Katja 04: Caged Birds Do Sing (MMF/mf)

[Jenny_1972]

This is part of a growing series of Katja stories that starts with

Katja 00: Prolog 1 - Early Signs viewtopic.php?t=23922
Katja 00: Prolog 2 - When TUGs were simple viewtopic.php?t=23905
Katja 01: What's a collar without a leash? viewtopic.php?t=23816
Katja 02: Making the shopping mall less boring viewtopic.php?t=23853
Katja 03: A question of peg and chain viewtopic.php?t=23881
-
Katja 05: How not to dance viewtopic.php?t=23950
Katja 06: A Bald Decision viewtopic.php?t=23963
Katja 07: The Big Red viewtopic.php?t=23977


Katja 04: Caged Birds Do Sing

--------- Part 1 -------------------

One afternoon, we received an unexpected telephone call at the cottage. It was Claudia, my sister-in-law — my brother Eric’s wife.

"Hello, Claudia. Yes, until the end of the summer holidays. No, about 140 cm. Really? Oh... who told you...? I see. Yes, I’ll ask her — but that could just be her thing. Tomorrow already? I understand. See you tomorrow."

Katja, who had been listening, looked puzzled.

F: "That was Aunt Claudia — Uncle Eric’s wife. Do you remember her?"
K: "Short red hair, thick glasses, mostly wears black — isn’t she a music teacher?"
F: "Well observed. She works at the music school in the next town. They'll be having their annual summer concert in two weeks. Have you ever heard of Mozart’s opera The Magic Flute?"
K: "No. And I will not sing!"
F: "And rightfully so. They already have enough kids playing instruments and singing. Claudia is just looking for a few 'extras'.
This opera features a character called Papageno — he catches and sells birds. Claudia needs a girl about your size to play one of the birds, as part of the decorative background."

Ping! — Claudia had just sent me the promised photo. Wow! I was impressed and handed my phone to Katja. She saw a green, parrot-like creature with vibrant feathers and a big yellow beak.
Only on second glance did you notice that it was actually a girl in a costume.

"Wow," was all she said.

F: "And to win you over completely: this bird will sit in a birdcage."
K: "And why can’t we visit Aunt Claudia today?"

We both laughed.

The next day, we drove over to visit my brother and his wife. After the usual small talk, Claudia said, "Let’s talk business." Katja jumped up immediately, while I remained seated with Eric.
"You really should come with us!" she said to me, surprisingly serious. "If Katja is going to take part in the performance, you’ll have to sign a release. I want you to understand exactly what you’re signing her up for."

The three of us went to her workshop. The first thing we saw was the cage. It wasn’t like a real birdcage. It was tall — about 180 cm — and round, made of thin white metal rods. To describe its shape: imagine something between a Mae West silhouette and a Coca-Cola bottle.
"This cage was originally made for decoration or shop displays. We got two of them when a store in town went out of business," Claudia explained.
"I already have someone for the first cage. For the second one, I’m hoping for Katja. I think it’s best if she tries the cage first.
If it’s too small or she feels uncomfortable, there’s no need to worry about the costume."

Only now did Katja and I search for an opening. There was a door in the lower half — recessed into the frame and rather small, I thought.
Claudia opened it, and Katja climbed in without much difficulty. As Katja stood upright, Claudia closed the door behind her.

"The door will be shut while you’re inside, but it won’t be locked."
"What a pity!" Katja quipped.
To which Claudia ominously replied, "Wait and see."

She handed Katja something through the bars — it looked like a wooden plank with ropes on either side.
"This is your swing. See the two hooks above you? That’s where you attach the ropes."

Claudia and I helped her hang it. When Katja first tried the swing, it was too high, so we adjusted the rope length. Eventually, she could sit on it and swing a little.
"The cage is too small for swinging," Katja complained.
"Wait and see. You’ll be in there just as part of the background — for decoration. So, what do you think of the cage?"
"It’s okay."
"Then welcome to your new home." Claudia opened the door again and helped Katja out.

"Now for the costume."
Claudia produced a surprisingly large bag. Out came a rather small piece of iridescent green fabric. When she held it up, it's was shaped like a tight-fitting diving shorty. She helped Katja change into it and inspected it from all sides, tucking here and pulling there.
"It fits, but it needs a few adjustments. We’ll have it ready by next week."

Katja and I were a little disappointed. The costume didn’t look much like the one from the photo.
As if on cue, Claudia reached back into the bag and pulled out a cap — or rather, a helmet.
It was covered in red and green feathers, and extended from Katja’s neck over her head, framing her eyes with expressive dark plumage. Her nose and mouth disappeared beneath a big yellow beak.
Now we were getting somewhere.

