Doodles, March 2020

O O D L E S

E D I T O R S ' N O T E

Brush and pen, pictures and words. Both creative writing and art are important outlets for many. It is for this reason we were so enthused by the idea of Doodlesa creative writing journal that fuses the mediums of art and writing. This was an idea put forward by the previous English reps, and we felt that it was far too important to be ignored. We loved the idea of allowing students to express themselves through their writing and art, and finally gaining some much deserved recognition. With so many political and social issues centered around the rise in technology, it is no wonder that a number of the pieces decided to focus on this, highlighting many relevant topics of the present day. We were blown away by the number of entries that flooded our inboxes, and while the job was rewarding, selecting and extracting parts of people’s work was a near-impossible task. It is with great pleasure that we invite you to dive into dystopias with the prompt, ‘New rules for a future world’, be transported to the orange orchards of Italy, and become a fly on the wall of private conversations. We hope that you enjoy this collection as much as we enjoyed making it.

With thanks to: Ms Myatt and the previous English representatives, Sapna Joshi, Deedan Baker, Sophie Buhler, Anika Nuni, and Josephine Flade, for getting this off the ground.

Zoe Milionis and Milly Buckroyd - English Representatives

Clemency

Dess

Grace

Olivia Dickins

Hannah Moattar 13KO

TRUTH

The slow, whining rhythm of existence Beats on in a peculiar way Measured yet undying

And when Death comes to your doorstep Life is already two steps ahead

But the truth

The truth is that As forests are burning And as we transform Earth into Death

And people say “I DO NOT believe anything”

Things are happening Chennai, India is home to 4.65 million and has run out of water And the reefs are becoming graveyards

May I ask you: “What would you like to be when you grow up?”

Or maybe I should ask: “Do you think you will grow up?”

As we transform materials made to create I t t i l th t t t i

Clemency Gething 109T

Natural Love

As the sun first stretched across the horizon

I asked her: 'What is love?' And she replied: 'Love is providing, love is keeping them close and giving them your light' I smiled, And thanked her

I went outside to see the dew drops clinging to grass

I asked them: 'What is love?' And they replied: 'Love is enthusiasm, excitement and hope it is as dawn is' I smiled, And thanked them

t the end of the garden is an old oak tree

I asked him: 'What is love?' And he replied: 'Love is being constant and steady but knowing when to let leaves fall' I smiled, And thanked him

A large cloud glided above me

I asked them: 'What is love?' And they replied: 'Love is ever moving, always shifting knowing the only constant is change' I smiled, And thanked them

The sky was now dark enough for the first star to be visible I asked him: 'What is love?' And he replied: 'Love is stories and connections, it is found in similarities and the space between you' I smiled, And thanked him

The moon rose slowly, with ease I asked her: 'What is love?' And she replied: 'Love is protection, and sometimes it is sacrifice but from loss could come something new' I smiled, And thanked her

Through the day and the night I had been asking: 'What is love?' But Maybe I don't need an answer

Dess Coleman 12CMC

Nadia Mubgar-Spencer 7T

O r a n g e s

The day was unseasonably warm for March in Sicily. The sun that for the past few months had brought with it a fierce chill, now had about it that certain warmth that suggested a summer soon to come Even the sky had changed – the usual, ice blue of winter had thawed, and in its place was a glorious, almost turquoise colour Beneath this sky lay the orange grove of Signor Giuseppe As was the case for every March, the ripened orange crop was plentiful, and the grove seemed alive with colours Deep greens rolled in waves along the gently sloping landscape, and bright bursts of orange broke the surface, basking in the sun The delicate white of the new season ’ s orange blossom was carefully hidden within these more garish greens and oranges, as though an artist had painted each little flower to allow for brief moments of calm A light, ambrosial scent hung around the grove like a fine mist and in the distance a cuckoo called Everything was still It felt as if the whole grove was holding its breath.

