sketchbook in the air. I’ll make her immortal, he called. The pelican child and the dog and the cat remained sitting quietly in a circle on the floor where they had been playing dominoes. The man remained outside until darkness fell, occasionally calling out to them that he was an artist and very highly regarded. Then he went away. The cat turned on the lamp and they waited for Baba Iaga to return. There were two lamps in the hut, one that illuminated only what they knew already and another one which Baba Iaga kept locked in a closet that illuminated what they did not know.
Baba Iaga returned and said, I smell something outside. It smells like cruel death. Who has been here? And they described the man and what he had said. If he returns, under no circumstances let him in, Baba Iaga said. The next day she went off once again in her mortar and pestle. On foggy days one could see the faintest trail of her passage through the sky, so she brought her broom along to sweep away any trace of herself. Baba Iaga was usually very careful, though sometimes she was not.
The pelican child and the dog and the cat sat in a circle on the floor with their coloring books. The pelican child’s favorite color was blue, the cat’s black, and the dog pretty much preferred them all, he said. They felt the little house moving and their crayons slid across the floor. Once again the man had appeared and the chicken legs had prevented him from finding the door. He shouted up to them as before, proclaiming his devotion to the pelican child’s strangeness and beauty and promising to make her immortal. My name is synonymous with beautiful birds, he said, waving his portfolio at the windows.
What is synonymous, the dog whispered. He had no idea what it meant and he never would.
Just then the entire forest commenced to rattle, for Baba Iaga had returned and was rushing toward the distinguished gentleman on her bony legs, ready to thrash him with her pestle. Wait, wait, he cried. I only want to create your daughter’s portrait. You cannot keep such a splendid creature locked up here. As a mother you should want her to be appreciated. Others should be allowed to marvel at her. Come, look at the drawings I have made of her avian brothers and sisters.
And Baba Iaga, allowing curiosity to get the better of her and also because she did feel somewhat guilty raising her beautiful daughter in the dark woods, agreed to look at the drawings.
They were beautiful.
Herons and ibis and egrets and roseate spoonbills and storks feeding or flying or resting in their nests with their young or gliding above water that sparkled, so great was the gentleman’s skill, sunlight pouring through their perfect wings.
Let us retire to your home and lay these pictures on the floor inside so you can study them and they won’t be blown about by the wind, he said.
Indeed, a violent wind had come up as though it were trying to tell Baba Iaga something but she ignored it.
So the chicken legs obediently swung the hut around and Baba Iaga and the gentleman, whose name was John James Audubon, entered.
Well, put out some tea and biscuits for our guest, Baba Iaga snapped at the cat, but the cat said, We have no tea or biscuits. The dog growled, but Baba Iaga said to Audubon, Oh, pay no attention to him. This deeply hurt the dog’s feelings.
It’s quite dim in here, Audubon remarked. Would you have another lamp so that we can see the drawings better? I so want you to approve of them so you will allow me to draw your beautiful daughter.
I do have another lamp, Baba Iaga said gladly.
And please, grandmother, he said, could you be so kind as to lock the dog and cat away? The dog does frighten me a bit and I’m allergic to cats.
Baba Iaga put the dog and the cat in the closet and followed them in, looking for the other lamp. Oh, wouldn’t you know, she muttered, I put it on the highest, most-difficult-to-reach shelf. Audubon slammed the door shut and bolted it. Baba Iaga and the dog and the cat were so stunned that for a moment they were completely speechless. Then they heard their beautiful pelican child say, Oh please sir, do not take me from this bright world! and then a sharp crack as though from a pistol, then terrible sounds of pain and surprise, and then nothing. The dog began to howl and the cat to hiss. Baba Iaga beat on the door with her bony hands and feet, which were sharp as a horse’s hooves but the door was old and strong, the wood practically petrified, and they could not break through it. But the dog flung himself against the door again and again and worried a sliver loose with his teeth and claws, and then another sliver. He did not know how long he tore at the door. He had no conception of time. It seemed only yesterday he was a puppy hanging onto Baba Iaga’s sock as she limped across the room, or pouncing at moths, or grinning with joy when he was allowed (before he got too big) to accompany Baba Iaga on her flights across the sky. It seemed only yesterday that his fur was soft and black, his paws so pink and tender, his teeth so white, or it seemed as though it could be tomorrow.
Finally, he had made a hole in the door just large enough for him to crawl through. What met his eyes was a scene so horrific he could not understand it. He began to tremble and howl. The beautiful pelican child was pierced through with cruel rods and was arranged in a position of life, her great wings extended, her elegant neck arched. But her life had been taken away, and her eyes were fathomless and dark. A specimen, the cat screamed behind him. He has made of our sister a specimen! And then he felt the tears of Baba Iaga striking him like hail.
He left. Outside he ran and ran through the forest. He could see the man running, too, clutching his wretched papers and pens. Often the dog stumbled and twice he fell, for his hips had been bad for some time and his poor old heart now pounded with sorrow. At last he gave up the pursuit for the evil one had far outdistanced him. After he rested and caught his breath, he smelled the dreadful scent of cruel death. Audubon’s abandoned campsite was nearby and a fire of green branches still smoldered. Many were the trees that had been cut down, and on their stumps were colorful woodland birds, thrushes and larks and woodpeckers and tiny iridescent and colorfully patterned ones whose names the dog did not know. Long nails thrust through their small bodies kept them erect and thread and wire held their heads up and kept their wings aloft. Even more horrifying was the sight of birds dismembered, their pinions and claws severed for study. Whimpering, the dog fled, and after he had gone a short distance or a long distance, after a long time or a short time, he came to the little hut on chicken legs. The legs were weeping and Baba Iaga and the cat were weeping. Baba Iaga had enfolded her daughter in her arms and her tears fell without ceasing on the pelican child’s brown breast.
In the morning, the cat said, We must do something.
I will go out again and find him and tear him to pieces, the dog said wearily.
I don’t give a rat’s ass about Audubon, the cat said. We must bring our beautiful pelican sister back.
Perhaps we should call for Prince Ivan, the dog suggested.
Useless, Baba Iaga said. He has his princess and his castle. He never calls, he never writes, he is of no use to us.
We will put the beautiful pelican child in the oven, the cat announced.
I couldn’t bear to put my daughter in the cold cold oven, Baba Iaga said.
Who said anything about cold, the cat said. We will preheat it to oh say, two hundred fifty degrees and we will put her in for only half an hour.
Half an hour? the dog said.
That stove hasn’t been used in years, Baba Iaga said.
But they did what the cat suggested for what else could they do?
Carefully, they lay the pelican child in the oven which was no longer cold but not too warm either. Oh her beautiful face, Baba Iaga cried, her beautiful bill, take care with her bill.
Then they waited.
Has it been a half an hour yet? the dog asked.
Not yet, the cat said.
At last the cat announced that it had been half an hour and Baba Iaga opened the oven and the pelican child, as beautiful as she had ever been, tumbled out and tottered into their happy arms, alive.
After this, Baba Iaga continued to fly through the skies in her mortar, navigating with her pestle. But instead of a broom, she carried the lamp that illuminated the things people did not know or were reluctant or refused to understand. And she would lower the lamp over a person and they would see how extraordinary were the birds and beasts of the world, and that they should be valued for their bright and beautiful and mysterious selves and not willfully harmed for they were more precious than castles or the golden rocks dug out from the earth.
But she could reach only a few people each day with the lamp.