"We can still see some skin around your eyes, chin, and neck. We’ll cover that with green makeup," Claudia explained.
"How can you breathe?" I asked, concerned.
"No problem — the bottom of the beak is open," Katja reassured me.

Next, Claudia pulled out the wings from the bag. They were longer than Katja’s arms, stiff, and decorated with large green and red feathers.
She helped Katja slide her left arm into one wing — like putting on an extra long glove. Once Katja’s arm was fully inside, Claudia fastened the wing with a strap to a push-button on the shoulder of the costume.
Then they repeated the process with the right wing. Katja now looked almost like the photo.

"I can hardly bend my arms," Katja noticed.
"Exactly — that way you’ll flap your wings like a proper bird."
"How do I get out of these wings?"
"You don’t. You’ll wait for one of our team to help you. In an emergency, you’d be able to bend or break the inner supports — but that would destroy the wings."
I had the feeling Claudia had just made the whole thing a lot more appealing to Katja.

"What about my feet?"
"You’ll be barefoot. We’ll apply yellow makeup to your feet and legs up to where the costume ends — just like in the photo."
With that, we began helping Katja out of the costume.

When everything was back in the bag, Claudia popped something into her mouth. Then suddenly — she was whistling. Not a regular whistle, but real bird sounds. Katja and I were stunned.

"That’s the icing on the cake!" Claudia announced. "A tongue whistle. I bought a dozen of them at the Oktoberfest in Munich last year."
She handed Katja a small box.
"That’s the whistle and the instructions. Try it — it takes some practice. If it doesn’t work, don’t be sad. You’ll still sit in your cage, swing a little, and look beautiful."

We returned to Eric, had some family conversation, and then said our goodbyes.

"See you in a week!" Claudia waved. Then, turning to me: "By tomorrow, you’ll curse me for giving her that whistle."

I made Katja promise not to practice in the car, and back at the cottage, she agreed only to try it outside.

"So," I said later, summarizing the afternoon, "what do you think, princess? Stuck in a cage, dressed in a costume, arms useless, whistling instead of speaking?"

"Just my thing," she beamed.

--------- Part 2 -------------------

At the end of the following week, we once again drove to Eric and Claudia.

The adjustments to the costume had been completed, and it now fit Katja visibly better. After Claudia carefully applied the makeup - green for Katja’s face and neck, yellow for her feet - she placed the helmet on her head. With no fair skin peeking out from under the helmet, her entire head now looked much more birdlike.

“Do you want to hear what I’ve practiced on the bird whistle?” Katja asked eagerly.
“Wait,” Claudia said, shaking her head. “We’ll have all the time in the world for that once you’re in the cage.”

I helped Katja climb into the cage, and together we carefully threaded the wings inside.
“You wanted to tell me about the concert schedule,” Katja said, already perched on her swing. “How long will I have to stay in this cage?”

“Ah, right — I almost forgot.” Claudia paused, then launched into her explanation:
“The concert runs in two parts of 70 minutes each, with a 30-minute break. The foyer opens to the arriving guests 60 minutes before the concert starts, and it remains open for another 45 minutes after it ends.
The other cage — on the opposite side of the voyer — will be occupied a little before you and vacated a little after.
“Why?” Katja interrupted.
“Because.” Claudia gave a short, amused smile and left it at that.

"Your stints will go like this:
– First, 5 minutes before the foyer opens, you get into the cage. You stay until 5 minutes after the concert begins.
– Then again, 5 minutes before the break starts, until 5 minutes after it ends.
– And finally, after the concert finishes, you’ll go back in the cage until 45 minutes after the show.

So that’s roughly 70 minutes, 40 minutes, and 55 minutes.

Between your stints, use the time to drink something and take a bathroom break. After each performance, come backstage — from there you’ll be able to hear the concert. You’ll miss the overture and the finale, but that can’t be helped.
I want you to be here 90 minutes before the foyer opens — that’s 16:30. You won’t need that long to get ready, but I’ll be busy preparing other kids.”

Katja and I exchanged a look. We were both a little intimidated by the military precision of Claudia’s planning.
Claudia turned back to Katja, who stood poised in the cage.

“This is the moment you put the whistle in your mouth. Once your arms are in the wings, it’ll be too late.”
She handed the bird whistle through the bars, and Katja accepted it obediently, immediately starting to chirp and tweet.

Claudia, whose fingers were more nimble than mine, reached through the bars to help Katja into her wings and fasten them to the shoulder buttons of the costume so they wouldn’t slide down. Katja settled herself on the swing and began whistling in earnest.
“Too loud, Katja. Around you, people will be talking. You’re beautiful decoration, not the main act.”

