The Hummingbird Girl

Author of the Esper's and Interface series

If someone had asked Clarissa when she put up the first hummingbird feeder, she probably wouldn't have been able to remember. She had been living in the apartment with the terrace for six years, and couldn't remember being there without at least some of the feeders. And it had been probably three years that all five had been hanging there; the terra cotta bird baths with the cobalt-blue bowls were there before the feeders -- that much she knew. One bird bath held wild bird seed, the other fresh water. And over the years, more and more birds would gather on the terrace, until Clarissa didn't feel quite so lonely anymore. It was lucky that the neighbors didn't mind the birds. Most of them weren't home much, anyway; it was a mainly singles complex, and the majority of the occupants spent their lives in the endless social dance of searching for partners and then discarding them only to begin the search again. Clarissa didn't know much about that dance, not even how to go about learning the opening moves. She couldn't remember when she hadn't been alone, supported first by the trust fund her dead parents left her, and lately by her salary as a Research Biologist at the Lawrence Livermore Lab.

The people she worked with were friendly enough, and occasionally Clarissa would be invited on an outing or a party. But she rarely went; she had tried that during her college years, but was too shy and socially inept to make much of an impression on anyone. So she spent most of her time working, watching the birds, or teaching people to read at the Concord Community Center.

Sometimes it seemed to Clarissa that the birds were trying to communicate with her. They would come to the sliding-glass window and hover there, making their singing sound. She wasn't sure if it was their wings that produced the noise, or if hummingbirds really could speak in some way. The rest of the birds, the ones who ate the seed from the birdbath, were more vocal and easier to understand -- they sang for her in the mornings, and she could hear them calling to one another during the day. But she wasn't sure about the hummingbirds -- they seemed different, somehow. More than just birds...they had become her friends. She thought of them that way, and she had the feeling that was what they thought, too.

One winter a cold spell hit Northern California, and Clarissa went out to the terrace to discover the red hummingbird food had frozen in the feeders. Her little birds were hovering all over the terrace, and would occasionally go to one of the feeders and attempt to draw out some of the liquid, to no avail. Clarissa ran into the house and got her electric fan-heater, putting it on the terrace below the feeders and turning it up as high as it would go. Then she took her blow dryer and plugged it into the extension cord she'd used for the lights at Christmas (and never put away), aiming it at one of the feeders. It took a few minutes before the liquid thawed enough to fill the reservoirs in the bottom of the glass, and Clarissa moved on to the next feeder.

"Try that one, little friends," she told the hummingbirds that were watching her, their wings moving more slowly than usual in the cold. "It's still cold, but it's not frozen." One after the other birds took her advice, rotating around the feeder so they could all share the nectar. But one bird, a little larger than the rest, kept flying across in front of her face, as if he was attempting to get her attention. She watched him fly down to the base of the birdbath that contained semi-frozen water, and hover there.

She turned off the blow dryer and moved to the birdbath to see what he was doing down there. Then she realized that a small bird was lying on the wood of the terrace -- it wasn't moving. But when she picked it up, it stirred slightly in her hand, and tried to flutter its' tiny wings. It was half-frozen, she realized. She stood, lifting the bird in her hand. The larger bird was hovering in front of her, as if waiting for her to speak. "Your friend is nearly frozen," she told him. "I'll take him inside and see if I can revive him. You go and have some nectar, now." As if he understood her, the bird zoomed away to the feeder and took his turn at one of the receptacles.

Clarissa warmed the little bird in her hands, but even when he was warmer he was too sluggish to move. She realized that he must be dehydrated; hummingbirds required a huge volume of their liquid food in order to survive. She took him with her to the laboratory and fed him throughout the day with an eye-dropper. Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, he rose from his towel and hovered in the air in front of Clarissa's face. With a tiny, almost unheard chirp, he flew to the tinted window and hung suspended, staring out at the cold day. She cranked the pane of glass outward and the little bird zoomed away.

From that day on, the birds would gather at the glass door and wait for Clarissa to appear. Sometimes they would come in groups, and several would appear with babies. Always the larger hummingbird was the one who talked to her; he seemed to be waiting for her to answer, but when she spoke to him he would fly away in disappointment.

In December of 1990, another cold spell hit Northern California. This time Clarissa was ready; she made little gloves for the hummingbird feeders out of red sweatshirt fabric, that left the receptacles free. That and a blanket over the birdbath provided some protection. She had to fill the feeders every day now, since the hummingbirds were finding their other sources of food frozen.

