Crimson Swan

Christmas doesn’t quite evoke any nostalgia in me.

Back when I was a toddler, my family had never been keen on celebrating it; most people in the city weren’t, in fact. It was just another holiday to spend peacefully at home. The most Christmas-y thing we did was eat plum cakes, and I hate plum cakes.

Things change, of course, and now every child gets a present from Santa. Or so I learned on that particular Christmas.

My uncle had decided to host a family luncheon on Christmas Day. So, I spent the day attempting to socialize with everyone from my mother’s side of the family.

After lunch, there was a brief session of “What did Santa get you?” wherein my cousins made their children showcase the gifts they received. They had a miniature Christmas tree and everything.

Extraordinarily festive for me.

"What did you get from Santa?” my cousin asked his six-year-old daughter.

She looked down shyly at the floor; whether she had forgotten or she was simply embarrassed, I don’t know. But she remained that way for a few seconds. After repeated chants of "Go on, tell us" from her father, she finally looked up and managed to say "teddy bear" in a small voice.

My other cousin, as if on cue, asked her daughter the same question, and the child, no more than four, replied with a 'nothing.' At this there was a great uproar from the spectators; most of them laughed while others shouted, “Oh no! She forgot what she got!”

"Did Santa ever give me anything?” I asked my mother, sitting right next to me. Despite the cacophony, I took extra precaution to be inaudible to others because someone my age asking something like that just sounds weird. Half my family would think me inane for the rest of my life; the other half would think I didn’t have a childhood.

"No, you were taught from the start that Santa doesn’t exist. We never entertained whims like these,” she said with an air of satisfaction. “We wanted you to know that Santa Claus is a fantasy.”

"No ma,” I replied. “He’s a Santasy.”

"Yes," my mother said nonchalantly. In the twenty-two years that she had known me, she had grown completely accustomed to my poor attempts at humor. I was, however, somewhat disappointed that she wasn’t the slightest bit annoyed.

I managed to make up an excuse to leave early and hit the street while the sun was still hanging in the sky. It was a crisp winter afternoon, and the chilly air along with the mellow sun had made the weather very pleasant. I wanted to sit down and enjoy some peace and quiet, away from the Christmas crowd, and I knew precisely where to go.

It took me twenty minutes to get to the park, and I was pleased to find it nearly empty. There were a couple of old women sitting on a bench. They looked up to see the stranger entering the area and promptly decided to ignore me.

I found my favorite spot by the pond soon enough. There was a clump on the other side of the pond, a small area densely populated with large trees, along with some undergrowth, none of whose names I knew, but they perfectly hid whatever went on behind them.

I contemplated the pros and cons of sitting on the grass. "Should've brought a mat along or something," I thought, and immediately my girlfriend popped into my mind. Her handbag never ceased to amaze me. She carried everything in it, starting from a comb to a hand sanitizer to an umbrella to old newspapers.

I wouldn’t be surprised if she pulled out a rabbit out of her bag one day.

In any case, she wasn’t there, and I decided to sit down anyway, so I took off my shoes and plopped down on them to keep the grass from sticking to my rear, because repeatedly spanking myself in a public setting after I got up was just too undignified.

As soon as I sat down, a black cat came bounding out of the thicket. It ran like something was chasing it and kept running until it got out of the park. It turned around right outside the gate, on edge, then ran off again.

Cats are so weird, I thought.

I sat there for a while observing my surroundings, wondering whether I should demand a Christmas gift from my mother.

The soft grass had muffled their footsteps. I was a bit startled when I saw two cops emerge from somewhere behind me and make their way around the pond toward the clump. I kept my eyes fixed on them until they disappeared into the thicket.

The whole situation was rather curious. Security guardsThe often patrolled the area every now and then. But the two that walked by me weren’t security guards; they were the police. Something very odd was happening, and I needed to see what.

So, I got up, put on my shoes, and hurried toward the woods. Halfway through, I heard what can only be described as a blood-curdling scream. I froze in my steps. In the silence that followed, the only sound I could hear was that of my own heart.

I'm not entirely sure how long I stood there, but I soon realized a new sound had been added to the environment. It sounded like people quarrelling, and its origin was within the trees. After a moment of consideration, I decided to follow the noise.

I'm fairly certain this is how I will die one day, I thought.

Not today, though. "Probably," said another voice in my head.

