We would climb up the tree. There was a tree here instead of this house. I made this house out of the tree if you must know. I would play a trumpet, the very trumpet that you see now in my hands, that is. One day I played, and a little parrot flew out of the trumpet. I said, Catch, and my sister opened her hands, which were bigger than mine, and caught the parrot.
We taught the parrot some words. We taught it the word monkey and the word squirrel, and other words to name the animals we knew were living in the trees and that more likely the parrot would have encountered in its life.
The parrot: the only word it would say was "lingualunga," which the parrot overheard our mother say to us in her language, and which meant "longtongue."
According to our mother, we were talking all the time and even in our sleep. The first day the parrot—if my sister would open the hand—would try to fly out. So what we did first was we took off feathers, we took feathers off the parrot's wings. Seeing that even with only few feathers left the parrot would keep trying to fly out of her hand, my sister kept the hand closed with the parrot in it as long as we thought was enough for the parrot to get used to its new life.
We would climb up the ghost. There used to be a ghost here instead of all this ice. I made the ice out of the ghost if you must know. I would play a card, the very card that you see now in my mouth, that is. One day I played, and a little bone flew out of the card. I said, Catch, and my sister opened her mouth, which was bigger than mine, and caught the bone.
We taught the bone some words. We taught it the word fenugreek and the word asafoetida and other words to name the spices we knew were living in the ghost and that most likely the bone would have encountered in its life.
The only word the bone would say was "cortometraggio," which the bone overheard our mother tell us in waves of regret and which meant "it will be over soon."
According to our mother, we were talking all the way and even in our stinking jackets. The first day, whenever my sister opened her mouth, the bone would try to stagger out. So what we did first was we took off the fleas, we took fleas off the bone's gray gown. Seeing that even with only a few fleas left the bone would keep trying to stagger out of her mouth, my sister kept the mouth closed with the bone in it as long as we thought was enough for the bone to get used to its new life.
Leni Zumas is the author of the story collection Farewell Navigator (Open City, 2008) and of a novel forthcoming from Tin House Books in 2012.