“It’s not nice. You’re torturing him.” “It’s an experiment,” he said. “To see if he’ll learn.” I waited to see if my father would listen and stop or get tired of the game, or if the parrot would wise up. Neither thing happened so I left. I saw him later, smiling and looking refreshed. “Isn’t it wonderful here?” he said. All around us the birdsong was continuous and varied, the trill patterns overlapping.