The holidays weren't Clarissa's favorite time of the year, because she had no one to celebrate them with. She went to the Christmas party at the lab, but that was pretty much the extent of her festivities. One evening, about a week before Christmas, there was a knock at the door. When she answered it, the handsomest man Clarissa had ever seen was standing there, holding a tire iron in his leather- gloved hands. She knew he could be some kind of deranged killer who would club her senseless with the iron bar, but she stood calmly surveying him. He grinned at her, his bright blue eyes lighting up like Christmas bulbs. "Hello," he said, "I'm afraid my car has a flat tire outside your building, and no one else was home. I pushed all the buzzers, and someone released the door lock, but I don't know which apartment that was...could I use your phone to call Triple A?"

"Of course -- I can't leave you stranded out there with your tire iron. Come in."

"A lot of use it was to me. Imagine a man who can't even change a tire. Of course, I can use the excuse that it's so cold out there my hands are frozen."

"That sounds like a legitimate excuse to me. The phone's right there. Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Love one. You're a savior, dear lady."

Clarissa made a fresh pot of coffee in her little machine, wondering what a handsome man might do for a living. Perhaps he was an actor, or a model. Then she chided herself for thinking like a chauvinist -- there was no reason, just because he had that face, that he used it to make his living. When the coffee was ready she took the trouble to arrange the cups, sugar and milk on a tray with some English biscuits she bought at Cost Plus. But when she returned to the living room her guest was nowhere to be found. His tire iron was lying on the floor beside the telephone. Had he gone back out to the car to wait for the Triple A man, she wondered?

A small, low noise made her turn towards the terrace. Suddenly she realized that the glass door was open, allowing an icy breeze to flow into the room. But the sight that nearly made her drop the tray was that of her visitor standing on the terrace, surrounded by her hummingbirds. They were hovering all around him, and there was her large friend, suspended directly in front of his nose, no more than a couple of inches away.

She took a couple of steps towards him, still holding the tray. He was making a sort of chirping, singing noise - - so low that she nearly missed it. The birds seemed to be anwering him...suddenly he saw her, and stepped back into the room with a smile, closing the sliding door behind him. The birds hovered there a moment, close to where Clarissa had put the stickers on the door to keep them from banging into the glass. "Were you...talking to the birds? I've never seen them get that close to anyone, not even me. Although the large one does hover in front of my face sometimes -- but I thought he was actually going to touch your nose with his beak."

"I've had that happen," he replied, sitting on her couch. "My grandfather taught me to talk to them -- he had even more feeders than you do. I have a few at my house, though I have to admit I hadn't thought of making the covers for them, in this cold weather. I usually take them in at night and put them out again in the morning."

"Well, I thought this way if any came by and were desperate for food, they could find it any time. I guess that's pretty silly." She poured two cups of coffee. "Cream or sugar?"

"Just sugar, two spoons. What's silly about wanting to protect helpless creatures? Lord knows there are enough people who want to hurt them, in this world."

Clarissa nodded. "I can't understand that, myself. I'm a Research Biologist at the Lawrence Livermore Lab, and sometimes the people who live around there bring in animals who have been injured. Ninety percent of the time it was done purposely." She handed him the cup of coffee.

"A research biologist? I'm impressed. What are you working on?"

"A way to prevent AIDS. Not a cure -- we're the only lab actually working on a way to keep people from getting it."

He took a sip of the coffee, frowning. "Why is that? I would've thought prevention was the most important thing."

She shrugged. "If all the gay and lesbian groups knew what we were doing, we'd get a lot of flack. They want a cure more than they want to keep people from getting it. What do you do?"

"I write adult comic books." He buried his face as much as possible behind the coffee cup, as if embarrassed.

"Wow, that's exciting! You mean like Elfquest?"

"Strange you should mention that -- I may be doing some work with Wendy Pini this year. But most of my stuff is espionage/psychic related -- about psychics who work for the government, or against dictators, that kind of thing."

"I'd love to read some, but you haven't told me your name."

"Oh, God -- I can't believe it! Jason Hart -- and you?" "Clarissa Farringham. I'll look for your books. Do you live around here?"

He shook his head. "Sebastopol. And if you write down your address here, I'd be glad to send the stuff. Then you can let me know what you think. Well, don't let me know if you hate it, ok?"

"I'm sure I won't -- it seems like such an exciting thing to do. Do you go to all those fantasy and comic-book conventions, stuff like that?"

"Oh, sure. I've been to them all over the country. They're only exciting for the first year, though -- then they get to be pretty tedious."

"I don't think I'd ever see it that way. Does your wife object to your being away?"

"Not married. You?"

She shook her head. "I'm socially inept."

He choked on his biscuit, swallowing quickly. "You certainly don't seem so to me!"

"That's because you've only seen me here."

