Garys Theory

Gary Has a Theory

By noon, Gary had a theory and the Square had an audience.

The Oak was crowded with Jacks. A number of Robins occupied the bird table, the hedge, and several positions which other Robins considered contested. Stirling’s squad moved quietly around the Vegetable Garden, which made nobody remotely interested at all. Hopalong continued up the Oak as though investigations were something that happened to other species.

Gary stood on the Fruit Tree, allowing the silence to mature.

“Nigel,” he said at last, “has not simply gone away.”

Batman Smith folded his wings. “We know that.”

“No, Batman. You know he is not here. I know that he is elsewhere.”

“That is the same thing.”

“Not remotely.” Gary turned to the Jacks. “My theory is that Nigel saw something.”

The Square absorbed this.

“What?” asked Batman.

Gary opened one wing. “If I knew what, it would be news. At present, it is a theory.”

Mr Jack Daw gave a slow nod. “A theory with an alarming lack of contents.”

“Exactly,” said Gary. “The most alarming kind.”

The Jacks immediately convened a discussion about what a Woodpigeon might plausibly see. The Smiths argued about whose territory the seeing could have happened in. Stirling’s squad vanished beneath the border before anyone could ask whether squirrels were capable of knowing too much.

The Chiffchaffs Pass

The afternoon grew warm beneath a cloudy sky. Chiffchaffs began to pass through the hedge in bright, restless bursts, singing from one thicket and then another. Batman spent several minutes trying to establish which one was Colin.

“Are you Colin?” he asked the first.

The singer left.

“That was evasive,” Batman said.

“That was a Chiffchaff,” said Gary.

Two Greenfinches visited the far branches, looked briefly at the Square’s accumulation of opinions, and chose not to join it. A small travelling party of Coal Tits moved through the hedge with several Chiffchaffs in tow. Clive was among the brisk little procession, but whether every small voice was Colin became impossible to say.

Batman grew increasingly certain that this was a jurisdictional matter.

The Fence Post

By late afternoon, the garden had become full of Robins, Jacks and song. A Robin held the Fence Post against another Robin for nearly a minute before Batman arrived to explain the principles of shared space, which made the disagreement worse in three distinct directions.

At the Vegetable Garden, Stirling’s squad returned. They crossed the lawn, checked the hedge line, and went beneath the Oak with the high seriousness of a party inspecting a crime scene. The Fruit Tree was empty.

“Gary’s theory?” Batman asked.

“Apparently elsewhere,” said Mr Jack Daw.

“That is not how theories work,” Batman said.

Rain arrived as evening fell, soft at first and then steady enough to send the Square into shelter. The Robin disagreements continued from the hedge, which was impressive and deeply unhelpful. The Jacks argued from the lower branches. The garden became all dripping leaves and voices not quite willing to end the day.

Marjorie Calls in Rain

After dark, Marjorie called.

Her voice sounded from beyond the Oak, first faintly and then with the authority of someone who had decided the rain could make allowances. She made the same point until the whole wet garden had heard it, disappeared, and came back to make it again. No answer came.

In the small hours, a low male voice came from farther out in the night: an answer delivered from somewhere beyond the dark hedges, and then gone before anyone could decide what it meant.

“Harold,” murmured Batman.

Mr Jack Daw remained awake long enough to say, “Possibly.”

Much later, Marjorie called again, nearer this time. Her voice arrived with startling clarity at the edge of the garden, then swept gradually away through the dark, still calling her opinion over her shoulder. By the time the Smiths began their earliest dawn songs, only the wet leaves remained to answer her.

Nobody Watches the Same Thing

Morning brought Gary back to the Fruit Tree, as if he had spent the night working on his theory and not sleeping somewhere more comfortable. Clive hurried through the branches. A few Jacks arrived behind him, and the Smiths were already disputing breakfast rights.

“Any progress?” Batman asked.

Gary looked beyond the hedge. “I have eliminated nothing.”

“That is not progress.”

“It is if you are thorough.”

Gary lowered his voice. “Nigel saw something. And something may have seen Nigel.”

The Jacks stopped talking.

The garden filled again. Long-tailed Tits hurried through the hedge with a handful of Chiffchaffs. Batman tried to call after one.

“Colin?”

Nobody answered.

“You see?” Batman said. “They are avoiding identification.”

“They are feeding,” said Clive.

“Very cleverly,” Batman replied.

By mid-morning, Stirling’s squad had returned in an orderly grey rush, Derek moving down the Oak above them with effortless disregard for every known rule of trees. Mildred watched from beneath the bird table. The Jacks watched the hedge. Batman watched the Fruit Tree.

Nobody was watching the same thing.

DUFF. DUFF. DUFF-DUFF-DUFF.

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