Orren leaned his sign against a large rock, which read: Orren and His Talking Bird. Ask Any Question. 5 cents. The letters had been burned into wood.
New to the world of entertainment, at first Orren didn’t know what to do, but took his cue from the woman whose stall adjoined his—where children and their mothers stopped by to look at her display—dolls with aprons, others holding a rabbit by its ears. Both girls and boys pulled at their mothers’ skirts and pleaded to buy a creation. Orren began to speak up. “Ask the birdie a question. Any question.”
“Can it really talk?” A small boy asked.
“Try,” said Orren.
The little fellow asked his mother for five cents. She handed him the money, less than a crocheted doll.
“What’s your name?” The boy asked the bird.
The bird looked at him sadly. “Liana.”
“Mommy. Did you hear? The bird talked.”
His mother was more interested in getting home from the marketplace and starting dinner. “Yes, Jessie,” she said. “Let’s get home.”
“Don’t I get to ask another?” said Jessie.
“Five cents for one question,” said Orren.
“What a cheat,” said the mother. “You could’ve told my boy the bird’s name without us paying a cent!” She reached for her son’s hand and hauled him away.
By this time, a crowd had formed around Orren. “She’s right!” A man with a large package tucked beneath his arm shook his finger in Orren’s face. “Shame on you for taking a little boy’s money.”
Actually, it hadn’t been the boy’s money, thought Orren, saving up his pennies for a special day, just his mother wanting to get home quickly, but in order to appease the crowd, Orren proclaimed that Liana was truly a talking bird. “Not a fortune teller,” he advised, glad to draw an audience around him, “making up stories about how you’re going to find a fortune buried in your aunt’s backyard.” Orren warmed to his speech as more shoppers gathered. “…how you really smell fine when you haven’t taken a bath in a week.” Orren suddenly wondered about himself. “Or how they’re going to include you in a big money-making deal, but in the end, kick you to the recycling bin?”
Everyone nodded; they knew people just like that.
“And you call my bird a fraud?” Actually, no one had called Liana a fraud. It was Orren’s reputation that was on the line. He continued. “Nor is she a parrot, who repeats whatever comes out of someone else’s mouth. None of that Polly-want-a-cracker stuff.”
The man with the package interrupted him. “Instead of listening to you squawk, let’s hear the bird.”
Everyone laughed and clapped. “Yes!”