"Clarissa, would you like me to teach you to talk to the hummingbirds?"

Her eyes widened. "Could you? I just know they're trying to talk to me, and Sydney gets so frustrated when I don't answer him!"

Jason blinked. "Sydney?"

"He's the biggest one." She put down her coffee cup and stood. "Let me write down your address -- the Triple A man should be here, soon." She went to where the telephone sat on a little antique desk, and found a pad of paper and a pen. As she was writing, the doorbell rang. "See, what did I tell you? Even in this weather, they're pretty good about getting to stranded wayfarers."

"Just this once, I could've wished they'd been a little slower."

She smiled, and handed him the slip of paper as he went to the door.

Three days before Christmas, a white poinsettia plant arrived from Jason, with three crystal hummingbirds on wires suspended in the pot. The note that accompanied the plant read, A very merry holiday season, Hummingbird Girl. Jason Hart.

Clarissa went out and bought a gold sequined mini- chemise, had her hair cut in a 'sixties crop, and went to the lab Christmas party. She was so sparkling and vivacious that the women kept asking her who the special man was, and two co-workers asked her to go out with them.

But by the end of January, Clarissa hadn't heard from Jason again, and one of her would-be suitors was becoming annoyingly persistent. She had gone out to dinner with him twice, and once to the theatre. But now he had seemingly decided they were destined to be lovers, and spent all the time he could putting pressure on her to further their relationship. Clarissa attempted rather clumsily (due to lack of experience) to explain to him that she just wasn't interested in a relationship of any kind other than the most casual -- at least with him, she thought, thinking of Jason. But he had undoubtedly forgotten her, and was best put away with her other memories; the few wonderful ones that she had.

The poinsettia was still blooming though looking a little wilted, and when it was gone Clarissa decided she would take out the crystal hummingbirds and hang them on the terrace.

One night she arrived home from work, and as soon as she stepped into the living room of the apartment she knew there was something wrong. She turned on the lights, and there were no hummingbirds on the terrace -- not one. She couldn't remember when they hadn't been waiting for her after work -- they seemed to know what time she would arrive. Dropping her bag and a library book onto the couch, she went into the kitchen to put the kettle on for a cup of tea. Where were her friends, and why had they deserted her?

As she entered the kitchen and reached for the light switch, he grabbed her. Putting his hand over her mouth, he dragged her back into the living room. She fought him as best she could, catching him a stunning blow to the shin with one of her mid-heeled shoes. He gasped in pain and dropped her on the carpet. She attempted to scramble away but he caught her around the waist and pulled her back. They wrestled to the floor in front of the glass window, and it was then that she saw the face of Martin Story, her persistant suitor from the lab.

"Martin," she hissed, "What the hell are you doing? Is this some kind of a practical joke?"

"Not exactly." He smiled grimly, and she realized he had a rope coiled around his waist. When she opened her mouth to scream he shoved a rag into it, gagging her. The way he tied another rag around the bottom of her face to hold the first one in place, and then tied her arms and legs with the rope, made Clarissa think this wasn't the first time he had done so. "You've been so elusive, Clari, I thought the time had come to make my intentions clear. Tonight will be your first lesson in what I expect from you. You'll have to forgive me, my dear -- the impulse to surprise you came upon me suddenly, so I am rather unprepared. I'll have to leave you here while I go home and fetch the tools with which to teach you." He gave one knot a final tug and settled back on his heels, surveying her.

She was lying on the carpet, bound at the ankles and with her wrists behind her back. "You will wait for me, won't you sweetheart?" He laughed humorlessly. "Yes, I believe you will."

He rose and dusted his hands together, and if pleased with a job he had just completed. "I won't be very long, dear girl -- this will be an interesting night for you, that I promise." And then he was gone, the front door of the apartment slamming behind him.

Clarissa attempted to loosen the rope, only to find she was pulling it more tightly around her. She managed to turn on the carpet so she was facing the glass door, and wondered if she could roll over to it, and somehow shatter the glass by kicking it? But the glass was reinforced against break- ins, so that was probably a futile hope. She didn't know how long she lay there before the hummingbirds began to reappear, one at a time. Martin must have scared them away when he got into the apartment. That started her thinking about just how he had gotten in -- there had been no sign of tampering. He had proven to be such a strange character, that perhaps he had a set of burgler's tools, or had procured one for the evening.