Claudia brought in a full-length mirror.
“Can you see yourself?” Katja nodded.
“Good. Now practice some elegant, birdlike movements — rustling your feathers, flapping your wings, rubbing your beak against the bars, that sort of thing. And please sit a bit more ladylike — no slouching!” Katja straightened up immediately.

Claudia closed the door of the cage.
“We’ll keep you in there for an hour — that’s about the length of your stints. I’m going to get your daddy and me some coffee. In the meantime, you can give us your best bird performance.”

While Claudia was in the kitchen, I pulled out my camera and took a few photos of Katja in the cage. She really did look like the girl from the photo Claudia had sent the week before.

“Do you know the saying, ‘In for a penny, in for a pound’?” I asked.

Katja tried to answer — but the whistle in her mouth made her words come out as garbled chirping.
We both realized that, without use of her arms, she couldn’t remove the whistle from her mouth. Spitting it out was possible — but she’d have no way to put it back in. What a devious costume this was!

But Katja seized the moment. She began tweeting like a bird — not just making random sounds, but mimicking the rhythm of human speech with bird calls.
“Very well done. My little bird is learning fast,” Claudia said approvingly as she returned with two steaming cups of coffee.
We sat down and watched as Katja more and more embraced her inner bird.

Sometimes she would stretch her wings — within the limits of the cage.
Sometimes she swung gently back and forth.
Sometimes she treated us to a full whistling concert of her own.

“It won’t be boring during the event,” Claudia assured her. “We’re expecting over 600 visitors. You’ll be surrounded by people — but keep in mind, they’re not there because of you. Don’t be disappointed if guests ignore you. Don’t fixate on anyone. Just treat everyone equally with your attention. Oops — your hour is up!”

We helped Katja out of her wings and out of the cage. After ten minutes she had removed her makeup and changed back into normal clothes.

Later, while we sat together in the kitchen, Claudia turned to Katja.

“I’m sorry if I was strict with you today. That’s how I am with all my students at the music school — and only a few ever complain.
After all, you’re going to be a performer in a production. Not more, but also not less.
So, now that you’ve seen it all — are you still willing to take part in our concert?”**

“Yes, Aunt Claudia.” Katja said calmly and clearly.

--------- Part 3 -------------------

The great day had finally come. We arrived on time at the city hall, which was already bustling with activity — not only with young musicians and their parents (who would later form a major part of the audience), but also with catering staff, housekeeping, and organizers. All of them were struggling to get everything not just ready, but perfect for the big event.

With some difficulty, we found Aunt Claudia backstage. She was busy helping the youngest dancers with their makeup, and afterwards a trumpet player needed assistance with his instrument. Katja waited patiently in line while I left the already crowded backstage area.

About 15 minutes before the doors opened, they emerged: Katja already in costume, the helmet on her head, barefoot with her yellow-painted feet; Claudia following closely behind, carrying Katja’s wings under her arms.

We headed downstairs to the lobby and emerged at the far end, where the other cage stood. It was already occupied by its “bird” — same cage, nearly the same costume, only its feathers were green and blue instead of Katja’s green and red.
When Katja wished her fellow performer a cheerful "Toi toi toi! See you in the break!", the other bird only fluttered its wings and whistled excitedly — clearly, its means of communication were already as limited as Katja’s would soon be.

We got Katja similarly settled in her cage at the opposite end of the foyer, just in time before the doors opened and the first guests began to arrive. I withdrew to a bench along the wall, behind Katja, not wanting to interfere with her first experience as a performing artist.
Since the catering hadn’t opened yet and dropping off coats at the wardrobe didn’t take long, the two living birds quickly became the main attraction in the lobby.
Both cages drew crowds — well-dressed men and boys mostly in suits, women and girls in elegant dresses. It was clearly one of the few occasions in this small town where people could truly dress up. Katja impressed both her audience and me with her gentle whistling and birdlike movements.

It was fascinating to observe how different age groups reacted to her:
For young children, she was simply a marvelous bird — until their parents explained that it was a girl in a costume, who somehow could sing like a real bird.
Older kids reacted reserved; they didn't know what to make of this combination of being caged, the costume, and whistling but not speaking.
Teens and adults were amused and impressed; many whispered to their companions, pointing to details of the cage and her costume.
And nearly everyone took photos — of Katja, or with her cage.

Some guests tried to speak to her — asking questions about the costume, the cage, the concert, or even directions to the toilets — but slowly realized that this peculiar bird wouldn’t answer in human language.