Above the grove, on the tallest hill, was a large, rustic house which, despite its crumbling brickwork and faded colours, still sat proudly in its past splendour Climbing plants snaked up the walls, tendrils grasping at window ledges, and cypress trees on either side of the house stretched upwards in a bid to reach the sky

It was through the branches of one of these trees that a pair of eyes could be seen blinking against the sun ’ s glare They scanned the grove below A sudden movement and the eyes disappeared, leaving only the rustling of leaves in their wake A moment after that and the body of a small boy appeared only to throw itself against the far-left wall of the house This small boy was known as Topino or Little Mouse to all except his mama, who insisted on calling him Angioletto (Little Angel) When necessary of course Topino would proudly present himself using his full name – Filippo Francesco Alessandro Giovanni De Luca. He thought it made him sound impressive. But his name was definitely not what Topino was thinking about at that precise moment. No, Topino, at the grand old age of seven, was trying not to get caught trespassing Sucking in a deep breath, Topino inched towards the halfopen window on his right He raised himself onto his tiptoes and, achingly slowly, peered through its bottom corner Phew Topino released his breath shakily There in the exact same position as always at two o ’clock in the afternoon, was Signor Giuseppe Lounging on the red couch with his legs raised his head was slumped forward glasses balancing precariously on his crooked nose, and a halfopened book resting on his round belly Signor Giuseppe - the grouchiest, most cantankerous and, to be completely honest, most terrifying old man in all of San Giorgio Or so Topino had heard

This was the eleventh time in the past two weeks that Topino had come to Signor Giuseppe’ s grove to steal his prize oranges Well, perhaps more like relieving him of only two or three oranges Topino thought that taking a few oranges here and there was hardly stealing There were thousands upon thousands of them in the grove, all just longing to be tasted, and their sweet, citrusy scent was far too tempting Still, he shuddered when he thought of what Signor Giuseppe might do to him if he was caught After quickly glancing into the room once more Topino sprinted down the stone steps that led from the house to the grove and disappeared within the trees The stillness of the grove was shattered Wending his way through drooping branches laden with oranges, Topino giggled delightedly Even though he had done this many times he still felt petrified but each step away from the house lifted the fear of Signor Giuseppe from his heart If Signor Giuseppe kept to his normal routine, Topino would have around twenty minutes to find the best oranges in the grove, before having to scram

Peering at each tree as he walked through the grove, Topino disregarded on sight most of the possible prizes for his efforts (he had become quite the connoisseur) Sometimes, he would cup a potential candidate with both hands and lift it to his nose, inhaling deeply and savouring the scent Then, he would let it fall back, and watch it sway gently for a few seconds, before walking away The whole process was quite beautiful - it had an almost ritualistic air about it

Topino had been walking for fifteen minutes when he saw them The most fantastic oranges he had ever seen hung low on the tree directly in front of him The tree was by no means the largest, and there was nowhere near as many oranges on it than on some of the others. But the colours were so vibrant the whole tree seemed to glow from within, and the fruits themselves… Oh, they were divine. Topino had never seen anything like them He could already taste them, could taste the sweet explosion of flavours that would warm him right down to his soul Painstakingly, he reached upwards, and twisted gently with one hand, allowing the first of his illbegotten gains to drop into the palm of the other He repeated the action twice more, and carefully placed all three in his pockets

Topino was almost salivating as he ran back in the direction of the house, the beautiful fruits of his labour the only thing on his mind. Eventually reaching the outskirts of the grove, Topino stepped into the sunlight, out of the shadowy slumber of the trees, and stopped dead in his tracks There, standing directly above him at the top of the steps, was Signor Giuseppe

Topino’ s fight or flight response malfunctioned He just stood stock still, like a deer caught in the headlights, mouth open dumbly, and a look of pure terror painted on his face So Signor Giuseppe s voice reverberated in the open space ‘You like my oranges do you?’