It seemed to Clarissa that an awful lot of time had passed. The hummingbirds were becoming very agitated; a large crowd of them had gathered outside the glass door, and they seemed to understand that she was in some kind of trouble. Where on earth was Martin, she thought -- surely he didn't live that far away? But it was nearly the middle of the night, or so it seemed. She fell asleep on the carpet, and when she woke up again, stiff and cramped from where she was tied, the hummingbirds were gone. Only one remained, hovering like a sentry outside the glass door, watching her intently. Clarissa was certain that it was nearly morning, and if she didn't reach the bathroom soon she was going to make a horrible, smelly mess.

There was still no sign of Martin. Perhaps this was his psychotic idea of a joke, and he'd had no intention of returning at all. But since it was now Saturday, it would be Monday before anyone missed her at the lab -- and by then, she would be in a much worse dilemma than simply wetting her pants. About a half an hour passed, and she realized a few more hummingbirds were returning. Their feeders were nearly empty; she hoped one of the neighbors noticed, and came over to remind her to fill them. That was really grasping for nonexistent hope, she thought disgustedly -- she doubted if any of her neighbors had even noticed the feeders.

Suddenly, there was a banging on the door. At first, Clarissa thought Martin was returning; but why would he knock when he had gotten into the apartment before? Then a male voice called her name, but it wasn't Martin's. It took her a moment before she realized the voice belonged to Jason Hart!

She managed to wriggle over to the glass door and kick it with her feet, hoping he would hear her and realize something was wrong.

The door flew back with a crash and a sound of splintering wood. Jason charged into the room, followed by the largest flock of hummingbirds Clarissa had ever seen, and several of her neighbors. One of them carried a baseball bat, and was looking around as if expecting to find Martin hiding behind the door. She fell back onto the carpet in relief.

"Clarissa!" Jason darted forward, and in his haste to untie her had some trouble with the knots in the rope, which she had pulled tighter while attempting to escape. Finally, he got them loose. "Are you all right?" He asked her, chafing her ankles to circulate the blood.

"Bathroom!" Was all she said, attempting to get to her feet but landing on her hands and knees. Her neighbor, carrying his bat, rushed into the bathroom, but returned a moment later, looking confused.

"Nobody in there," was all he said.

Clarissa started to giggle hysterically, and Jason helped her to her feet. "Me -- bathroom," she managed, and staggered past the neighbor to slam the bathroom door in his face. She could hear the men laughing in the living room. When she returned, the neighbor was gone and Jason had opened the glass door. The hummingbirds were circling in and out of the living room in some kind of an elaborate dance.

"All right now?" He grinned at her, as the large hummingbird hovered beside his head.

"I think I'll live. What a lucky coincidence you came by -- and after all this time, too." Clarissa crossed the room and lay on the couch, putting her feet up and leaning back as if exhausted.

Jason came and sat in a chair beside her. "There was no coincidence, Hummingbird Girl. Your friends came and fetched me. It's a good thing this didn't happen a week ago, when I was still bed-ridden with pneumonia."

She looked over at him. "Pneumonia?"

He nodded. "I've been sick for nearly a month. Did you think I'd forgotten my promise to teach you the hummingbird language?"

"Well, yes...I had." She frowned. "You said my 'friends' came for you -- what friends? No one knew I was here, except..." her gaze strayed to the hummingbirds, who had adjourned to the terrace for some food and were in the process of draining the feeders. "You can't mean -- that the birds came to get you! You're joking!"

He shook his head, smiling. "No, I'm serious. They began to appear about an hour and a half ago. Finally they convinced me to come over here -- it takes about an hour to get here, from Sebastopol -- by the time I realized what it was they were trying to tell me, I went 80 all the way. Your neighbor called the police -- they should be here any time, now."

"I can't believe it. The birds saved me."

"Thanks a lot."

"Oh, sorry! Listen, I'm starving -- I've got to go and see what there is to eat in the kitchen. Come with me and I'll see if I can find enough for two. Thank God it's Saturday, and I don't have to worry about work."

He followed her through to the little kitchen. "What happened? Was it just a maniac who broke into the house? I couldn't see any sign of forced entry -- until I arrived, that is. I'm afraid I've ruined your door."

She shrugged. "Believe me, that's perfectly fine with me. As a matter of fact it was this guy I work with -- God only knows what he thought he was doing." She opened the refrigerator and peered inside. "Oh, good -- eggs! And some sausages. Screw the cholesterol this morning." She removed both and put them on the counter. "I went out with him a couple of times, and he had apparently decided it was time to advance our 'relationship', nonexistent as it was. So he got into the apartment somehow, tied me up and said he was returning with some stuff that would teach me how to be his slave, or some such drivel. Then he left me here, the asshole. Just wait till I find him..."

Jason frowned. "I really think you'd better leave that to the police. He doesn't sound like a really pleasant guy. And you said you had a boring life!"