When one unruly boy reached into the cage, trying to pull out a feather from her costume, a man wearing a blazer with a badge appeared out of nowhere and pulled him back. The man then walked over to me — it was Uncle Eric, my brother. Claudia had tasked him with keeping an eye on Katja and being ready to get her out of the cage in case of an emergency. Like me, he stayed out of her view.

Soon the bells rang, summoning the audience into the concert hall. The foyer emptied quickly. Eric and I remained to help Katja out of her wings and out of the cage.
“You go enjoy the concert,” Eric said firmly before I could even ask how she felt. “I’ll take care of Katja.”

By the time I reached my seat, they were already in the middle of the overture. The performance was, of course, a version of The Magic Flute adapted for young musicians and dancers — and I was all the more impressed for it.

Meanwhile, backstage, Eric had brought Katja to where Claudia was watching the performance she had spent so long preparing. She handed Katja a bottle of water and asked:

“So, how do you feel?”
“Great,” Katja beamed. “They all listened to my whistling. They queued to take photos.
I think some were shocked when they realized my situation — caged, arms trapped in those wings, forced to whistle instead of speak... suffering for the art!”

Claudia didn’t comment, because just then, the other “bird” joined them — to Katja’s surprise, he was a boy about her age and size.
Same costume, same makeup — although it looked rather silly now without the helmet or wings.
A boy — hence the blue feathers!

“Katja, meet David. He’s our other bird. David, this is my niece Katja,” Claudia introduced them.
“David was originally scheduled to play second violin, but two weeks ago he had a bike accident and broke two fingers.”

David showed his bandaged hand.
“It doesn’t look like much, but I won’t be able to play for another four weeks, the doctor said,” he explained.

“So he kindly agreed to become one of the birds instead,” Claudia said, then turned her attention back to the stage, leaving the two youngsters alone.

“Let’s sit down over here,” David suggested. “The swings in the cages aren’t exactly comfy.”
“And in these funny outfits, we can’t really mingle with the audience,” Katja added with a smile. “I’ve never seen so many well-dressed people in one place.”
“There are the cereal bars Miss Claudia brought for us.”
As David reached for another water bottle, Katja warned, “Aunt Claudia told me to be careful how much I drink.”
And after a while
“Don’t you think getting in and out of the cages three times today is kind of cumbersome?” Katja mused. “Putting the wings on and off takes time, and we always lose a feather or two. Why not just stay in the cage the whole time?”

“That would be too long,” David replied.
“Doors open 60 minutes before the concert. Then it’s 140 minutes of music plus a 30-minute break, and finally 45 minutes for people to leave. That’s 275 minutes — over four and a half hours. Too much.”

“Why? Have you tried?”
“Yeah. I lasted 3 hours and 45 minutes.”

Katja looked at him wide-eyed, impressed.
“Maybe with some practice?”
“I’ve tried three times. 3:45 is my best.”
“You clearly don’t mind sitting in a cage.”
“Why play second violin when you can be first bird? And you? Why are you doing this?”
“Still better than listening to Mozart,” Katja joked.

About 15 minutes before the first part of the concert ended, Uncle Eric appeared.
“Potty break for both of you — then back to your cages.”

Katja helped him settle David back into his cage, then returned with Uncle Eric to her own one.
Soon the foyer filled again — first the toilets, then the catering — then the two caged birds.
When I returned, the lobby was crowded. My old bench was taken and, with so many people, I couldn’t see Katja from there. I got closer but stayed behind her.

The crowd’s reactions mirrored the first round — but this time, Katja’s cage always had a full audience. A girl about her age tried to open the unlocked cage door, but her mother stopped her just in time. When the bell rang again for the second half of the concert, the foyer gradually emptied. On the third bell, we helped Katja and David out of their cages.

“This is David,” Katja said to me. “He plays the second violin. That’s a group in the string section of a classical orchestra.”

Where did she learn that? Before I could ask, Claudia returned and led them away. On my way back to the concert hall, I saw them talking excitedly.

Backstage, Claudia let them sit next to each other and brought a third chair for herself.

“You’ve both done a great job. The way you interacted with the audience — despite your limits — was wonderful. Thank you.” They both smiled.

“I noticed you get along quite well.” They exchanged glances, slightly blushing.

“I have a proposal — just an idea. You can say no anytime.” She leaned forward.

“Stand up and push your chairs together until they touch.” They did. “Now sit back down.”

Hesitantly Katja and David sat down. They got close to another. Even then they were sitting partly besides their seats.
"Closer!" Claudia directed. Their arms touched. "Closer still!" Their shoulders and their hips touched.
“Stay like this!” Claudia said.