Topino thought he could hear the Devil himself in Signor Giuseppe’ s voice A small whimper escaped his lips and he scrunched his face up, eyes shut tightly He kept his eyes shut as the ringing of shoes on stone gradually loudened with every step closer ‘Open your eyes boy. What’ s your name?’

‘F F Filippo Francesco A Alessandro Giovanni De De De Luca’ , he mumbled, tripping over the name he usually spoke with such pride Agonizingly slowly, Topino opened his left eye a crack, then his right, and kept them glued to the ground He steeled himself for the imminent smack across the ear

But nothing happened Tentatively, Topino raised his head, and stared at the face before him His look of fear disappeared, replaced by one of pure shock There stood Signor Giuseppe, stoop-shouldered as always but his face that same face that instilled so much fear in the young boys of San Giorgio, was transformed A kind smile lit up his face and his eyes blazed with passion as he surveyed the young boy All traces of loneliness were erased and his face looked more youthful than it had in years, as though the sight of this boy had alleviated the burden of age. ‘That’ s a long name ’ , Signor Giuseppe chuckled ‘I have seen you, young Filippo, these past few days. You seem to love the oranges as I do ’ Topino nodded vigorously, a surprised smile growing on his face

‘Perhaps, ’ Signor Giuseppe continued, ‘when the harvest comes, you can work for me I do believe I would benefit greatly from an apprentice ’ Topino’ s smile had grown so wide it almost reached his ears Now, run along, Filippo I assume I will see you tomorrow?

‘Yes!’ Topino said gleefully and sprinted away up the steps When he had reached the top, he turned and shouted down to Signor Giuseppe ‘And you can call me Topino!’ Signor Giuseppe watched Topino race around the corner of the house and disappear from view ‘

Topino

He smiled to himself. It seemed Signor Giuseppe had found a friend

Olivia Dickins

WHO IS TO BLAME?

I knew all too well what this meant I had seen images of it through the cracks between my fingers too many times

The morning newscaster appeared in the corner of my room just as I was about to go out. I thought I might stick around and listen seeing as I was early anyway Not that I was very interested in what she had to say - the weather, the transport issues and the main headlines of the week: ‘Are spiritbots a threat to the human race?’ and ‘Who is responsible, you or your bot?’ Same old, same old adults worrying about whether our bots were getting too powerful too vulnerable to infection to corruption Not that I had anything to worry about though My bot OG (my initials) was made by the finest creator in London and had never before had a virus of any sort let alone anything that could endanger others Also, OG and I have an unbreakable bond - I’d know if he had any sort of malfunction in seconds, mechanical or emotional I’d sort it before it got out of hand Wouldn’t anyone?

I tuned back into the headlines: “A bot named OG has today been accused of a serious crime. The spiritbot, owned by Miss Olivia Grace Thompson ”

What! I could not believe my ears.

“STOP!” I blasted, “Repeat last item!”

The newscaster obliged And again Each time she said the same thing The name, my name, ‘Olivia Grace Thompson’ rang round and round in my head A minute passed and then another I was still at a loss for words I turned to the newscaster who was standing patiently in the corner

“What s going on? What has he done? I don t understand!

The newsreader replied in her mechanical tone, “Sorry, I don’t have that information ” I dismissed her. I needed time to think.

I remember my parents telling me about life before holography and bots I would so much prefer not to have to speak to an image on a brick wall their face not properly making contact with my own Apparently before holography the news didn’t come to you at all - you had to go and find it in a screen! Also, it's hard to imagine not having OG always by my side Before bots, people had their souls inside their bodies and that just feels a little weird

They also told me about the justice system there used to be Anyone who committed a serious crime would have their actual body with their soul inside locked up. At least then you could still have thoughts and feelings. Locking up a spiritbot like they do now is different Without a spiritbot you are nothing You just hover on the normally distinct line between life and death, incarcerated in a body as hollow as a drum Yes, no sadness and sorrow but equally no joy and laughter, and what is a life without that?

