“Morning, Ray.”
I admit it was adorable, but the more I heard it, the more oddly unsettling the shrill voice became. I don’t know what it was thinking about, but it’s such a pain having someone come at you that cheerfully so early in the morning.
“Ray. Morning, Ray.”
Ray is supposed to be your name. But of course, my grumbling had no impact. Because the object of my frustration wasn’t a person, it was a bird.
It was a mynah bird my grandparents kept as a pet.
My grandmother said it was so small, it was probably a female. And they named it “Ray.” It was—and this gets another “probably” attached—two years old. They’d bought it on impulse at a pet shop two years ago in the fall.
The square cage in which she (…probably) lived was set on one end of the porch facing the garden. Apparently it was a special cage for mynah birds made of thick bamboo strips.
“Morning, Ray. Morning.”
May 6, Wednesday morning.
I had woken up at a ridiculously early hour—just after five A.M.
During my ten days of hospitalization, a well-regulated lifestyle of early-to-bed and early-to-rise had been inculcated in me, but five A.M. was too early for anyone. It had been well past midnight the night before when I went to bed, so for a fifteen-year-old boy who was trying to get healthy, the lack of sleep was egregious, too.
Just one more hour, I thought, closing my eyes. But I didn’t think I was going to fall back asleep again. I gave up after five minutes, got out of bed, and headed to the bathroom in my pajamas.
“Well, well, Koichi! You’re up early!”
When I had washed my face and brushed my teeth, my grandmother came out of her bedroom. She looked me over, then tilted her head, appearing slightly concerned.
“You feel all right, don’t you?”
“I feel fine. I just woke up, is all.”
“That’s all right then. You shouldn’t push yourself.”
“Like I said, I’m fine.”
I gave her an easy smile and thumped myself on the chest. Then—
It happened just as I returned to my study room/bedroom, while I was thinking about how to kill the time before breakfast. My cell phone, which I had connected to its charger, started ringing on my desk.
Who was that? At this hour…
I only wondered for a moment. There was only one person who would make this cell phone ring at such an ungodly hour.
“Hey, there, good morning. How are you doing?”
The sunny voice I heard when I picked up the phone belonged, just as I’d predicted, to my dad.
“It’s two in the morning here. India sure is hot.”
“What’s up?”
“Nothing’s up. You’re starting school today, right? I’m calling to cheer you on! You should thank me.”
“Oh, yeah.”
“How are you doing, physically? Have you been resting since you got out of the hospital? After all…”
His voice suddenly started to crackle and almost cut out as he began to ask me a question. I checked the LCD screen, and the bars showing the signal strength were barely holding at one. Even that one flickered in and out unreliably.
“…Are you listening to me, Koichi?”
“Hold on. I’m not getting a good signal here.”
I left my room as I answered, wandering around searching for a spot where the signal seemed good…and the spot I found was the porch on the first floor where Ray’s mynah cage sat.
“Physically, I’m good. There’s nothing for you to worry about.”
I answered the question I’d put on hold as I opened the glass door to the porch. I had called and told him about my current attack and treatment the day I left the hospital.
“Still, why are you calling so early? It’s only 5:30 here.”
“You must be nervous heading into a new school. Plus you’re getting over your illness, on top of everything. That’s why you woke up so early, right?”
Oh man, he knows me so well.
“That’s just how you are. You try to be so tough, but in reality, you have a pretty thin skin. You take after your dad that way.”
“Don’t you mean I take after my mom?”
“Well, that may be, but…” Changing his tone somewhat, my dad continued, “As far as this pneumothorax issue goes, you shouldn’t brood over it more than necessary. When I was young, I did that.”
“Wha…? You did? I’ve never heard that story before.”
“I missed my chance to tell you six months ago. I didn’t want to be told it was hereditary or something.”
“…This is hereditary?”
“My second one happened a year later, but after that, I never had another recurrence. If there is some hereditary link, then you should be out of the woods now, too.”
“That would be nice, anyway.”
“It’s a lung disease. Now you have to quit smoking.”
“I don’t smoke!”
“At any rate, just tell yourself you’re not going to have a third one, and keep your chin up. Ah—although, you know, no need to stress yourself trying.”
“I know, I know. I’ll take it easy.”
“Good. Say hello to Grandma and Grandpa for me. India is so hot!”
And so the call ended. Letting out a long breath, I went through the door I’d opened and sat down on the porch. As soon as I did, the mynah bird, Ray, started up with her bizarre voice again, as if she had been lying in wait.
“Morning, Ray. Morning.”
I ignored it for a little while, staring outside idly.
The full bloom of the red azalea hedges was beautiful through the thin morning mist that was rising. There was a modest pond in the garden, and I heard that my grandfather used to keep koi in it, but I couldn’t see any fish there now. It looked as though it wasn’t being sufficiently cared for. The water was a murky, dark green color.
“Ray. Ray, morning.”
The mynah bird kept talking so persistently that she (…probably) beat me down and I replied, “All right, I get it. Good morning, Ray. You sure are cheery first thing in the morning, Ray.”
“Cheery. Cheery.” She ran through her repertoire of words. “Cheery…Cheer up.”
I don’t think I need to say that this did not constitute anything as grandiose as human-avian communication. But still, I felt a little bit more like smiling.
“Okay. Thanks,” I replied.