I reached the undergrowth and tried to hop over it as stealthily as possible.

The voices were louder by then, and I tiptoed toward the source. I had never actually entered the forest before, lest I stumble across something I should not. Going through the trees, I realized they were much more densely placed than I had imagined. No wonder delinquents loved this place. But then all too suddenly, I came into a clearing and saw them.

Unfortunately, they saw me too. The cops were there, and curiously enough with them was a white swan. White swans are always lovely, but this one seemed somehow illuminated with a light of its own. I don’t know if my mouth hung open whilst I stood staring at the swan, but I came out of my trance when I realized that one of the cops was shouting at me.

"Are you deaf?” he asked when I finally looked at him. “What are you doing here?” He didn’t attempt to hide how upset he was with my presence.

"I… uh… I heard a scream,” I answered.

"Let's just clear this up quickly and leave,” said the other one, very calmly to her colleague, and turned to face the swan.

The man gave me one last glare before facing the swan.

"Look, he should never have come out. What was he thinking? We can’t help. Stop wailing; you’re clearly disturbing the people,” she told the swan, gesturing toward me.

"But… but my husband has been shot!” the swan shouted, clearly desperate for help.

"It can talk?” I interjected, utterly astonished.

"Yes," the woman answered without turning. Her annoyance with the both of us was palpable.

"There's nothing we can do,” she said to the swan. "Besides, he’s fine. Honestly, you’re being melodramatic. So, stop bothering us and the people, or we’ll have to lock you up.”

"Melodramatic?!" the swan exclaimed, looking aghast, but before she could continue, the officers turned around and briskly walked away, completely ignoring the swan’s request for justice.

This has to be a dream, I thought. So, I figured I might as well play along; this was too interesting to wake up from.

The pen, I assumed her gender from her voice, had hidden her face under her wings, and I could hear her sobbing. I stood in one place, watching her quietly until I couldn’t take it anymore. I was afraid I would wake up and this would be just another pointless dream.

I very slowly took a few steps toward her, not wanting to frighten her or seem like a threat.

"What happened?” I asked her, squatting down. I had put on the most innocent face I could make.

She continued sobbing. I decided to wait a while and give her some time to collect herself. She, however, showed no signs of stopping, so I decided to speak again.

"Excuse me, miss?” I asked. She looked up at me this time, her eyes glazed from all the tears. “What happened?”

"YOU!" she screamed at me, her face contorting in rage suddenly. “You are what happened! If you hadn’t shown up, I may have gotten those two to help me! You humans are disgusting! All of you are horrible and cruel!”

In cartoons a scene like this would perhaps look hilarious: a swan flapping its wings in anger and quacking away whilst a human looks on, dumbfounded, not quite sure how to react. But in real life, it was quite frightening to me because I don’t like birds. I’m not certain if what I feel toward them is anger or indignation, but the point is: I hate birds with every fiber of my being.

Yet it was hard to not feel sorry for the poor thing, so I wanted to help her. But with her flapping away at me like that, on the verge of attacking me, I was beginning to regret my decision. I needed to tread carefully. I could always wake up if I blinked really hard, but my curiosity was still getting the better of my fears.

"Alright, look,” I said, holding up my hand. “I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Abruptly, she stopped yelling and looked at me suspiciously, as if trying to weigh her options. I stood there feeling increasingly inadequate under the judgmental eyes of a swan. I found that being judged by the epitome of avian grace frustrated me for two entirely different reasons.

Firstly, she was a bird! Why should I be judged by a bird?

Secondly, she was magnificent; even for someone who didn’t like birds, I had to admit that. On top of that, she was a talking swan. Her voice sounded like chimes, and even when she was shouting, it sounded melodious.

I was considering waking up when she suddenly spoke.

"You asked what had happened. Yes?” She didn’t have eyebrows, but she seemed to have raised the muscles above her right eye.

"Uh… yes.”

"I will tell you what happened if you agree to a condition.”

"Which is?”

"You can’t back out once I tell you, and you will have to help me at all costs.”

I should have said 'no,' but again my curiosity won, and I agreed. How bad can it be?

"Very well,” she conceded. “My husband and I have been living here for decades now. We have a deal with the authorities. During the hours that visitors are allowed in the park, we lurk in this brothel of a woodland realm and hide ourselves. It’s not easy because some of your kind come in here too for all sorts of reasons. But from five thirty in the evening to five thirty in the morning we have full access to the park, and we can freely feed on whatever we want.”