Breaking through my thoughts the visitor alert sounded, signalling someone was waiting to speak to me I accepted before thinking and then only as the figure appeared, did I realise that it was the Justice I knew all too well what this meant I had seen images of it through the cracks between my fingers too many times: the arrival of the Justice the guilty verdict and then The Grid : a place for the confinement of spiritbots accused or convicted of crime. Row upon row of faceless doors, just numbers to identify them Like a storage unit, full of useless junk

Panic rushed over me It was like that time when I swam too far out at sea. The seaweed clung to my legs like octopus tentacles wrapping tightly around me The briny water stung my eyes and lips as I struggled to draw in a breath Bubbles seethed all around me as the waves crashed and thrashed, having a violent tantrum

I realised at that point I didn’t even know what OG had done. I couldn’t feel as if it was my fault as I wasn ’t even there when it happened When what happened? I did not even know He’d been infected surely but then I would have known straight away wouldn’t I? And he’ s an extension of me so was it my own thoughts that set him off? Had OG taken my thoughts too literally? We all have bad thoughts sometimes, but that doesn’t mean we need to act on them The more I thought about it the more guilty I felt Who is responsible, you or your bot? Who is responsible? You? Or your bot?

“Please!” I cried at the wall where the Justice sat quietly, his face bright white because of the illuminator projecting him “It is all my fault He is me; don’t send him away!”

The judge spoke with a calm serenity about him: “Our decision has been made Please summon your spiritbot ”

Grace Murphy 12AL

I f I h a d t o d e s c r i b e t h e p l a c e w i t h o n e w o r d , ‘ d r e a m l i k e ’ w o u l d b e t h e b e s t o n e . N o t h i n g a b o u t m y s u r r o u n d i n g s f e l t r e a l . I t a l l s e e m e d a s i f i t w o u l d f a d e a w a y i f I s o m u c h a s b l i n k e d . H u n d r e d s a n d t h o u s a n d s o f t r e e s l i n e d t h e e d g e o f a m a s s i v e c r a t e r , t h e e d g e o f w h i c h I w a s s t a n d i n g t w o i n c h e s a w a y f r o m . T h e o n l y b r e a k i n t h e g r e e n e r y w a s a p o o l o f c r y s t a l l i n e w a t e r r i g h t a t t h e c e n t r e T h e s k y w a s a d a r k b l u i s h l a v e n d e r , s h o t t h r o u g h w i t h s t r e a k s o f g o l d s a n d m a g e n t a S t a r s g l e a m e d l i k e r h i n e s t o n e s , w i n k i n g i n t o a n d o u t o f e x i s t e n c e M i n i s c u l e i n s e c t s t h a t g l o w e d i n a l l t h e c o l o u r s o f t h e r a i n b o w d a n c e d a r o u n d i n t h e a i r I h a d n o i d e a w h e r e I w a s , b u t i t w a s t h e m o s t b e a u t i f u l a n d b i z a r r e s c e n e I h a d e v e r l a i d m y e y e s u p o n

Keisha Arora 7D

Abha Bhole 10G

RULE 1:

Tensionlacesthestagnantairbetweenthem;theapprehensionpresentintheroomis tangible.Hisbreathechoesintothevoidtheycreated,thepetulantwhineofthepipestaunts them,arhythmicthudpoundsthroughherpulsinghead.Painconsumesher-bruisesstark againstherbleachedskin,hermusclescrampingandspasming,adullthrobgnawingather skull.Heshifts.Sheflinches.Disgustflickersacrosshisfaceasheabsorbsthevulnerablecreature beforehim. “Getout,”hishollowtoneoffersnoempathy,nopity.Thewordsricochetoffher fragileform.“Didn’tyouhearme,youstupidcow?Getout!”

Supportedbythechair,shestaggerstotheexit.Eachstepispremeditated,eachmove completedgingerly-forfearofaggravation.Sheglancesback-hopetwistingintoterroras hetakesamenacingsteptowardsher.“P-please…”- thecroakbarelyescapesherlipsbefore shestumblesandturnstothedoor. Fleeingfromthehellshelivesin.

