A Canary Settles a Divorce Case

A Canary Settles a Divorce Case

When my grandmother passed away, she willed to my mom her fortune and all her possessions, which included her singing canary: Sin (short for Sinatra). Gramma, a witty and playful woman, would refer to the bird as "the joy of sin."

My father is a high power attorney who back then kept an incredible busy schedule, with such odd and long hours that over the years I came to accept as normal. Both mom and dad were greatly pleased with Gramma's money, but less so with inheriting a bird.

And I, not having ever had a pet and being an only child, was glorious with expectancy as to how the bird would soothe my lonesome moments.

After some initial grumblings, my father began to like Sin, and in a short time he took over the chores of cleaning the cage, changing the water, the feed and overall general care. Though busy as he was, he'd always attend to Sin's needs first, and even when he was away on business he'd call on the telephone to check up on him and hear him sing. Routinely, he'd ask me to play the Sinatra CD's so that he could hear Sin sing.

"Ah, the joy of sin," he'd say, echoing Gramma's expression. Only after he'd heard the bird go through his primal trills and high C's, would he hang up.

Every time dad unlatched the cage, within seconds, the wise canary would nudge the door open and fly out. For some reason - and it could be dad's bald spot- Sin, after fluttering around the living room, would invariably land on top of dad's head. Before long I could see that dad and Sin had bonded in such a way that was alien to me, for dad by nature was cool (if not cold) to everyone, including mom and me.

In my junior year of high school, things started to go wrong with my parents. Maybe the conflicts were there all the time, but I hadn't really thought they could be so serious as to be the reason for divorce. But I was wrong.

One day, both out of control and without any pretense anymore, they both hurled insults at each other. It was ugly.

"You are more faithful to that damned bird than me and your son," mom yelled, furious and ready to throw things at him. Only after I went to college did I come to fully understand those words.

Given the affection that Sin showed for my father, mom's resentment grew deeper and ominous as time went by. We lived in a rail-road apartment-on Sutton Place-with a long hall that runs along seven 7 rooms before you get to the living room, the library, and the den, where we kept Sin and his cage.

Uncanny as it may seem, in the evenings as dad came home, Sin got to recognize his steps as he wended his way down the hall, and he'd start fluttering and trilling and warbling ecstatic with excitement. Such incredible display of affection would irk my mom to no end, and to add insult to injury, Sin would at times fluff up, shriek, and show hostility towards mom.

As usual, after flying and fluttering around, Sin would perch himself on dad's head, and dad would hold him and kiss him, spruce him, and finally put him in his cage.

Unexpectedly, one evening, dad was horrified to find a growth under Sin's right wing.

Wrenched with anguish and concern, dad rushed him to the clinic, where the vets assured him that such growths weren't unusual in canaries and that in most cases they were benign. And that was the case with Sin. After the surgery, during the recovery time, dad would come home early to clean the wound, change bandages, and later the band aids, bringing the pampered bird to a full recovery.

One day mom told me that she had filed for divorce and that she'd care for me as usual, but that dad would have to move out. By then I was used to their arguments, and though I understood in a flash what divorce was in the abstract, the pain and the hurt I felt was palpable, lingering for years, benumbing my consciousness.

Before they married, because mom comes from old money, the family attorneys had insisted on a pre nuptial agreement, which my father had reluctantly signed. One of the clauses specified that father had no right to any property that accrued from my mom's family. As a result, dad would have to leave Sin behind.

The attorneys for both parties worked out a satisfactory settlement, except for the bird. Dad would not sign the divorce papers unless he was allowed to take Sin with him, and mother, out of spite, would not yield under any circumstance. Annoyed with such a trivial impasse, Judge Hofeld - a bird lover and occasional bird watcher - took it upon himself to arbitrate the matter, setting a date for the canary to be brought to his chambers. The judge intimated that he could tell who the bird favored between the two parties.

When the day arrived, I brought Sin in his cage to the judge's chamber, and set it in the middle of the long conference table. "Dad will win," I kept thinking. "There's no way that Sin would point to mom - he's afraid of her!"

With the battalions of attorneys facing each other across the table, the judge - who was indeed a bird lover - within seconds had Sin responding to his trilling whistle. Then he opened the door and let Sin out. Unfamiliar with the surroundings, the magnificent warbler fluttered in circles perching himself atop of the mast of the American flag. After a few seconds of hesitant indecision, he flew straight to mom's side and landed on her head.

If betrayal could be painted, you could have seen its image on father's face. Had I not seen Sin's betrayal with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. "There must be a reason!" I thought for days and weeks. "Why did he choose her?" After the divorce, the events that unfolded in rapid succession, have convinced me that God endows his creatures with a compensating touch that is neither intuition, nor compassion, nor love, but grace. The following month mother was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and Sin developed another tumor, so that in less than three months, and on the same day, which ironically was Father's day, my mom and Sin both died.

Today, I no longer see Sin's choice as an act of betrayal, but as an act of solidarity, for by the grace of God he knew they both were dying.

Marciano Guerrero
Retired Investment Banker, Corporate Controller, graduate of Columbia University, and Vietnam Vet (1967-1968).
The writing techniques I use in writing stories and articles are all explained in: http://writerivetingprose.com
By Marciano Guerrero
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