Silence

At the traffic lights outside the Bruma flea market, a street vendor selling Chinese goods holds a small wooden cage at my car window. Inside an artificial bird with a bright orange beak, protruding black beads for eyes, and a shocking pink, feathered tail swings back and forth. “Support, Mama! Support”, the man whines. 

Four garish gold chimes and a diamond-shaped wooden disc with the word ‘luck’ or ‘fuck’ carved into it hang down from the base of the cage. The whole contraption makes a high-pitched mechanical shrieking sound that bears no resemblance to birdsong.

“Support, Mama, support, support.” I give the man the twenty rand he is asking for.

There is apparently no means to turn the high-pitched sound off. At home I take the still shrieking contrivance into the outside room, hang it up on a cupboard door and throw a rug over it to soften the sound. My little dog Daisy runs around in circles , emitting demented yelps and trying to get at the bird.

The high-pitched shrieking persists in the background. Close to breaking point I pour out my troubles to the first person who calls. “There must be some way,” my brother consoles, “to remove the thing that makes the noise. Get a screwdriver!”

Abandoning my commitment to non-violence, I approach the cage armed with a variety of screwdrivers, hammers and other weapons of mass destruction. All the while Daisy runs around my feet yelping and doing a mad dance. 

With trembling hands, I find a screwdriver that fits, remove the cover of the cage and wrench out the bird’s mechanical heart.

Now soundless, the creature dangles from the kitchen light.

Daisy collapses on the bed.

Silence has become an imperative.