Shelimpsthroughthebarrenstreets-theearlyhoursensuringtherearenowitnesses. Herbodyiswrackedwithpain,eachstepinvitingfreshwavesofagony.Yetshepersists.She continuesonheraimlesstrek-anythingthattakesheraway. Turningdownanovergrownfootpath,sheresumesherjourney-oblivioustoher surroundings.Brancheswhipher,leavesmurmurcrueltruths,thornsensnareher-dictating herroute.Shespeedsup,walkingwithpurposeasthetreesblurpasther.Onlytostop. Beforeher,pinnedtoatree,wasapieceofpaper.Curiositybeggedhertoreadthe imprintedwords:“Newrulesforafutureworld.One:YOUMUSTHEARME.”

Turningdownanovergrownfootpath,she resumesherjourney-oblivioustoher surroundings.Brancheswhipher,leavesmurmur crueltruths,thornsensnareher-dictating herroute.Shespeedsup,walkingwithpurpose asthetreesblurpasther.Onlytostop. Beforeher,pinnedtoatree,wasapieceofpaper. Curiositybeggedhertoreadthe imprintedwords:“Newrulesforafutureworld. One:YOUMUSTHEARME.”

Recognisinghisscrawl,aforcecompelsherto gripthepaper,tearingthesheetfromthetree; foldingandplacingitinherpocket,sheresumes herlimpinggait-onlyallowinghermindto ponderonthestrangenoteforamomentlonger assheventuresfurtherintothewoods.Then teeterstoahalt.Forwhatlaybeforeherwasa visionofhernightmares.

Thebodywasstrewnacrossthepath.Thehead twistedatanabnormalangle,his frameslumpedbeneath.Acoatingofrustyliquid wassmearedacrosshisface-stemmed fromtwogapingholeswhereearsoncewere. Thepainfrombeforeoverwhelmsher,coursing throughherveins.Shecollapsesas hersurroundingsdissolveintoblack.

GENEVIEVE PEARCE

NERISSA PATEL

Nerissa Patel 12CMC

Genevieve Pearce 9T

URBAN WINTER FOX

Walking home,

the roar and stink of car engines on my left. Sirens whine to a crescendo; Cyclists huff cold air and clench frozen brakes.

The street lights flicker and hum; Orange glow illuminates oily puddles, My inky shadow the only company, As I pass the rows of semi-detached houses, with Christmas trees in the window.

Suddenly, an explosion of garbage, Egg shell, take-away styrofoam, orange peel Litter the pavement.

The guilty party emerges, Stepping into the street/spot light With a yoghurt pot stuck On one paw.

Rusty adolescent delicately turns An ear. Ashy tail quivers. A slow blink.

I continue with an Auburn Urban Teenager.

Lauren Beale, 11T

Lauren Beale 11T

Zoe Mills 13MLB

THIS WAS MADE FOR YOU

SOFTEN YOUR HEARTS THINK THREE TIMES BEFORE YOU SPEAK REMIND YOURSELF OF WHAT HEARTBREAK FEELS LIKE DO ANYTHING TO STOP YOURSELF FROM HURTING THEM DON’T MAKE AN IRRELEVANT COMMENT ABOUT HER HAIR: SHE SPENT HOURS UPON HAIRS TRYING TO SOMEHOW TRANSFORM IT TO LOOK LIKE THAT GIRL FROM INSTAGRAM. WHILST ALREADY KNOWING HER TIGHT CURLS WOULD NEVER BE LOVED AS MUCH AS THE STRAIGHT BLONDE HAIR SHE SEES ALL AROUND HER DON’T MAKE FUN OF HIS BELLY FAT: HE HAS TORTURED HIMSELF OVER AND OVER FOR NOT LOOKING LIKE HIS FRIENDS, WITH CHISELLED ABS AND PERFECT BICEPS. AFRAID TO EVEN TAKE HIS SHIRT OFF AT THE BEACH, THINKING, KNOWING HE WILL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR ANYONE THE GIRL WITH THE HIJAB ON: DON’T MAKE ANOTHER RACIST JOKE ABOUT HER SHE CRIES HERSELF TO SLEEP, WHILST YOU GET A REACTION OUT OF YOUR PEERS DON’T PLAY WITH HIS HEART: THE MOST SENSITIVE PART OF HIM, AFRAID TO GIVE IT AWAY, BUT TERRIFIED NO ONE WANTS IT. HE LOOKS THIS WAY AND THAT IN DESPERATION. SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING, ANYTHING TO FILL THAT EMPTINESS INSIDE OF HIM

