The Final Note

The Final Note

It was low. And long. The final note of the kaua’i bird. 

Nestled high up in the tree, fighting against the roar of the wind and rustling of the leaves, he sang out his note of longing. Of yearning. A desperate call for companionship and love. 

For days the song warbled on, rising and falling, floating away on the breeze. He was patient. This song was not written only to be answered. The gaps between the notes were for her. For her melody to fill. His sweet music pairing with her own to create a symphony. Her longing blending with his.

This was a song of hope. His part was well practised, perfected through the years. It was a song he would be pleased to sing for the rest of his life.  

But a single voice is so lonely. And within his warble the gaps grew into chasms which the sunlight could not touch. Would her voice even fill them now? Or would it be swallowed up in the darkness, leaving him alone once more?

The perch was well chosen. High up in the tallest tree, empty but for his solitary vigil. From here he would see her arrival once the wind delivered his melody. He trusted the song. It had never failed. Not for lifetimes before him, and not for lifetimes to come. Who was he to doubt it now?

Still, the tree remained empty as the wind stirred the leaves. Here the first thoughts of treachery bloomed in his mind. The song had too long gone unanswered, drowned out by the clamour surrounding him. 

So, he took to the sky. Bright, and blue, and endless. He ventured forth in search of love. In search of hope. In search of the missing notes to complete his symphony. 

Trees rushed by beneath him. Some were empty. Too many. The familiar haunts which had grown ever more quiet before his eyes. Other trees were filled with strange music warbled by even stranger interlopers. The branches made good homes, he was happy to find them filled with life. 

Yet there were no notes here to complete his song. 

Further he travelled, his wings stretched wide, reaching endlessly for the tender touch of another wing, a warm body nestled against his own, the chirping of little ones tucked up in comfortable nests season after season. The dream never changed. Not as bright day passed into cold night. Or as gentle spring melted into unforgiving winter. On and on the cycle continued, just as his dream continued, just as his song continued, one note succeeding another. And the gaps remained empty chasms. It was only half a song. The only song he ever learnt to sing. 

Then one day he thought he detected the warble of an answering voice. 

His wings fluttered in anticipation, feathers bristling as excitement overtook him. Onwards he soared, the wind lifting him up and up as he followed each throaty note. His voice rang out, an ever changing tune to fit the melody of her own. Yet the notes did not fit. She did not, or would not, modulate her tone to harmonise with him. While he changed the tune, up and down, faster and slower, hers remained the same. Looping continuously with no variation.  

At last, at last, the song engulfed him. He set down on a small wooden ledge, hopping about for some sign of his mate. It did not matter that their songs differed. He would change his song, he would change it endlessly, so long as they could sing together. The hope burned through his soul. His dream would be realised. He no longer had to be alone. 

His future was filled with the tender touch of another wing, a warm body nestled against his own, the chirping of little ones tucked up in comfortable nests season after season.

And he sang. 

The melody of his future burst forth, a trail laid down for his companion to find. He could hear her yet could see no sign of her bright eyes or ebony plumage. Where was she?

Her voice was close, and it took barely half a day to find the source. It was another kaua’i bird just like himself. But bigger. Much bigger. At a distance he did not notice how still she was. She did not blink, her feathers remained static in the persistent breeze, and there was no movement to her mouth as she let loose her song. 

He sang to her for hours to no avail until he finally dared to approach. Flying past her at first, he was forced to loop back before he was able to land inches in front of her. 

She was flat. Lifeless. And much, much bigger than he would ever be. Singing, pecking, and fluttering next to her proved one thing to the lonesome bird. Although she sang, she was not real. 

No, she was a brightly coloured painting of something long gone. 

Some people remarked on the bird as he darted up into the sky. A kaua’i bird, they cried, what a rare sight these days! Even here, with all these other rare animals confined to cages, there were only pictures of these doomed avians. 

He did not understand their words as he took flight, when they told their children how lucky they were to see such a beautiful bird, how it might be the only time they ever would see one. How he was most likely the last kaua’i bird now left alive. 

Perhaps there is comfort to know he did not comprehend these cruel words. For the years wore on, and still he sang, never losing his hope that one day his song would become a symphony. 

Then again, perhaps if he had learnt the truth, as the winters grew colder, and his feathers wilted, and the joints in his wings stiffened until he could venture no further than the outstretched boughs of his old familiar tree, perhaps it would have given him some strange comfort to know why his song went unanswered. 

He kept his solitary vigil on the highest branch as his eyes blazed with the fire of his final sunset. And the lonely kaua’i bird sank into the darkness, never knowing what music the world lost as he sang out the final note.