by Ashley Bao
edited by Frankie Hagg
Content warnings: colonialism, child abuse, animal death
The Green-Eyed Warbler (Sylvia verunus) was first discovered in 1900 by French naturalist Pierre LaPetit during his first research mission into the untamed jungles of Vietnam1. It is a small passerine, with a wingspan no longer than the average man’s hand2. It is presumed to feed on small insects3 based on its short, pointed beak, but there are no documented instances of the warbler eating in front of humans. All attempts to keep the Green-Eyed Warbler in captivity have failed4.
The Jasmine Mockingbird (Basilornis florum) is not a true mockingbird. Endemic to a few small islands in northern Indonesia, it is most closely related to the talking mynah5 birds. Few have seen the elusive birds, but island locals have described the jasmine mockingbird as black with white speckling on its wings6. They are known for their distinctive high-pitched calls7 and for mimicking other birds’ rhythmic patterns, similar to New World true mockingbirds. In Indonesia, their feathers are used in tribal necklaces given to those deemed “storytellers.”8
The Siren Shrike (Lanius serenus) is a bloodthirsty9 bird. Also called the Polynesian butcherbird, the shrike inhabits a variety of islands in Micronesia and Palau. They feed on insects, impaling their prey on thorns to help tear the exoskeleton into bite-sized pieces. These birds are unique among the shrike family for their unique manner of catching prey. They rhythmically tap on the ground and sing low rumbling notes to mimic rainstorms and moles, tricking underground invertebrates to come to the surface. Unlike other monogamous shrikes, the siren shrike is polygynous. The male shrike is a small, unassuming white and black bird that presides over a group of females. Female shrikes are known for their colorful tail plumage which can range from green to neon orange. This species of shrike has also been known to exhibit cannibalistic behaviors when another bird encroaches upon their territory12.
The Winnower Thrush (Zoothera ventus) is only seen during typhoon season on the southern tip of Japan13. At adult size, they grow to about the length of an average child’s forearm. They are also experts in camouflage; their dull brown feathers allow them to blend in with the tree branches. They are often identified by their song. During extremely windy days, these thrushes roost in flocks ranging from a dozen to a hundred birds and sing in a chorus. Their calls have been described as “shrieking” by elderly locals, but most of their sung frequencies are too high for humans to hear. In the past twenty years, there have been no reported sightings of the thrush, most likely due to habitat encroachment by logging companies. Though likely extinct, locals have insisted that they still hear their song14 during typhoon season.
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1. Archaeologists found paintings of the warbler by Hmong in the southern mountainous regions of China well before 1900.
2. Average man? What does that even mean? Fully grown warblers are 25cm with their wings stretched out. If I cup my hands, they fit in nicely with only a few feathers sticking out. When you were a child, the chicks would nestle in your palms. They liked to listen to your heartbeat through the skin of your wrists.
3. They only eat silver grasshoppers, unfortunately. They’re such cute birds, but the process of waiting for a full moon and regurgitating grasshopper nymphs to cultivate into silver grasshoppers big enough to eat is quite unpleasant.
The grasshoppers taste like dirt mixed with excrement. You were fortunate I never made you conduct the ritual.
4. False. In 1730, a merchant arrived at our shrine after traveling through China collecting birds. Six-times-great-grandmother Akiko and her husband Goro bought a pair of Green-Eyed Warblers from this merchant for a bolt of moon-woven silk. He had come to know of Akiko’s skill in weaving. The story goes that the merchant wove the silk into a scarf for his wife. It strangled her in her sleep, allowing him to remarry the young daughter of his landlord.
You used to beg for me to write down my wisdom, but this book is proof that writing something down doesn’t make it true. This author knows so little about these birds.
5. When my grandmother was alive, we had a breeding pair of mynahs at our shrine. When one died, the other refused to speak anymore. I remember, as a five year old, I had to pry its beak open to force-feed it wild strawberries. It died soon after. We burned its body, and when I found trouble, my mother rubbed its ashes into my tongue. Tastebuds full of char, I was compelled to speak the full truth. Honesty is the only virtue in this cruel world, my mother used to say as she scrubbed my mouth. I never scrubbed your mouth, you know. Pain is a poison I never want you to taste.
6. The bird is closer to a dark blue, the type of blue hidden behind gray clouds on a stormy evening. Our shrine’s mockingbird is much more splotched than speckled. The dark contrasted with the white makes it look like a cow. We named it ushi in honor of that resemblance. As a baby, you learned the mockingbird’s songs quickly, babbling back the rhythms like a prodigy. Somewhere in the shrine we have a cassette tape of you, singing like ushi.
7. When I was heavy with your mother, I bought three more mockingbirds for our flock. I was afraid of childbirth, and my own grandmother had told me these birds’ songs would keep me safe while I endured the pains of labor. They chirp your yelps of pain back at you, giving you clarity, my grandmother had said. She only had one child, but she swore by the method.