BE GRATEFUL. TOMORROW ON THE WAY HOME, LOOK THE BUS DRIVER IN THE EYE, AND THANK HIM. HE IS TRYING HIS BEST TO PUT FOOD ON THE TABLE FOR HIS DAUGHTER, WHILST YOU GIGGLE AND LAUGH WITH YOUR FRIENDS WITH NOT A CARE IN THE WORLD. TELL YOUR PARENTS YOU LOVE THEM. OUT THERE SOMEWHERE, AN ORPHANED GIRL WALKS FOR HOURS, WITH HER LITTLE BROTHER ON HER BACK, SEARCHING FOR WATER, YET YOU LEAVE THE TAP RUNNING FOR THE TWO WHOLE MINUTES WHILST YOU BRUSH YOUR TEETH THAT ONE PERSON IN YOUR LIFE, THEY MAY BE YOUR BEST FRIEND, OR SOMEONE YOU’VE HARDLY SPOKEN TO, TELL THEM HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO YOU HOW MUCH YOU LOVE SEEING THEIR CONTAGIOUS SMILE EVERYDAY, HOW WHEN EVERYTHING ELSE CHANGED IN YOUR LIFE, THEY WERE CONSISTENTLY THERE FOR YOU THERE TO REMIND YOU THAT YOU ARE LOVED ANOTHER DEPRESSED GIRL DOESN’T FEEL THAT LOVE, SO SHE SLITS HER WRIST TO MAKE HERSELF FEEL NOTHING NADIA MUBGAR-SPENCER, 7T BE KIND: IT’S EASIER THAN YOU THINK. THE ONE BOY IN YOUR CLASS, YOU KNOW THE QUIET ONE, ASK HIM HOW HE IS, YOU MAY HAVE MADE HIS DAY, OR YOU MAY HAVE SAVED HIS LIFE AT LEAST HE KNOWS THAT SOMEONE CARES SMILE AT THE OLD LADY YOU SEE AT SUPERMARKET. SHE LIVES BY HERSELF IN A SMALL APARTMENT, ALLOWING LONELINESS TO EAT HER FRAIL BODY AWAY.

AND NEVER TURN TO SOMEONE ONLY TO MOAN ABOUT HOW DIFFICULT YOUR LIFE IS. YOU ONLY KNOW AS MUCH AS THEY TELL YOU, AND IN MOST CASES, THAT’S NOT ENOUGH.

I COULD’VE GIVEN YOU ANOTHER SET OF RULES, BUT SOMEONE NEEDS TO HEAR THESE. JUST REMEMBER THAT AT THE END OF THE DAY WE ARE ALL HUMAN. RICH, POOR, BLACK, WHITE, BROWN, OLD OR YOUNG, WE ARE ALL HUMAN.