“David knows the opera’s story. Katja, I won’t spoil it for you — but it’s a feel-good opera. In the end, everything is resolved, and the lovers find each other. The audience saw you both as caged birds — alone, calling into the void. We’d planned to leave it like that — two lonely birds after the happy finale.
But... what if you shared one cage, sat side-by-side on the swing?”
...
"Do you think we would both fit into one cage with our wings and all?" Katja was first to ask.
"We must try. If not, we get you in your separte cages as planned."
"Will we two fit on the swing and will the ropes hold us?" asked David.
“It’s exactly the width of these two chairs. And the ropes are strong. So — is that a yes?”

They both nodded. “You may now separate your chairs again.” Claudia smiled and turned back to the concert.

There was a long pause between them.

“Wow,” David finally said. “Can’t say no to Miss Claudia.”

“My aunt is right. Us in one cage fits the story much better.”

“Let’s use my cage — it’s closer to the exit. Everyone will pass us.”

“Good idea. And we’ll leave my cage door open... with a red feather on the floor.”

“Perfect. Let’s hope we fit.”

They did — barely. Twenty minutes before the finale, Eric and Claudia collected them. “Mandatory potty break,” Eric said.

At David’s cage, Claudia directed: “David in first. I’ll hand you both sets of wings.”

With David and four wings inside, the cage already seemed full. Then it was Katja’s turn. With Claudia pushing and David pulling, she got inside without damaging any feathers.

Standing face-to-face was tricky — their large beaks almost touched. David put on his wings which was easy with Katja helping from inside. He stuck out his tongue, and she gave him his whistle. Then she inserted her own — no more talking now.
Claudia helped Katja attach her wings (the red ones). With another bird inside they had only little room to move and it took longer than expected. Finally, Katja squeezed onto the swing beside David.

“All set for the next 60 minutes?” They both nodded and chirped in unison. Then began swinging and whistling — trying a duet.

Claudia closed the cage door, and she and Eric sat behind them, waiting for the audience to emerge.

When I left the concert hall, I was surprised to find Katja’s cage empty. Then I heard clapping from the direction of the other cage. Fighting through the crowd, I finally saw them. Katja — the shy girl, now one half of a pair of lovebirds, in front of 600 strangers. Wasn't she afraid of contracting cooties?
I was almost glad their stiff wings kept their hands pinned and their long beaks prevented any smooching.
I circled their cage slowly, then drifted to where Claudia and Eric sat.

“What? How?” was all I could ask.
“They understood it was necessary — for artistic reasons,” Claudia replied, deadpan. “It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t rehearsed. Pure inspiration and improvisation.”
"I saw them get along immediately and I think they have a thing in common." she grinned.

The foyer took longer to empty than expected — they stayed in the cage 15 minutes longer.
Getting them out of their wings was chaotic and fun to watch. Their makeup didn’t survive it.

When they took off their helmets and removed their whistles, they were exhausted — but beaming.
“We were a complete success,” David said.
“That was such a great idea, Aunt Claudia!” Katja added.

Claudia took them backstage to remove their makeup and change into street clothes.

They might have hoped for more time together, but David’s parents were already waiting.
So it ended with a timid handshake and a shy “goodbye.”
It was getting late. I, too, was ready to leave.

Before we did, Claudia turned to Katja and said, “You did such a great job. If you want — you can keep your costume.”

Katja smiled. “I was hoping to keep the cage.”

[WhereAmI]

I wonder if they eventually let Katja keep the cage, or at least visit it.

[Jenny_1972]

This cage exists. In summer I walk by it every week or so when I pass the downtown flower shop.

They put it in front of their shop, with a few flower pots inside. Whenever I pass it I think it could be put to so much better use.

But it's rather big. Nothing for mom's apartment where Katja lives most of the year.

Also nothing for her daddy's small cottage.

Maybe outdoors, or in the barn.

As of now the cage didn't reappear. But David will in the Epilogue.

[sweetvillain]

Really well described. The story gives us the idea of the lived experience and the emotion.

[Killua]

Wow, that’s a real cute and nice story. I wonder if these two “lovebirds” exchanged their addresses to meet again one day… maybe in another story?

[Jenny_1972]

Wow, that’s a real cute and nice story. I wonder if these two “lovebirds” exchanged their addresses to meet again one day… maybe in another story?

Just yesterday I was working on the "Epilogue" - the grand final. David will play a short but crucial role there.
So yes, they must have somehow remained in contact.

So far I haven't written any other Katja-and-David stories. Maybe ...