"Well, I always have up until the day I met you. Then my attitude changed somehow, and I started to attract more people." She was beating the eggs prior to scrambling them, and the sausages were now in a pan in the oven, cooking. "Now I wonder if that was a good thing. At least nobody tied me up and tried to make me into a 'love slave' before."

He had been measuring coffee into the little coffeemaker, exactly as if he lived in the apartment. At her remark his hand jerked, and the coffee flew over the counter. "Don't say that!" He admonished her, trying not to laugh. "We shouldn't be making it into a joke."

"I didn't know I was -- just stating a fact. Do you hear something?"

The sound of footsteps was heard coming down the hallway, but they stopped at the front door. There was only one person, and Jason frowned. "Wait here," he whispered to her. "It could be your neighbor, but maybe not."

He crept to the doorway of the kitchen and peered around. Martin was standing in the hallway, just outside the front door to the apartment. From where he stood he could see through the shattered door into the living room -- see that Clarissa was no longer lying on the carpet. He carried what looked like an old-fashioned doctor's bag.

He made the decision to run just a couple of seconds too late. As he turned, Jason launched himself across the living room and brought Martin down in a running tackle that took them both to the floor of the corridor. "I've got you now, you pervert!" Jason exclaimed ecstatically. "Let's have a look at you, shall we?" He dragged Martin to his feet and backward into the apartment.

"Hey," Martin managed to object, "What the hell are you doin'? I just came to see Clarissa!"

"Save it, asshole -- I know who you are and exactly why you came here." Clarissa had come to the kitchen doorway and was watching them silently. "Go get his bag," Jason directed her. "Let's see what your friend considers to be toys of love."

Martin attempted to wrestle away from Jason, who pushed him onto his face on the carpet and put one knee on his back. Clarissa brought the doctor's bag and dropped it baside him, kneeling down to open it. "Clarissa," Martin implored her, "Tell this guy he's breaking my back!"

"Shut up," Jason ordered him.

Clarissa removed items from the bag -- handcuffs and what appeared to be ankle restraints. A leather whip and several objects that were hard to classify as to purpose.

An hour later, two police detectives arrived to find Jason and Clarissa eating breakfast. In the living room, lying on the carpet, they found Martin, shackled with his own toys. One of the detectives said to Jason, "How did you know Miss Farringham was in need of rescue?"

"A little bird told me," he replied, winking at Clarissa.

"Oh," she said, "The bird feeders -- they're empty!"

But Clarissa forgot the bird feeders, through breakfast, a shower, and the trip to Sebastopol to see Jason Hart's work. As they were driving over the San Rafael bridge he said to her, "Do you know, I really like your new hairdo. When did you change it?"

"Right after I met you," she admitted. "You gave me self-confidence."

He grinned at her. "At last, I have a purpose in life!" Jason lived in a little white house with a porch, and bright blue trim. All of Sebastopol was picturesque and carefully kept that way, a time-warp with modern conveniences. His office was painted in a strange combination of peach and forest green, but Clarissa decided she liked it, even though he was quick to announce his plans to redo it. He had a lot of sophisticated computer and copying equipment, and they spent hours going through his books, looking at art work, and watching his collection of Japanese animated films. He took her to dinner at a Chinese restaurant, and by the time they returned to the house it was after ten.

Clarissa yawned, and said, "I think I should be getting home now. It's been rather a trying night, that last one."

"I was hoping you'd consent to stay here with me."

"Well, I suppose I might be persuaded...no!" Her exclamation took him aback, particularly as he had been about to kiss her. "The bird feeders, Jason -- we never filled them! The hummingbirds haven't been fed since they came to fetch you, and you know how much food they need. We've got to go back." "In the morning..."

"Jason!"

"Oh, all right." He sighed in exasperation. "It's understandable that you forgot, but you'd think I could've been less brain-dead. Better head out, then -- it's a long drive."

By the time they arrived back in Concord, the hummingbirds were in a frenzy. They obviously thought their friends had deserted them, and it didn't seem to have occured to them to go all the way to Jason's house -- or perhaps they hadn't the strength for another long trek. Clarissa and Jason hurried to fill the feeders, and when they stepped out onto the terrace with the pitchers of red food, the birds clustered around them. It seemed to Clarissa that some of them were scolding, and some expressing concern.

Jason talked to them, making what sounded to Clarissa like conciliatory and placating noises. They sat on the couch. Until Jason leaned over to kiss Clarissa, neither one of them realized just how tired they were. Despite the level of sexual tension that had built up between them, fifteen minutes later they were asleep where they sat, their arms around one another and Clarissa's head on Jason's shoulder.