Isabella visited the iron gates with increasing frequently as time went on. Sometimes she would just sit and gaze at them, other times she would gaze through them, but either way they drew her back. At first Raven would beckon her forward and she would follow him expectantly. However lately she found herself thinking about her visits to the gates when she was doing other things. On more than one occasion her teachers had accused her of daydreaming and they were, of course, right. She was dreaming about the lives of the people depicted on the gates. She was building magnificent churches for the priest, hilltop convents for the nun, or crawling inside the pyramids and trying to understand the hieroglyphs. How cool it was inside those magnificent structures, how amazing the fall of the light and how loud the hum of the earth.
On other days her day dreaming was more mundane, she would be musing about the reality of living on a farm and using a horse to plough the fields, she would feel the pull of the plough beneath her straining arms, the pressure she would have to apply to move through hard ground, or sodden clay. She could smell the earth as it turned upwards and recoiled at the sight of the worms as they were exposed to light. She hated worms and often the mere thought of them would be enough to shock her back and into real life again, where even linear equations were preferable to worms.
Often she found herself imagining the mother and baby. Nothing special as far as she could see, so why were they given pride of place on the gates? This question fired her imagination. What was it that these people had done to end up on gates such as these, were they famous? They didn’t appear to be. Not like the celebrities that she watched on TV, or read about in magazines. So perhaps they had done something special in their lives and she wondered what she would need to do in her own life to end up immortalised like this.
One particular afternoon she went to the tree to be grieve without feeling that she was upsetting her parents. She climbed to her normal perch, took out her crystal and cried out for Raven. Nothing seemed to happen and she was disappointed until a rush of air brushed across her cheek. This made her spin round and fall to the ground. Fortunately her landing was soft, although she was shaken and sat against the trunk for a little while. That was the last thing she remembered before opening her eyes and looking straight into the eyes of the mother on the gate. How comforting she found that look, how deeply those eyes, those crystal eyes in an iron frame, seemed to penetrate. How stupid she felt being comforted by an iron face. So she picked herself off the floor and dusted herself down.
No sooner had she stood up than the gate swung ajar. There was no warning and the gap was very small but somehow it felt inviting, so she peeped round. To her right was an elderly man tending the plants, he did not seem to notice her, so she stood and watched him as he carefully tended the branches that were trained along the high wall. He was picking apples and placing them in a basket while at the same time putting everything else in order and moving very deliberately.
She did not dare move for fear of attracting his attention, she suddenly felt very self conscious standing in someone else’s garden. Eventually, just a she was thinking of leaving, he said, “Hello Isabella, good to meet you at last.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Raven told me all about you. You must miss him.”
“Yes, I do, very much.”
“We all miss the things we love when they leave us. Do you like birds?”
“Not particularly,” she replied, “they scare me.”
“Really, why is that?”
“They are unpredictable I suppose.”
“Would you like to meet some birds that are very predictable?” he said and strode off to the other side of the garden without waiting for a reply.
Isabella hesitated, took a couple of steps and hesitated again, her palms were sweaty with fear but she felt a gentle pressure in the middle of her back, like a pressing hand, so she followed. She noticed two things about him, first how purposefully he moved and how tenderly he touched the plants as he passed by. Here and there a rose had fallen down, or a lily was bent out of shape. He would stop, bend his face close to the bloom as if speaking to it, and then carefully steer it back into place. Nothing escaped his attention. in his pocket he carried a knife and he would swiftly cut away any dead wood, placing it gently in the basket alongside the apples. The garden was beautiful, natural and yet obviously cared for and loved with everything in its place.
Together they walked to the other side of the circle and behind a small row of trees there was the sound of birds fluttering, cooing and calling. Isabella had never seen birds like this before, they were tiny and delicate with butterfly markings on their wings making them very elaborate and individual. Some were mainly red, but all the colours of red from the palest pink to the deepest carmine. Some were more cobalt blue, or turquoise, or indigo. Some were blue and gold, or pink and green, all kinds of mixtures and patterns radiated across their wings. Their cry reminded her of the soft moan of a new born baby and it touched her heart.
“What kind of birds are these?” she asked.
“They are Spectas,” replied the man, “and they are, to me, the most special birds in creation. They have the instincts of Homing Pigeons, the courage of Hawks, the stamina of Swifts and the nurturing instinct of King Penguins.”
“Oh.” Said Isabella not sure what to say next. She was not really a lover of birds and therefore all the names he had just mentioned didn’t mean much to her, but she did not want to show her ignorance. Fortunately for her a couple of birds appeared on the horizon and he was distracted as he prepared for their landing. He opened the doors to the aviary and laid out straw in some of the nesting boxes at the back. The two Spectas, one blue and pink and one gold and red, headed straight through the open door and then, nestled into the boxes, chests heaving, and closed their eyes.
He laid out dishes of clean water and quietly closed the doors behind him. Isabella noticed he was smiling contentedly as he did so and she felt a distinct air of satisfaction emanate from him.
“They need to rest after their long flight home.” He explained moving to another part of the aviary.
Here one of the bronze birds lay very still indeed, Isabella could see the rise and fall of the breath but that was the only sign of life and Isabella was afraid for it.
“Your birds are lovely,” she said, “but is this one sick?”
“Some of these birds have travelled great distances through storms and famine to reach home. They always make it home but some need time to recover and this one is taking a little longer than normal. I am Icarayus by the way, pleased to meet you. Do you want to help me feed them?”
“Yes, please, but then I must go.”
“Of course you must, but do feel you can come again. Whenever the gate is open you are welcome here.”
Isabella and Icarayus worked together in silence, there were many birds to feed, water and clean out, but Isabella thought nothing of her fear for the colours of the birds fascinated her. Although they were free to come and go between the boxes the colours tended to group together and the different shades of blues, golds and reds looked fantastic when they all nestled in the one place.
“I never asked you what you wanted Isabella?” said Icarayus as she was leaving.
“I’m not sure,” she replied, “I just love the images on your gates and they drew me in.”
“That’s good enough for me,” replied Icarayus, “I am afraid there is always work to do, so I am pleased to have the company.”
“I am not afraid of work,” said Isabella “I am more afraid of emptiness. Is that how you knew Raven, did he used to come here and help you?”
“Raven does love the Spectas.” was his rather enigmatic reply.
“He never mentioned you to me.”
“No, people tend not to mention their visits here. I don’t suppose you tell your parents about your visits do you?”
Isabella didn’t reply because, of course, he was right.
“I will have to remember that it is emptiness that bothers you. Until next time then.” He said holding out his hand in which he held a pink rose, which he handed to her.
As she left she heard the gate click shut behind her and she felt a little sad. She turned to wave goodbye but Icarayus was nowhere to be seen. However, shining out of the gate was a young man that she had never noticed before. He had a bird of prey on his arm and he looked very pleased with himself indeed. She laughed to herself for she thought for one moment that he looked like Raven used to look and in that moment she missed him.
