He let out a gasp of shock, and jumped backwards, the world reeling in his eyes. When he recovered from his shock he saw the dark form of a tall lean youth standing there. The lean youth was also regarding the white dove.
‘His companions did this to him,’ said the lean figure, in a dry sepulchral voice.
‘What companions?’
‘His companions. They did this. They fell on him and broke his wings. They tried to kill him. They knew he couldn’t make the journey.’
There was silence. After a while, during which the breeze stirred in the square, ruffling the mane of the great rider’s horse, the lean figure said:
‘Can you hear what the dove is crying?’
‘No.’
‘Can’t you hear what he is crying?’
‘No.’
‘Can’t you hear at all?’
‘No.’
‘You can’t hear anything?’
‘Yes, of course. I can hear its noise of distress.’
‘You mean pain?’
‘Yes, pain.’
‘And you can’t hear what the pain is saying?’
‘No, of course not. Any why are you asking me all these questions anyway? Why don’t you do something about the poor bird, instead of just standing there and talking?’
The figure, drily, replied:
‘Well, I was about to. But you seemed concerned as well. What were you going to do?’
‘I don’t know.’
There was another silence. Then, leaning forward ever so slightly, the figure said:
‘This is what the pain is saying: Either give me life, or kill me.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘The bird is saying: Either heal me, or kill me.’
‘Well, I can’t kill it.’
‘Then you must give it life.’
‘I don’t know how to give it life.’
‘You don’t?’
‘No.’
‘Then what are you doing here?’
‘Where?’
‘Here. On this island, in this square, at this moment.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You don’t know?’
‘No.’
‘How odd.’
‘There’s nothing odd about it. I am here. There’s a reason why, but I don’t know the reason.’
‘So you can’t give life?’
‘No. And what about you? What were you going to do? You clearly feel pity for the bird.’
The figure looked at him with an intense sort of vacancy. At that moment he became aware that there was another figure behind the tall lean youth. It was a female form. She stepped from behind the first figure, silently. He couldn’t make out her face. They both seemed to have been made out of the same dark and obscure material. The first figure leant over, picked up the bird, and was about to break its neck, but stopped suddenly.
‘I am going to kill it,’ the figure said, without any emotion. ‘It will die anyway. It won’t last the night. There is no point in prolonging its agony. And it is cruel to leave it out in the square, shivering and suffering a long, slow, and lingering death. Meanwhile, you would be comfortably asleep in your bed. I am going to kill it.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Why not?’
‘Would you like that done to you?’
The figure paused and seemed to think about it. After a long moment, he turned to the other form, his female companion, and they talked in low voices. When they had finished, he turned back and said:
‘Just one twist of the neck, that’s all. And it will all be over.’
‘Don’t.’
‘Can you give it life?’
‘I don’t know how to give life.’
‘All these years of being alive and you haven’t learned?’
‘No.’
‘If you can’t give it life, then you must kill it.’
‘I can’t kill it.’
‘Then I will kill it.’
‘You mustn’t.’
‘There is nothing for me to do. I can’t heal it. I can’t give it life. That is my profound and regrettable failure. But I can give it death. I can end its misery. There is compassion in that too. A lesser compassion, I concede, but better than leaving it to die in the open air, alone. There’s nothing for me to do. You won’t let me kill it, so I now hand it over to you. I have done my best. It’s now up to you. But you must give it life, or kill it. There is no middle way. You can’t be neutral on this. The responsibility is yours. Goodnight.’
Whereupon the tall lean figure put the dove back on the stone floor and, linking hands with the female form, disappeared into the night.
The bird went on crawling, flailing, uttering its plaintive cry.
He stood there, watching it helplessly. And then, without thinking, he went over and picked up the dying bird. He was slightly frightened by its fragile bones and its twitching wings. He took it back with him to the bed.
He placed the dove beside his pillow, and lay down, and caressed it, saying:
‘How is it that I have never learned how to give new life?’