Birdman of Alcatraz Page #3

I ain't gonna cut my throat,

if that's what's worryin' you.

- What about the refund?

- So I'll owe you a penny!

How about it?

Well, you're welcome.

Son of a...

- Well, now what do you want?

- That box you're sittin' on.

- That's tough.

- It's just an apple box.

- You could get another.

- I could.

- Well?

- But I ain't.

- Why not?

- I ain't so inclined.

All right, I'll buy it off you.

What do you want?

One pack of cigarettes? Two? Name it.

If you showed me a hundred-dollar bill,

you couldn't have this box.

What the hell is eatin' you?

12 years I've known you, Stroud.

12 years, sun up and sun down, I've had

to look at that frozen mug of yours.

And in all that time, never so much

as a how-de-do out of you.

I try to treat you decent,

cos you got no bed of roses.

So I put my head on the block

and I dummy up about the birds.

Did you say thanks, my boy?

Did just once you say thanks?

Or maybe I just didn't hear you.

You're a soft speaker.

You want a pop bottle.

You want a pop bottle.

Do I hear maybe

the word "please" someplace?

Or could I be goin' deaf?

"Hand over the box" says you,

like you was the tsar of Russia

or somebody.

You get this. I may be just a uniform

to you, but you got no patent on feelings.

I'm a man, the same as you,

and I wanna be treated like one.

So you'd better come up

with a few manners with me,

or don't even expect the time of day

from yours truly!

Mr Ransom.

- You know what I think, Bull?

- I don't give a damn what you think.

I think you're absolutely right.

I admire ya for sounding off like that.

I had it comin'.

You always treated me square.

You been good to me.

So there's something I wanna do.

I wanna apologise to you.

I ain't apologised to anybody in 20 years.

- Hey, Stroud.

- Yeah?

My bird won't sing.

Is he sick?

I'll check him.

You sick, little baby canary Jack?

Say "tweety-dee", sweetheart.

Tweet tweet tweet tweet.

I don't know.

You been giving him special feedings

of grasshoppers and bugs like I told you?

I can't find any!

By the time I get to the bullpen,

you cleaned it out!

What do you want me to do?

You got a way with birds.

You take Jack for a while, huh?

What about birdseed?

All right, I'll split mine with you.

- What do you say?

- All right. Send him in.

Only for about a year or so

and then I want him back.

OK.

You be careful, take it easy

and don't mash him.

You don't care of him, I'll bust you apart.

- Don't worry, Feto.

- Come on, Gomez.

It's your exercise period.

Well, how about it, Stroud? Is he sick?

- I don't think so.

- Why don't he sing?

- It wouldn't be polite.

- Don't be smart!

Feto, don't you know

a lady canary never sings?

Lady canary?

- You mean Jack's a broad canary?

- Yep. A hen.

Well, tough luck, Bob.

You're stuck with a bird that don't sing.

Use up a lot of birdseed, huh?

Working with a razor blade

and a jagged piece of glass,

Stroud cut 128 slats,

in addition to roof boards,

tier bars, gate pieces and a handle.

Every joint was charred for hardness

and hand-fitted,

since he had no glue.

The birdcage took

seven months to complete.

Bob, that's a hell of a job you did there.

It's all right. Not bad.

- Next one'll be better.

- The next one?

What do you want another one for?

Ain't you got eyes? Mr and Mrs.

There's gonna be

some procreation around here.

- Procre... what?

- New life. Birth.

- In a prison?

- Yep.

Well, I guess they won't mind.

Canaries are always behind bars anyway.

It's springtime outside, slugger.

You best go find out who you are.

Come on.

Now what's wrong with you,

you old buzzard? Come on.

Don't be afraid.

Out there you can kick up the dust.

You can dance to fiddle music.

Watch the alfalfa bloom.

If you like, you can... see gold teeth.

Taste sweet whisky and red-eyed gravy.

The air breathes easy, nights move faster,

and you tell time by the clock.

Now you don't wanna be a jailbird

all your life, do ya?

You're a highballin' sparrow.

So you fly high, old cock.

Go out there and bite the stars - for me.

Find yourself a fat mama

and make a family.

You hear?

Beat it.

Hey, Stroud.

Yeah, Feto?

- My bird laid an egg, huh?

- My bird laid an egg.

Why, you stinkin' crook!

I only loaned you my canary!

For a year.

I want half them eggs.

What for? You gonna make an omelette?

Any con who'd steal canary eggs

from another con is a dirty fink!

And a rat!

How many, Stroud?

Two?

How many, Stroud?

Three? Dirty crook.

How many?

Four.

How many?

Hey, Stroud. Anything happen yet?

Now it's been 20 days and 18 hours.

What's goin' on in there?

- Hey, Bob, what's that noise in there?

- Quiet, Feto.

Feto, you're a godfather.

Sealed off from the world,

denied the fundamental drive of man

to beget his own kind,

Stroud developed a world

in microcosm with his birds.

And because it was safe, and he knew

they would never turn on him,

he developed a deep but private

love for his canaries,

as he watched the cycle of love

and mating and issuing forth.

Then, one spring day,

an old friend came back.

Runty! What the hell

are you doin' back here?

Too tough out there, huh?

Come back for a little prison security.

I guess you're a lifer, pal, just like me.

Hey, Stroud. How come

the birds ain't singin'?

Because they're sick, and so's mine.

Hey, Stroud.

My bird's gonna kick off?

"Dreaded among breeders is a highly

contagious disease called septic fever."

"Its actual existence can only be surmised

by a postmortem by

a veterinary surgeon trained in..."

- Bob!

- Pipe down, Gomez.

"Death may be rapid or delayed."

"Faeces are abnormal

and always pale yellow in colour."

"There's no practical remedy."

Stroud?

I found Bacillus pasteurella

in great quantity.

I'd make an educated guess

that there's a filterable virus.

That it is septic fever?

Possibly.

Are there any chemicals

or medicines or anything?

I couldn't find any literature on

the disease. Apparently there isn't any.

So, without any specific drug, I'm afraid

there isn't much I can do to help.

Thanks, Doc. I appreciate what you done.

Sorry.

Any change?

Runty.

Shame.

He wasn't much of a bird. I threw him out,

but I guess it was too tough for him.

He had to come back

where he could freeload.

He was a born panhandler.

Tried to get rid of him

as late as last Friday.

I warned him, but he wouldn't

listen to me. He was too smart.

He'd rather have the walls

than somebody to talk to.

He didn't amount to much.

Hey, Bob.

You know Ape?

The baby bird you slipped me.

Well, in case you're interested,

he just knocked off.

Punk.

He dropped like he got shot in the head.

Reminded me of an old girlfriend

of mine named Peggy... Beeman.

What a face. Like a pan full of worms.

But stacked. Like to make

your tongue hang out.

Good-hearted broad, you know.

She used to put out to me.

And every other guy

in the neighbourhood.

A bum, in other words.

Well, she had a bird too. A parrot.

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