Editorial
Front Page - Friday, October 8, 2010
Under Analysis
The parable of the one-winged bird
Charles S. Kramer
It had been over fifteen years since I’d seen the now-Honorable Mary DeSequin, a one-time law school comrade. I barely recognized her when she wandered over to say hello at the recent luncheon for the Future Lawyers in Space program. Her hair had evolved from its once vibrant strawberry blondness, to a more sedate shade of azure, and I, frankly, did not think she would have been at such a celebration.
To be frank, I was only there because my client, whose company produces the aluminum alloy used in the wing nuts on the transformer relay diode apparatus for the next generation space transport vehicle, had mentioned in passing that he expected to see me there.
After we’d dispensed with the polite hellos, the obligatory updates about family and friends and some random comments about the economy and some political issues, I suddenly realized that Mary looked noticeably distracted.
When I asked her the cause of her consternation, she began to deny any issues existed, but stopped and fixed her stare on me for a barely perceptible second, then switched her approach.
“If I told you, you’d think I’m silly or, worse yet, simply crazy,” she said.
When I assured her I would assume no such thing, she sized me up one more time and then continued.
“About two days ago,” she began, “an attorney on a case in front of me interrupted a settlement conference with a story which she told with a voice that made it clear she was attempting to impart meaning ... and I must admit the story shook me. Not because of what she said, but because of the point the words somehow made while seeming to say something completely different.”
The judge looked up at me, and saw my confusion, but decided to press forward.
“She began by asking if we’d heard the story of the one-winged bird ... When both I and her opposing counsel admitted we had not, she launched into the “tale”. Its short and I remember it virtually verbatim.”
It seemed apparent that Judge Mary needed to unburden her soul by retelling the strange story. Since I had nowhere else I had to be just then, I suggested we take a seat at a nearby table, and settled back to allow her to continue.
The people, who created the mountain, came looking for it. It was a mountain upon which nine black-feathered birds built their respective nests. Although from afar it would appear that they shared one big straw and twig structure, the dark fliers actually each had their own separate perches.
The birds were not of divine creation, but rather were man-made. Yet, they built their nests with a purpose which could appear inspired, and their songs had the power and effect of the most natural of things. Often the creatures that lived in the shadow of the mountain would stop their daily tasks to listen to the latest tunes from the mountain top. On others, however, they would simply go about their day, doing what they deemed necessary or best, despite the chirping of the birds on high.
The people of the Dome also lived on the mountain, along with the strange Dutch. The Domers and Strange Dutchmen would at times hunt the black feathered birds, and at times the birds would swoop down and attack the Domers and Dutchmen, but for the most part they coexisted on the mountain. Together the mountain dwellers collectively guided the creatures who lived in the mountain’s shadow, but it was like herding cats. The shadow dwelling creatures generally thought the mountaineers too far removed from their daily plight to pay much heed, except when it was in their best interests to do so.
It came to pass, however, that in the two hundred and first decades; the eagle circled the mountaintop three times, and then drove down towards the crisp stream that ran from the mountain down through the villages in the shadow and on to the foot of the nearby forest.
Nearing the stream, it plunged its beak into the cold water and removed a red fish, and then plunged again and retrieved a strange blue-hued creature of some sort. Holding both morsels in its beak, the eagle flew to the top of a maple tree, located a few yards into the arbor mass. There it delivered its trophies to a waiting cardinal, which had only one wing.
The cardinal accepted the benevolence of the eagle, delighted in the red fish and blue creature’s simultaneous arrivals, but did not otherwise acknowledge the eagle’s existence, yet alone pay it homage.
Three days later, the eagle’s attention seemed elsewhere and the redbird had sprouted a second wing more glorious than its original appendage. The eagle did not care. The black feathered mountain dwellers were unaware. Those who dwelt in the shadow of the mountaintop, eyed the new winged cardinal skeptically, trusted the Eagle less than before, and wondered if the black feathered birds would have the last word.
Those who had built the mountain and searched for it no longer recognized it, and continued their search for their creation, unaware that they had already glanced upon it and moved on, and the sun continued to set upon the land.
I looked at my former law-school friend for a hint of what she believed the story was meant to convey. I saw a twinkle in her eye, but no clue to the purpose of the tale, or why it would stay with her and cause her such distraction. Before I could ask any questions, however, my client spotted me and joined us at our table without invitation. The Honorable Mary DeSequin extended a hand in welcome, and asked me if I knew her former law clerk. I had never known Mark was an attorney, let alone a former clerk to my once upon a time good friend. I just knew him as the alloy king.
And so, the world grew smaller that day and I never learned if the case before my learned friend had settled or if the tale’s message had ever been discerned or its moral applied.
About a month after our encounter, however, the Honorable Mary DeSequin resigned her judgeship in favor of running an organic farm in Oregon.
© 2010 under analysis LLC under analysis is a syndicated column of the Levison Group. Charles Kramer is an attorney with the St Louis law firm Riezman Berger, PC. You may direct comments, criticisms or questions about this column via this newspaper, or direct via email to comments@levisongroupo.com.
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