The timing struck me as slightly odd since the park opened at five in the morning and closed at six in the evening, which meant there was an overlap, but I didn’t press on that. Nonetheless, it was a strange agreement. “Why did they agree to such a weird deal?”

"Don't interrupt!” she snapped. “I’m getting there.”

"Sorry."

“And anyway, that’s a stupid question. We’re talking swans! Can’t you tell we’re magic?” she said with an air of pride, and the feeling of inadequacy welled up inside me again. “We have abilities. Well, rather my husband does.”

I was about to ask her to elaborate on what kind of abilities, but her “Don’t interrupt!” rang in my ears, and I kept my mouth shut.

"My husband is getting old, and he needs to feed more often now in order to maintain his abilities. The inability to do so is making him irritable.” She paused and sighed. “And then this afternoon, a group of human adolescents came here to smoke something. My husband, already vexed, was enraged. He merely wanted to frighten them away. But—" her voice cracked. “One of them had a gun and they shot him.”

"I'm so sorry—" I began.

"Oh! Don’t worry about that; he bled out a little, but a bullet isn’t enough to kill him. He got up and knocked the gun away. He would have killed them if they hadn’t fled after that. But that’s not what angers me. No, what really angers me is that the cops refused to help us! Is there no justice in this world?!” she shouted, agitated once more.

I didn’t think there was a law against shooting violent talking swans. But I very well couldn’t tell her that.

"I see,” I said. “So how exactly can I help? You’re not going to ask me to find and punish the kids, are you?”

"Oh! Don't be preposterous,” she said. “I want you to come with me and visit my husband. He’ll tell you how you can help. You can’t back out now, remember?”

I deliberated for a while but decided to go with her in the end. We had only walked for a minute or so when I saw him, and he took my breath away. There lay perhaps the most gorgeous swan I’d ever seen; he was much larger than the pen, and, if my eyes weren’t deceiving me, he was glowing even brighter than her. He lay on his back with his eyes closed, head resting on a pile of leaves, wings folded upon his chest. I couldn’t take my eyes off, and the more I looked on, the more at peace I felt.

"Husband!" the pen called out, rushing to him. “Husband! Look what I have brought you.”

The cob slowly opened his eyes and looked at me only for a brief moment before he turned his head to look at his wife, who was now by his side. “What’s this?” he asked in a voice that reminded me of storm clouds rumbling. “A she-man?” he said, turning to me again, this time looking me up and down. His gaze, I noticed, was not as intense as his wife’s. Perhaps because he was hurt and tired.

The pen came to my side again and, much to my disgust, licked my hand.

"What the—" There are many reasons why I have never wanted pets, and saliva is one of them. I jerked my hand away from her, but she didn’t seem to care.

"She's alright, dear,” she told her husband.

Alright? “What’s going on?” I asked suspiciously.

She didn’t bother answering, though. Her husband slowly got up then and made his way towards us. He stopped in front of me, merely an inch away, and I reckoned he was roughly 4 feet tall. Much to my disgust and shock, he too licked my arm.

"Stop it!” I yelled.

He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow as if he was trying very hard to remember something. “Too much fat,” he announced after a good minute.

"What?" I felt my blood boil. Did he just call me fat?! I was at worst chubby, not fat!

"This is why I prefer He-men,” he said to his wife and then sighed. “Dear, I have come to a rather sad decision.” He looked truly despondent saying that.

"What is it, sweetling?” she asked, concerned.

"I need to leave here; this is no longer a suitable place for me," he sighed again.

"I?" she asked, creasing her brows.

"Yes, I,” he responded, looking hopelessly miserable. “I truly am sorry, but I need the strength.” With that, he suddenly lunged at her.

My body froze as I saw him tear her to pieces. Blood was spraying everywhere; I felt some land on my face, and no matter how many times I blinked, I couldn’t wake up. I couldn’t even faint. So, I watched as he feasted on her heart and her lungs. By the time he was done, he was drenched in her blood, and I still looked on.

"She always used to say humans are foolish," he said to me. “And I always told her emotions make everybody stupid. I warned her not to trust anybody, you know. She never did listen.”

With one final rueful smile in my direction, the crimson swan flew out of the woods while the dead bird lay at my feet. I watched him disappear somewhere in the sky, feeling very stupid indeed.