The story of the ugly crow and the eagle

 “Once upon a time, there was a little crow. The little crow was so ugly that no one liked it. Even its crow-friends, young and old, disliked it, and pushed it away…”

“Wait, is this the story about the ugly duckling?” interrupted him Lara disappointedly. “Because it is a story for little children, and we had it in the orphanage so many times…”

“No, it is not,” John reassured her. “The Ugly Duckling story is for people who are a bit beautiful, but slightly stupid too, just like the swans at the end of that tale. The one I am telling you is the true story which no one else knows; it’s for clever people, and it has an eagle inside. A grey eagle,” emphasized John with a promise in his voice.

“Alright, let’s hear it then,” complied Lara.

“This little crow pecked with other little crows day after day and ate worms from the ground…”

       “Hey, do crows eat worms?”

“These crows ate worms because there was nothing else to feed on. The flock lived in a poor country, near a pond, and no one liked the worms; neither did the worms like to be pecked, but the crows age them because everybody has to eat,” John waited for another interruption, which fortunately did not arrive. He continued.

“The worms were slimy and muddy, and they really tasted awful, but the little crow was so hungry, always so hungry that it simply had to keep on pecking them. One day, the little crow reached the pond. It looked into the water, holding a worm in its beak, and, Lara, what did it see? What do you think?”

“It saw a dirty, little, ugly crow, all its feathers muddy and ruffled, and no one likes her,” Lara answered immediately.

John noticed the “her” instead of his “it” for the crow and that “likes,” but went on calmly: “Yes, the little crow saw a really ugly reflection in the water. However, the water was muddy itself, so it was not possible to see clearly. She,” he inserted the new pronoun smoothly, “did not like what she saw, and desperate, started blaming her crow-parents for their ugliness and for her own ugliness, her crow-brothers and sisters for their ugliness too, she blamed even the little worms for being slimy and muddy and for tasting awful. But still, the little crow could not stop feeling hungry, and she went on pecking and eating worms by the pond, fighting with the other crows over them, and disliking it all. Until one day…” he paused as if thinking.

“What? What happened one day?” asked Lara with sincere curiosity.

“One day an eagle came. It flew down from the sky, right beside the little crow. And the big eagle, for it was a big grey eagle, you see,” he dropped his voice at ‘see.’ “The eagle stood by the little crow and asked her why it was crying. The little crow pitifully described how badly the worms tasted, how they were always slimy and muddy, but how she was always hungry and she couldn’t stop herself from eating them; and how she, her parents, brothers and sisters were all muddy and ugly too. The eagle looked at the little crow, and asked her:

‘Who is the ugliest of all?’

And the little crow ruefully answered: ‘I am.’

The eagle asked her again who was the hungriest of all. The little crow answered again: ‘I am.’ Then, the eagle silently took her in his claws and flew up, high up. He went so high that the crows on the ground were lost from sight, the pond looked like a speck, and the distant mountains drew closer.”

“There were mountains too?”

“Yes, there were mountains there. The eagle took the little crow far in the mountains. And he said to the crow: ‘You see, the world is a big place. There are many birds in it. Each lives in their own environment, and everyone can move away to another place. Even so, most birds do not move. The crows, although they do not like worms, stay near them so that they can feed on them. Because the crows do not know that they can live in a different way. The worms, although they are eaten by the crows, do not move, because they need the pond to survive. Because the worms do not know that they can live in a different way. I live in the mountains. I fly far each day and see how they live. Up here in the mountains, there is no other eagle. There is no one to tell me if I am ugly or not. I like that. The mountain likes me and I like it. I can talk to the stars at night in silence.’

‘But what do you eat?’ asked the crow in deep disbelief.

‘I eat little crows,’ answered the eagle, and chortled when he felt the little crow freeze in his claws. ‘No, no, be at peace now, I do not eat crows,’ reassured her the old eagle. ‘I could have eaten you there by the pond if I wanted to, right?’

‘But why are you taking me to the mountains then?’ asked the little crow with a great concern.

‘Because I want to see if you can fly and talk to the stars,’ answered the eagle, ‘and you are free to return to the worms any time you like. Should I take you to the mountain or back to the pond?’ he asked. What do you think the little crow answered, Lara?”

“The little crow does not know if she can trust the eagle. Maybe he is lying and he eats little crows after all. But then, he could have eaten her earlier, and he did not,” Lara thought aloud. “On the other hand, the pond and only worms to eat is so awful that she may like the mountains better. But what will she eat there?”

“Right, that was exactly what the little crow asked the eagle: ‘Old eagle, what shall we eat up there?’

The eagle looked at her and answered: ‘There are two ways of feeding. One is to eat, and the other is to tame your hunger. You know the first; I shall teach you the other one.’

The little crow gulped and did not know if she was capable of all that: to fly far, to talk to the stars or to tame her hunger. She suddenly thought dearly of the worms – at least they were always there, in a beak’s reach. What do you think happened next, Lara?”

“The little crow went with the eagle to his nest in the mountains, and … and… then she saw the stars, and she liked them, and they liked her, and she listened to their stories and went on living there with the eagle,” Lara passionately stammered, “and she even learnt not to eat.”

“Alright, that is a good way to bring the story to an end. Tell me one more thing: what is the most wonderful thing she discovered in the mountains?”

Lara thought for a while. “A nest?” she frowned questioningly.

“Right, it was a nest. And what was the best thing she discovered about herself from the nest?”

The girl’s eyes glazed: “Her wings?”

“Her wings,” agreed John. “And what about her being the ugliest little crow? Was she really?”

“I like it this way: she was not a crow, but she was not an eagle either. I don’t know the name of that bird, but once I dreamt of a white bird with light eyes; well, it was not white really, its feathers were changing colours…”

John bent his ear here.

“… but it was not ugly at all,” finished Lara enthusiastically.

“Good, so the little crow was really a bird with shining eyes and feathers of changing colours in the end, she just couldn’t know that bu the pond, all covered up in the mud, pecking worms and other birds, being pecked by other birds and as little as she was. Oh, and did I tell you that the little bird learnt a lot with the old eagle?”

“Was it interesting?” asked Lara.

“Meanwhile, the little bird changed so much,” he dropped his voice again, “in the eagle’s nest that she began to like very much all thatthe eagle, the mountains and the stars had to teach her. And later in the story, she will change the way she walks, breathes, feels and thinks so much that after a few years she would be an entirely different bird.”

“After a few years? That long?”

“Yes, you see, the stars and the mountains, even the eagle himself, were so much older than the bird, that even in a few years they couldn’t teach everything they had learnt themselves in hundreds of years.”

“I see,” answered Lara seriously.

“You know what? Let us leave the story here for the time being, and we can come back to it some other time. So, this is all I want you to do: to listen to my stories and to help me finish them. The bird from your dream a wonderful image; I wouldn’t have thought of it myself.”

Lara blushed in pride, but John went on: “Imagine yourself helping me in this way with my stories – would this be too difficult for you?”

“No, I guess not. I like it.”

“Then, it is a deal, we work as a team, a story-telling team from now on. OK?”

“OK,” responded Lara. Her feet were swaying excitedly.

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