The mockingbirds came from a foreign ornithologist. He came to the shrine with a menagerie of birds. He had been exiled from Europe after his experiments on sparrows had gone awry but found his niche in illegal bird trading in Southeast Asia. In exchange for the mockingbirds, he wanted revenge against his wife who had found the mangled sparrows stuffed in their chimney. So we gave him a necklace of crystallized bird spit. If he kissed it every night, it would grant his heart’s deepest desire. He was skeptical, but he had heard of our family and our powers. So he gave away the birds, and last we heard, he had published a successful book on the rare songbirds of Indonesia. He sent a copy of it to us with the string of the necklace as a token of thanks.
The birds did sing when I gave birth. Initially I found it irritating, but I acquiesced to their songs and found myself drifting into the canopy where they perched. By the time my husband placed your mother in my arms, I was dancing among the tree branches with the mockingbirds.
When you were born, your mother refused their song. She claimed it would taint you, but you were marked for magic from conception. You were born at the steps of the shrine underneath a storming sky, eyes wide open, ready to crack this eggshell of a world with your chubby hands.
8. Such a waste of the feathers. They are best used as talismans to mimic others’ voices. The most talented troupe of ventriloquists came to our shrine once to ask for them. Four-times-great grandmother Inori traded the feathers for a puppet. When I was child, my mother told me the puppet was a guardsman, reporting my behavior to her. I was terrified of its beady, painted eyes.
But you loved that puppet. You played with it even after you grew too old to play with dolls, learning how to throw your voice without any help from the mockingbirds. You were clever like that.
You are still clever.
9. Such a rude term. Females are easy to handle and even-tempered as long as you aren’t a threat… or food.
10. The shrikes are willing to eat most bugs, but they prefer silken ground spiders and tattooed nightcrawlers. They are especially picky as fresh hatchlings, so we breed nightcrawlers in the flower garden. When the nightcrawlers grow large enough, I paralyze them with a whistle—a trick I learned from my mother—and take a needle to impress blackberry ink into their skin. Sweetness mixed with flesh: baby shrikes feast upon it.
11. The male does not preside over the females. The group of females is usually comprised of sisters. They sing a haunting song every morning, not dissimilar to the melody of dying crickets. When they sing, the male sways and can’t move from its perch. My mother said it was useful for the females since they don’t have to compete for the male’s attention. Breeding is quick and efficient.
12. The shrikes must be kept in a cage far away from the rest of the aviary birds for that reason. Unless you need to staunch a blood feud with a stew made of dead shrikes, don’t let anything in their cage you don’t want dead. As I said—even-tempered, except when it comes to food.
It’s funny. You used to try to be like one of those female shrikes, mimicking their songs to try to keep birds from flying away. You were horrified when I told you that the male had no choice but to tuck in his wings and follow the females’ desires. Even after you had to cook the blood feud stew for the Yamamoto and Oshida families, you kept that pity for the male. Such a fragile little creature, practically a pet for the females. While the females ripped apart their meals, he simply swayed as they replayed the mating song over and over again.
Don't think ill of me, but sometimes I wish I had their same power, that I could sing a song that would keep you from leaving. But you have heard almost every song there is to be sung, and none convinced you to stay.
13. I once told you the story of how my grandfather went missing when he traveled to find the winnower thrush. He packed up a leather knapsack with a set of clothes, a week’s worth of food, and goods to trade for the bird for my grandmother’s birthday. He wore a charm on his neck for good fortune that I had enchanted myself—my first spell of import. I was barely sixteen years old and didn’t forgive him for leaving.
You admired him for his bravery, even as I told you it was a fool’s errand. He never returned, after all.
“But at least he tried,” you said. The effort and intention was what you loved, never the consequence.
Is that why you followed him so many years later?
14. You didn’t believe it was extinct. During the first typhoon of your fifteenth year, you were sitting at the kitchen window sipping on turnip stew when you suddenly stood up. You said you heard the song, that it was like nothing you had ever heard before.
The winnower thrush was the one bird missing from our collection. You insisted it carried the magic to change the world in its hollow bones.
“Leaving the cage is the only way to learn how to fly,” you’d said, determination brewing behind your eyes. Ever since you were born, you have carried those same brown eyes. Ever since you were born, I have loved those same brown eyes. Except in that moment, I wanted to rip them out and chain you to me, to clip your wings and keep all your talent and beauty in the palm of my hand. When the birds said that you were marked for greatness, I thought you could achieve any greatness in the shrine, by my side.
But I was already too old to stop you. And with your mother and father gone, I could only watch as you waved goodbye to go on your adventure.
You left your encyclopedia—the one you bought from a trader with a love charm you enchanted before you even knew what romantic love was. As a child, you memorized its contents cover to cover. I warned you that it was likely inaccurate and wholly unnecessary, but still you learned the habits of every single bird in our aviary.
When you come home, we’ll exchange our gifts. You will bring me the winnower thrush, and I will give you my knowledge written down as you have always asked for. Maybe then you will finally disregard the words of this silly book and listen to me
ASHLEY BAO is a Chinese-Canadian-American college freshman. Her poetry and short fiction have appeared in Reckoning, Strange Horizons, Cast of Wonders, and elsewhere. She may sometimes be found looking at cute cats on Twitter @ashleybaozi.
An Incomplete Encyclopedia of Exotic Songbirds (Annotated) can be found in Augur Magazine Issue 6.1.
