When we make romantic gestures, L and I established, the presentation of significant objects represents something which cannot be entirely expressed with words or movements of the body.
A rose resembles a microphone: it has a mouthpiece, and a wire trailing towards the ground. To all intents and purposes, the rose catches the shape of the words (thoughts, ideas, sentiment) which burn within my body, and expresses them non-verbally to another person. This is one example of a simple romantic gesture which was discussed (but never completed) in an earlier posting.
The idea that an object can represent unspeakable, perfect ideas is a useful one, and it is time to re-visit it for a different purpose entirely. When I spent time in South Africa, I developed a relationship with the autistic brother (we'll call him B) of my then-partner. For him, and for me, verbal communication proved to be a struggle, but we got along as best we could - and did rather well, I'd like to think.
I have always considered that B's world was given greater purpose and greater beauty thanks to the presence of what I am certain is the love of his life - an African Grey parrot named Charlie; a creature who frequently showed almost human levels of intelligence. Glorious mound of feathers, I miss you more than you can know, and I truly love you.
Is it too great a leap of faith to suggest that Charlie was the manifestation of the inexplicable in B? When Charlie spoke, might it have been the derivation of the feelings and difficulties embodied in the autistic man? If this is too great a responsibility to load onto the clever bird's plumage, might he at least have been the real-world object which temporarily lifts the veil from the face of B? If a rose is a microphone, then so is the bird which speaks - it temporarily re-aligns the pieces of an incomprehensible, difficult world; and presents willing humans with a channel through which to reach those who find it hard to speak.
I am of the opinion that animals can feel, that their brains somehow occupy a different dimension to that of humans. I read (although accept that it might not be true) about cattle who flee to high land when a change in pressure or 'something' tells them that an earthquake is on its way; I used to be owned by a cat who was a weather vane - climbing on top of the gas fire, to lie across the horizontal piece of wood there, was a sure sign that snow would not be long in coming. Despite being bad-tempered, the same cat would sit quietly listening to me pour out childhood angst - she could detect when all was not well.
Charlie, I contend, and the person he owned were on the same level - a plane beyond words, although both could use them quite well when the need was there. Force of parrot and force of man, locked away in a universe far from us. Yet the shadows of that shared existence were visible around the edges of both - a unity and bond which subsumed neither but gave each a sense of purpose and belonging.
Yet the bird's life-affirming gifts are also the downfall of B, the man. Charlie demands routine and predictability, his conversation repetitive and unrelated to the material world around him. At times of joy, crisis, indifference and inertia, he still demands a cracker; still tells those who will listen that he is in the shit. Both the crutch and nemesis of autism is he.
