Ship’s Mate, 1929

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It’s not just that his colourful wings are pretty – my parrot, Luki, is as smart a beast as they come. He’s not some brainless sparrow, he’s a noble bird with a keen eye, and a chatterbox. He has a great memory, and is unfailingly loyal. He’s my friend, my only friend on board. In the storybooks, parrots are always the companions of pirates. It’s true, they are impish and majestic. And there is something provocative, or disturbing, in their way of speaking frankly to you, and repeating what you tell them. I, however, am no pirate. I like the thought of looking a bit like one, though, with Luki on my shoulder. All the crew agrees, he’s our mascot. But Luki is loyal and mistrustful, and will only sit on my shoulder. He follows me wherever I go, like a ventriloquist’s dummy. He plays tricks of his own, too. Sometimes he’ll peck at my cap, or scratch my cheek. Sometimes he’ll blather into my ear before flying up onto the mast. He’s a queer sort, my Luki. We sailors are a superstitious bunch, which is why we named him Luki.  Superstition is important, for the sea gives no gifts; she is unpredictable and violent, and her aura of mystery leads you to believe the incredible. Before I was a sailor I was a Christian, and I went to church and prayed diligently every night. Now I look for signs, I take fright at small things and I keep Luki on my shoulder during storms, like a guardian angel. I don’t know exactly what I believe in now; perhaps in the sea, in a life of adventure, untethered and at the whim of my fate.

On the route to the Indies, Luki sometimes flies alongside the boat. He’d make a fine figurehead. I imagine him in sculpted form with his great wings spread open, with his proud beak and round eye, slicing through the waves and guiding us toward the setting sun. But no, he’s a jesting friend who comes back in a flutter to tell me unexpected news. “Rabbit, rabbit!” he jeers. He knows I’m scared of rabbits, the bastard. Rabbits can eat through your moorings quick as a flash. When I think of how I used to like bunnies as a child, and used to feed them back on my Grandpa’s farm in Ohio, I get jitters. Those memories are remnants of an old life, though, and now I have my golden goose. True, he does not lay golden eggs, but he can speak to me in his lordly way. “Stormy seas! Stormy seas!” he calls when he sees a wave. “Don’t worry, friend,” I tell him as I hand him a seed. He gobbles them down, even though he’s spent the whole day feasting on insects down in the hold. When I bought him at the Bombay market last year, he was a skittish little bird. Look at him now! He’s proud and strong, and keeps getting bigger.

When I first took him back to the Bombay harbour, he was scared by all the seabirds flocking around the port of the Indies, but now he can hold his own among those mangy gulls. Luki has grown strong on insects, and his wings beat harder than before. “Real tough guy now, ain’t ya Luki?” laugh the other crew members. Luki glares at them, feeling his dignity being undermined. He’s a proud parrot, as well he should be – now that he knows all the great crossings and has faced the tall waves, the tempests and the merciless whirlwinds, Luki knows his worth well. Without him, who knows how many waves might have swallowed us up? He’s our lucky charm, and like any idol he deserves to be worshipped.

Alan Alfredo Geday