the bird man

tham dii
dâi dii
tham chûa
dai chûa

Good actions bring good results. Bad actions bring bad results.
-Thai proverb

I don’t think any of us got much sleep. The guesthouse was alive with commotion early in the morning. I snapped into consciousness on the cold floor, I could hear the voices from the next room. They did not sound familiar. I opened my eyes. Ryan was sleeping heavily on the futon next to me. It took at least an hour before I could bring myself to rise out of bed. The consequences of the first night in a new city were wrecking havoc on my insides. I needed as much rest as I could afford.

When the noise and commotion and sliding doors and loud voices and passing cars became too much to ignore, I got out of bed. Ryan was gone. The gigantic tatami room was deserted. Rays of mid-morning sunlight beamed into the room. All but three futons were put away. One was mine. One was Ryan’s. I would meet the owner of the other soon.

I slid open the door and walked into the kitchen. Other travelers were shuffling about, doing the morning necessities. I made a cup of tea and lit a cigarette. Leaning against the counter, I tried to piece together what needed to be done before noon, when the guesthouse will kick everybody out for cleaning.

A young Japanese guy was sitting at the table across from me. A small television was on but he didn’t seem to be watching it.

I told him good morning.

His head was shaved with clippers and the sharp angles of his glasses gave his face definition. His left wrist was encircled by a tattoo that looked like waves breaking on the shore.

He said his name was Ando and he was from Toyota City.

“What are you doing in Kyoto?” I asked.

“I study Buddhism and meditation. I am here to visit the temples. Why are you here?”

“I came to see the leaves.”

“The koyo is good here. The leaves are beautiful.”

“How long are you staying?” I ask.

“I leave today. I’m going to the next city.”

“Have you been traveling long?”

“We are always traveling. I started my journey in Okinawa, then came to Hiroshima and then to Shikoku and then Nara. I’ve only been in Kyoto for a short time.”

“I have a friend who lives on Shikoku, I said. “In Ehime. David. He’s an American like me. He’s a painter.”

“I’m a painter too.”

“He’s also a Buddhist. I think you two would have a lot to say to each other.”

An employee of the guesthouse passed through the kitchen. I finished my tea and rinsed out the cup.

“We have to be out of this guesthouse by eleven,” I said.

“Yes. Eleven.”

“It would be nice to have a shower. I think the bathroom is still full. It was full a little while ago, overtaken by the women.”

He thought for a second before speaking.

“Sometimes they take longer.”

***

When I came back from the shower Ando was sitting on the floor of the tatami room.

“Look at this,” he said, motioning to a small brown paper bag.

I knelt on the ground and looked inside to see a small, brown Japanese dove.

“She is hurt.”

“What happened?”

“A crow attacked her neck. She can’t fly.”

“What’s her name?”

“Heiwa. Heiwa means peace.”

“What will you do with her?”

“I know a doctor who will make her better,” Ando said. “He’s not far.”

“She is very lucky you found her.”

“I am lucky she found me, too.”