An extract from Chapter One of, Bird, a novel by Namita Chakrabarty

The thing about hides is that youre not really hidden in them one side has a big opening with a ledge where bird-watchers lean out and peer at the birds through binoculars like extensions of their eyes. And hides are sort of shaped like big eyes too, with the top the eyelid and the lower lashes the ledge, and the human watchers the pupils spying on our ancestors. Dad was joking about that as we cycled from the station. We left the bikes at the edge of the reserve and he whispered something about birds and pterodactyls, and the land being owned by the past. They came first, so theyre watching us, and we came after, so were watching them. Its a game of survival the difference is that theyve been here many, many, centuries before us so they know so much more, about surveillance for survival Survival? But theyve been here for centuries? Theyve survived because theyre intelligent creatures and they watch for predators, for

prey, for anything that disturbs their habitat. Its why they say watching like a hawk. In the hide, Dad took out the binoculars and focused them. He whispered, A kestrel, Ruby! and handed them to me. I watched the bird hovering, its long tail quivering and its wings pointing; it swooped downwards, I lost it for a moment, then, slowly trailing the binoculars, I made out the movement of the dark brown speckled plumage of the kestrel on the ground. It stopped and then moved round, its black eyes constantly alert, its shiny hooked beak revealing the still body of a tiny mammal. A field mouse perhaps. I felt suddenly really upset, I didnt mind watching birds flying, and I quite liked just sitting in a hide thinking, but any death was awful, even if it was just a mouse. I passed the binoculars back to Dad. He took one look, and either saw or sensed what Id seen. He laid the binoculars down on the ledge and hugged me to him, the rough wool of his duffel against my cheek. Oh Ruby. Dad was amazing. He just sensed everything, and made things better again. Lets have a moment to think of all small furry creatures.

We sat and looked out at the landscape: so Sunday afternoon, grey clouds and grey green grass. The clouds shifted and a small patch of blue appeared. We went back to the bikes and sat on the ground nearby as the sun reappeared for a while. Dad opened up his rucksack and took out the thermos and a package of sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper, now all soft and raggedy with melted butter and chutney. No one made sandwiches like Dad, he used to say there was a magic formula, but it was basically lots of filling and very good brown bread in interesting combinations. We took it in turns to drink hot tea from the flask cup while we ate the last of the massive Christmas cake Mum had baked ages ago. We chatted about school, and Dad talked about his students, then he reminisced back to my childhood, telling me a funny story about how he tried to teach me to walk by putting a piece of cake on my building brick cart when I was about to become a toddler.

Later he cycled me back to my new school, a horrible place in the middle of nowhere but near to the marshes. On the way we had a funny experience. Wed stopped where the B road is parallel to the A13, as wed seen another bird hovering, and Dad got the binoculars out again. I was leaning back on the crash barrier and we were both looking up, so we didnt see the car until it was really close and its engine was pumping out noxious fumes. The car came to a stop and the passenger window was wound down. Of all people it was Granddad. Ruby, J! This is a surprise! Dad and Granddad chatted a bit about the birds wed seen. It was Granddad who had got Dad into bird watching in the first place, and, apart from enjoying eating, it was the only other thing they really had in common. The cars engine revved; I could see the driver of the car was impatient to go, his black-leather-gloved hands clutched the steering wheel; he looked ahead obviously bored with our family chatter. He was wearing dark glasses, a heavy brimmed hat, and a scarf that covered his chin and neck, so it was difficult to actually see him; in the same way as the kestrels camouflage made him melt into the countryside, this man seemed part of the leatherupholstered car.

Dad said over the sound, Id better get Ruby back to school before sunset! Granddad blew a kiss out of the window at us. His driving companion edged the car out into the traffic. After that we cycled on. I do remember though the car slowing down at one point, Granddad gave us a last wave and the driver looked our way too before they disappeared into the traffic. We made our way to school, and Dad left to go to the station and thence to London.