Rhea Johri 10S

Lewhat Yoseif 10G

“

Chapter 1 : A bad landing

The black - necked crane could feel the pain spreading across its right wing , like a crack of doom The end was nearly in sight the welcoming arms of a barley field The crane spied the barley field around the mountain but the pain was intense now Something had hit its right wing The magnificent bird felt itself uncontrollably stooping it was coming into a crash land Around the crane Fēixíng mountain loomed alone while white teeth of higher mountains cut into the sky in the distance , like proud kings It tried to spread out its wings to slow down , but the right wing would not respond The elegant bird ungracefully flopped onto the barley and lay awkwardly on its side , its graceful long feet covered by a bloodied wing

The black - necked crane felt itself disappearing , blacking out of the world It felt dizzy and confused as others of his kind waded by The world was swirling , spinning , twirling , revolving , darkening It lay down and felt as if it was no longer the controller but the spectator of itself The other cranes were flying It didn t know why They seemed to be fleeing , but not from prey ; they did not fly far The black - necked crane attempted to follow , but the minute it stood the pain bound it to the ground like fierce bonds It collapsed and sensed a tall presence above it Strong arms were lifting it up off the ground , holding it and grasping it like death , coming to take it away gently It may have been death for all the black - necked crane could tell The arms bore the beautiful creature away

Qiu had brought home a crane That s all grandmother could see An injured one that would probably leak blood all over the place The birds were sacred , she said to herself Buddhist farmers welcomed them on their farms all across the Tibetan plateau Grandmother did not like the thought of an injured holy bird in the house It would just make a mess

Grandma”

Qiu , we haven ’ t got the space ” It was true Although it was only the two of them in the house , the tiny , dusty , square stone square building with its painted window frames was too small for an injured bird as well However , they loved the old house and all its stone bricks The red paint and Buddhist design of tigers and dragons that framed the windows were painted and repainted by family members of different generations Around the roof , prayers were strung They did have a garden if you could call it a garden A small walled front yard where their chickens and goat were kept They never really called it a garden The Himalayan meadows and the nearby fields full of feeding cranes was their garden the largest most beautiful one in the world

“ What else can we do ? Leave it ? We can t do that It ll die and that s not allowed to happen ! begged Qiu Grandmother sighed “ Fine Many people have healed cranes We can keep it until it recovers but it s not allowed in the house”

Qiu was already off , gathering hay from the goat He climbed up onto the roof , crane on his shoulder , and set the elegant , slender bird on the hay With a couple of armfuls of hay , he had soon made a bed he hoped the crane would be happy with He glanced back in admiration for the beautiful creature , and hopped off the flat roof to get a bandage and some food and drink Qiu came back with a water bowl and a bandage to dress the wing

“ Don ’ t you injure that bird even more ! ”

“ Don ’ t worry , grandma , without our help , this bird will die ! And black - necked cranes are sacred ! It might bring us luck ! Imagine that , Nǎinai , we could get another goat ! ”

Grandma stopped to consider a second goat In Buddhist culture , cranes were indeed protected with great care Any injured crane was often taken in and made well again Grandma watched a washerwoman go by and sat on the short wall surrounding the garden Qiu bent over the crane to examine the wound The damage had been done to its right wing on the shoulder He bent down and sat on his ankles and carefully tried to hold its right wing out The bird tried to object and Qiu let go Don t injure that bird even more ! Carefully , he laid his hands on the bird once more The bird gave a small protestant flap but then lay limp when it realised what Qiu was trying to do The crane ’ s grey wing feathers were stained with the dirty smudge of blood

Qiu soon realised that it was not a crash the bird had suffered The wound was too small and seemed to only have one break , and that was the crane s only injury It had not crashed , thought Qiu , It would have more injuries It didn t get into a fight with another animal If it had been this bird wouldn ’ t have made it to the field ; it would also have had more injuries So what had hurt the crane ? Qiu examined the bird closer So what hit you ? What was that Hit ? It s an impact injury for sure thought Qiu but this crane is just too old and strong and has been flying too long to suddenly crash like that Something must have come at the poor bird The crane thrashed in annoyance and a few grey and black feathers came loose Qiu could not afford it to flail He had spied something

Stay still , beautiful , ” he said decisively This is going to hurt you a lot , but it will save your life , ” and with a quick tug , the object fell out of the wing