasionally the boss lady became withdrawn. She liked her solitude sometimes.
That night as Natalia prepared for bed she sang to herself. The Miley Cyrus song Wrecking Ball is what came to mind. She brushed her long, silver hair and sang. Natalia loved all the young female singers: Miley, Rihanna, Adele, Kelly Clarkson, Beyoncé, Christina Aguilera, and Pink to name a few. They were all so good. The world belonged to the young. She knew the day would come when they were forgotten about too. Nobody remembered Phoebe Snow anymore and she had been damn good. She’d never been a traditionally beautiful woman but that voice of hers more than made up for it. Her voice was gorgeous. The words to Phoebe Snow’s song Poetry Man started tumbling out of her mouth. She lay down in bed and sang herself to sleep.
In the morning Anthony stopped by his mother’s house to see how she was faring. She didn’t answer when he knocked so he fished his key out of his wallet and let himself in. It was so peaceful without the infernal birds. The house smelled of lemons and lavender as it always had. Everything was spic and span like always. He called out for his mother but she didn’t answer. Anthony found her in bed in an eternal sleep.
When people asked how she died he would respond with her age as if being 87 years old was explanation enough. The thought that she died of a broken heart never entered his mind. Broken hearts were the subject of songs not a reason to die. Old people die every day of the year. That’s just the way it is. On her headstone Anthony had his mother’s supposed poem etched into the black marble. Setting caged birds free, Leonardo daVinci, I will be like you. It’s a sin against nature to cage what’s meant to fly. It was his mother’s last request.
# # #
Jessica Manchester lives in Houston, Texas with two charming cats, her husband, and teenage son. She studied journalism at Texas State University, then worked as an editorial assistant at a newspaper in Harlingen where she wrote obituaries. She has recently been published in At Ease, The Write Launch, and Funicular. Jessica developed her love of literature at the library when she discovered being well read could earn her tickets to Astroworld and free pizza.
Photo: Andrea Reiman
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