4. MAJOR PUFF’S MIGRATION AND THE SEND-OFF THAT DIDN’T HAPPEN
C.C.’S IDEA OF CHITCHAT was enough to turn Major Puff off casual get-togethers forever. And as for migrations, which were not a holiday in the slightest way, the whole idea of one was now tainted with overwhelming worry. How different it was hearing C.C.’s facts about deadly storms and starvation compared to back when he first met Twitch, who spoke in reverent tones about his migrations. Then, the puffin had felt the rush of heroic blood through his veins, and he was looking forward to making the next journey if only to describe it to Twitch later upon his return. Now, not so much.
To be fair, Major Puff had brought this attention upon himself. He’d felt less and less threatened by a sudden attack from a great black-backed gull, enough so that he started shifting from his usual topic of conversation—historical puffin battles against said enemy—to recounting his harrowing personal experiences of flying south. “And there I was, terribly off course,” he regaled his listeners on one occasion, “no clue as to my whereabouts, when suddenly I found myself surrounded by a squadron of Canada geese! Good lads, all and all, very polite—almost too polite—but the constant honking left me stunned.”
What resulted from this shift in storytelling was that as the season changed, it was not him but his friends who would be the first to turn the conversation to his migration. In fact, the very next week, Handsome had said, more or less, the same thing, albeit not before making it first about himself. “As winter approaches, I once more find it harder to see my reflection in the pond. The days and nights cool, and the surface begins to freeze. A horrible sign of things to come, but I suppose you welcome it as a harbinger of your upcoming journey.”
The week after that, when Major Puff left the burrow and headed toward the meadow where he performed his high-intensity marching workouts, he found that Magic had put up arrow signs. They were scattered everywhere. Some signs said south and others said migration this way, but all the signs were unhelpfully pointing in different directions.
It seems even Boo got in on the discussion. “You should just tell her you like her,” she said in her usual quiet voice. In all honesty, Major Puff didn’t really hear what she said, but he suspected it had to do with migration.
Inevitably, the question everyone asked was when exactly he intended to leave. Major Puff would hem and haw, make vague predictions, and try to change the subject. It wasn’t until Twitch decided to have a send-off party for him that Major Puff was forced to set a definitive date for his departure. There. The deal was done. Signed and sealed, as the expression goes. Everyone promised to show up and wave goodbye.
The night prior to liftoff was fraught with anxiety for the poor puffin. The fact was that more than any other time in his life, Major Puff was content with where he was. The burrow was cozy and warm, and leaving it, along with everything and everybody in it, didn’t appeal to the Major as much as it once did. It’s very possible that he might have conceded this point, swallowed his pride, and announced to all his friends that he no longer wished to go. But during that long, dark night of soul-searching, Major Puff was visited by the weasel.
It was as if this creature could smell the hesitation in the air, as if all the Major’s fears of danger, and his concerns for not looking cowardly, were tasty morsels to be ferreted out and gorged upon, and in doing so, the weasel made a bad situation worse.
“What kind of friends throw a party to celebrate your likely end?” said the weasel by way of announcing himself.
Major Puff fell backward as he squawked in surprise. “Eeek! Who’s there?” Fortunately, his room was at the far end of a tunnel a fair distance away from Twitch’s, so she was not disturbed. When the puffin’s eyes adjusted to the dark, enough to turn the ominous silhouette before him into the slightly less ominous appearance of the weasel, Major Puff was able to calm himself enough to ask two questions. “Um… I’m sorry, but what was that you said?” followed by “And, um… have we met before?”
The weasel ignored both and continued on his train of thought. “I’m just pointing out that here you are, about to go on a very dangerous trip where you will most likely die.”
“W-w-will I?” Major Puff’s face looked pained. “To the best of my knowledge, I haven’t so far.”
“Just increases the odds of it happening this time,” insisted the weasel. “But instead of talking you out of it, your so-called friends decide to make it a whoop-de-do. Doesn’t seem right, if you ask me.”
Major Puff’s fear turned to confusion. It never occurred to him that his friends’ interest in his perilous journey might not be sincere. “When you put it that way, uh… no, I suppose not.”
Unbeknownst to the Major, the weasel was enjoying himself immensely. Hidden by the darkness was a grin as wide as it was twisted. “Of course it’s not right! And let me ask you this, Major Puff, sir… who else would want to be celebrating your tragic misfortune, hmm?”
There it was. Like a strike of a match, or perhaps a cast of a spell, those were the words that formed the idea that turned the puffin’s confusion into mistrust. “W-w-why, the great black-backed—do you mean to say that—”
“What do I know?” replied the weasel with fake humility. “I’m just connecting the dots, that’s all. Safe trip, Major. It was nice knowing ya.” In the snap of a tail, he was gone.
Major Puff stood squeezed in the corner of his dark room for quite some time, lost in thought, unsure of what to feel. Had he read his friends so poorly? Had he not seen their trickery? The sleepless night dragged on and on.
The next day, when the time arrived for his departure, everyone came around the burrow to see Major Puff off, but he was nowhere to be found. Twitch hopped outside. She was agitated. “Not in his room. Not getting in one last practice march along one of the tunnels. Isn’t like him to leave all stealthily if not under attack, or at least thinking he was under attack.”
“Perhaps we mixed up the time and day,” suggested Duane.
“Which is why I insist on proper invitations!” jumped in Handsome, with a great deal of passion. “To all gathered here, please take note of the chaos such confusion creates. Civilized life hangs by a delicate thread. Invitations, proper napkins, good diction—I’ll say no more.”
Magic would have none of it. “Even if we did get it wrong, why would he leave without saying goodbye? I mean, really! Twitch is obviously hurt by it, and she probably baked a lot of nibbles for the occasion, right, Twitch?”
“Hmm?” Twitch was indeed concerned about Major Puff and not really paying attention. She spoke absentmindedly, in a flat voice. “Yes, plenty of nibbles, sweet and savory, I do hope the Major is all right, so strange, and tea, there’s tea, too, why wouldn’t he wait to say goodbye?”
“Exactly! Plenty of nibbles!” declared Magic, completely missing the more important issue at hand. “So we should help Twitch out and probably eat them so they won’t go to waste, right, Twitch?”
“Hmm? Yes, the nibbles, shouldn’t go to waste, made the Major his favorite, gingersnaps, he likes those, thought he’d be pleased, have a good parting memory, just saying.” In a daze, Twitch slowly went back into the burrow to fetch the food.
A heavy silence hung over the assembled friends. Major Puff’s surprise departure was a mystery. “He didn’t even want to go,” said Boo.
But no one heard her, and then almost at the exact same time, C.C. announced loudly, out of the blue, “I recently discovered I like arrowroot cookies.” The puzzled expressions on her friends’ faces in response informed C.C. that she hadn’t yet mastered the art of chitchat, and another heavy silence followed.
The happy send-off that was supposed to demonstrate everyone’s affection for Major Puff ended up being a very somber affair. Nibbles were eaten, but not with much enthusiasm. Duane observed it all with a sense of confusion and sadness. If it were just a case of miscommunication, a wrong time given or a wrong time heard, then the results of such a small error seemed way out of proportion. Maybe it isn’t just civilized life that hangs by a thread, Duane thought. Maybe friendship too is as fragile and susceptible to an ill breeze.