My name is Professor Charles Schneider. I am a professor in ornithology. Self-proclaimed, but professor nonetheless. And to that large population of clueless, deprived souls – which I don't doubt you're a part of, ornithology is the very necessary and extremely important study of birds. I reside in a small one-bedroom house in the quiet village of Bath. I live alone. Well, not really alone. I have my 47 birds and my two friends. The 47 birds vary in species from canaries to parakeets, kestrels to the tawny owl. They have the bottom floor of the house. That includes the kitchen, livingroom, and back garden.
Some of the birds – like Charlie and Cosette, both swifts, only like the outdoor air. That’s why I built the gazebo. I have very little knowledge in the physically straining practice of construction, but my friend Tom is quite the opposite. He is one of the friends who lives with me. He is very helpful when repairing the beautiful damage done by my birds. Very handy guy. Excellent cook too. The only problem with Tom is that he doesn’t get on very well with Lucy. It’s funny really; for two sides of the same coin, they really aren’t alike at all.
Lucy is a lover of books and all things reflective. She is a collector; a saviour to shattered mirrors, dull spoons and chips of marble. She has the attic, and when the sun shines through two large triangular windows at precisely 8:47 each morning, for three minutes, beams of sunlight hit every shape and shard of shiny orphaned objects, and the beauty of the room is one of breathtaking capacity; or so I’ve heard. She likes books on facts. She likes to know the truth about anything and everything. This is probably why they don’t get on very well with each other. Tom likes to dream in worlds of magic and creativity, and he shows this imagination in his power of building the most unnecessary of contraptions and toys for the birds. Lucy has a much more . . . scientific approach to life. They really only see eye to eye when it comes to eating food.
They don't understand my love for the birds too well. I think the main issue they have is trying to understand why I need 47, no more, and no less. I try to explain, I really do try, if only I could make them see. Firstly, there are 47 counties in Kenya, and Kenya is fantastic in my opinion. New Mexico also happens to be the 47th state to join the USA on the 9th day of January 1912, which coincidently is the same day that Jacques Ellul was born. I hear he was quite the sceptic of technology, but a thoughtful one at that. My kind of fellow, I must say. Not to mention that 47 is the quintessential random number.
They also don’t understand how I get so much enjoyment from the challenge of caring for the birds. Other than the fact that it gives me something to do, I like the trials it poses. Do you understand how hard it is to keep a house that inhabits a human and 47 assorted birds clean?
But it’s alright, I have an extremely precise schedule. Every morning at 8:50 I start my day by cleaning the floor from the previous night’s excretion; from the birds of course. I like to use any kind of tabloid newspaper to protect the floors. They’re full of faeces before the birds get to it anyway, so I find this new use for it to be quite apt.
Then I disinfect and refill all of the food and water containers. I have them all ordered in colour, alphabet and which birds process food faster than others. This is one of the best parts of my day. Organisation is one of the greatest joys in life. The time is always 12 o’clock when I finish with this, which means it’s time to stand outside with the outdoor birds for a grand total of 47 minutes so they don’t get lonely.
It is only when I am outside that I allow myself to take a moment to contemplate my life as it stands in that moment. It’s usually a happy outcome. After this part of my life comes and goes, I still need to spend roughly another 46 minutes and 13 seconds outside. I often find myself talking to Chauncey by this time. He is my only parrot. He is now my secondary councillor, you being my unneeded primary. He took the demotion very personally. He’s in a lot of pain; I hope you understand that. Chauncey gives great advice and he thinks quite a bit like me, which is good.
I don’t leave my house. That’s why I thought the best solution to these sessions is to write to you. There is no need for you trespassing into my domain, and there is most certainly no need for me to leave it either. Why should I go outside when I have my birds, Tom and Lucy to talk to? They’re all I need. Tom goes out. Someone has to get the food and supplies for the household. And Lucy only leaves when she needs more reading material and potential shiny objects. I don’t know where exactly they go, the outside world must have changed since my memory of it from 1986. I guess that would be the year I became what you psychologists refer to as a “recluse of the highest form”. I like it. All I know is that when they’re gone, it leaves me with a darker outlook on life. Quite literally. I don’t like to think about those times. They make me become someone I’m not. I know I never see Tom and Lucy anyway, but when they go – no. I don’t like it.
I never really see Tom cooking or constructing at all, come to think of it. He just leaves his workings around for me to find. And Lucy only tells me of the wonders she has read. I have never seen her sit on her special chair, reading, polishing, thinking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen them fight either. I only hear the arguments. I guess they’re both very thoughtful in that way. They are very protective. They know it breaks my heart to see conflict. But I guess, in a small house like this, you hear things. That’s another reason why I love the birds so dearly. They just talk and sing. No fighting. The vibes they radiate are ones of comfort and general easiness. Such beautiful creatures.
Well that’s about all, Doctor Frohsik. I have told you about my daily life and I. If there is anything else you would have me tell you, then ask for it in the next letter that you feel the need to send me. I still do not see how these sessions are going to help me. You wrote before that it would give me a chance to think, but I’ve already given myself the moments in the garden to think. I am of sound mind. And I have Tom and Lucy for the times I’m not.
Yours sincerely and all of that nonsense. I’m not going to write my name again. Refer to the beginning.
