No way—not even Execestides could manage that.

We’re in a real mess.

Well, you could try going along that pathway.

We two were conned by that Philokrates, the crazy vendor in the marketplace who sells his birds on trays. He claimed these two

would take us straight to Tereus the hoopoe, a man who years ago became a bird. That’s why we paid an obol for this one, this jackdaw, a son of Tharreleides, and three more for the crow. And then what? The two know nothing, except how to bite.

What’s got your attention now? In those rocks

You want to take us there? There’s no way through.

By god, the same thing over here, no road.

What’s your crow saying about the pathway?

By god, it’s not cawing what it did before.

But what’s it saying about the road?

Nothing— it’s saying nothing, just keeps on croaking— something about biting my fingers off.

Don’t you think it’s really odd the two of us, ready and eager to head off to the birds, just can’t find the way. You see, we’re not well. All you men sitting there to hear our words,

we’re ill with a disease, not like the one which Sacas suffers, no—the opposite.

He’s no true citizen, yet nonetheless he’s pushing his way in by force, but we, both honoured members of our tribe and clan, both citizens among you citizens, with no one trying to drive us from the city, have winged our way out of our native land on our two feet. We don’t hate the city because we think it’s not by nature great and truly prosperous—open to all, so they can spend their money paying fines.

Cicadas chirp up in the trees a while, a month or two, but our Athenians

keep chirping over lawsuits all their lives. That’s why right now we’ve set off on this trip, with all this stuff—basket, pot, and myrtle boughs. We’re looking for a nice relaxing spot, where we can settle down, live out our lives. We’re heading for Tereus, that hoopoe bird— we’d like to know if in his flying around he’s seen a city like the one we want.

Hey!

What?

My crow keeps cawing upwards—up there.

My jackdaw is looking up there, too,

as if it wants to show me something. There must be birds around these rocks. I know— let’s make noise and then we’ll see for sure.

You know what you should do? Kick that outcrop.

Why not use your head? There’d be twice the noise.

Pick up a stone and then knock on the door.

All right. Here I go.

Hey, boy . . . boy!

What are you saying? Why call the hoopoe “boy”?

Don’t say that—you should call out

“Hoopoe-ho!”

Hoopoe-ho! . . . Should I knock again? . . . Hoopoe-ho!

SERVANT-BIRD [inside]

Who is it? Who’s shouting for my master?

as if it wants to show me something. There must be birds around these rocks. I know— let’s make noise and then we’ll see for sure.

You know what you should do? Kick that outcrop.

Why not use your head? There’d be twice the noise.

Pick up a stone and then knock on the door.

All right. Here I go.

Hey, boy . . . boy!

What are you saying? Why call the hoopoe “boy”?

Don’t say that—you should call out

“Hoopoe-ho!”

Hoopoe-ho! . . . Should I knock again? . . . Hoopoe-ho!

SERVANT-BIRD [inside]

Who is it? Who’s shouting for my master?

My lord Apollo, save us! That gaping beak—

SERVANT-BIRD [also frightened]

Oh, oh, now we’re in for it. You two men, you’re bird-catchers!

Don’t act so weird! Can’t you say something nice?

SERVANT-BIRD [trying to scare them off]

You two men will die!

But we’re not men.

SERVANT-BIRD

What? What are you, then?

Well . . . I’m a chicken-shitter . . . a Libyan bird . . .

SERVANT-BIRD

That’s rubbish.

It’s not—I’ve just dropped my load—

down both my legs. Take a look.

SERVANT-BIRD

And this one here? What kind of bird is he?

Can you speak?

Me? . . . a crapper-fowl . . . from Phasis.

God knows what kind of animal you are!

SERVANT-BIRD

I’m a servant bird.

Beaten by some rooster

My lord Apollo, save us! That gaping beak—

SERVANT-BIRD [also frightened]

Oh, oh, now we’re in for it. You two men, you’re bird-catchers!

Don’t act so weird! Can’t you say something nice?

SERVANT-BIRD [trying to scare them off]

You two men will die!

But we’re not men.

SERVANT-BIRD

What? What are you, then?

Well . . . I’m a chicken-shitter . . . a Libyan bird . . .

SERVANT-BIRD

That’s rubbish.

It’s not—I’ve just dropped my load—

down both my legs. Take a look.

SERVANT-BIRD

And this one here? What kind of bird is he?

Can you speak?

Me? . . . a crapper-fowl . . . from Phasis.

God knows what kind of animal you are!

SERVANT-BIRD

I’m a servant bird.

Beaten by some rooster

in a cock fight?

SERVANT-BIRD

No. It was my master— when he became a hoopoe, well, I prayed that I could turn into a bird. That way he’d still have me to serve and wait on him.

Does a bird need his own butler bird?

SERVANT-BIRD

He does—I think it’s got something to do with the fact that earlier he was a man. So if he wants to taste some fish from Phalerum, I grab a plate and run off for sardines. If he wants soup, we need pot and ladle, so I dash off for the spoon.

A runner bird— that’s what you are. Well, my little runner, do you know what we’d like to have you do?

in a cock fight?

SERVANT-BIRD

No. It was my master— when he became a hoopoe, well, I prayed that I could turn into a bird. That way he’d still have me to serve and wait on him.

Does a bird need his own butler bird?

SERVANT-BIRD

He does—I think it’s got something to do with the fact that earlier he was a man. So if he wants to taste some fish from Phalerum, I grab a plate and run off for sardines. If he wants soup, we need pot and ladle, so I dash off for the spoon.

A runner bird— that’s what you are. Well, my little runner, do you know what we’d like to have you do?

Go call your master for us.

SERVANT-BIRD

But he’s asleep— for heaven’s sake, his after-dinner snooze—

he’s just had gnats and myrtle berries.

Wake him up anyway.

SERVANT-BIRD

I know for sure he’ll be annoyed, but I’ll do it, just for you.

Damn that bird—he scared me half to death.

Bloody hell—he frightened off my bird!

You’re such a coward—the worst there is. Were you so scared you let that jackdaw go?

What about you? Didn’t you collapse and let your crow escape?

Not me, by god!

Where is it then?

It flew off on its own.

You didn’t let go? What a valiant man!

TEREUS: [from inside, speaking in a grand style]

Throw open this wood, so I may issue forth.

O Hercules, what kind of beast is this? What’s that plumage? What sort of triple crest?

Who are the persons here who seek me out?

The twelve gods, it seems, have worked you over.

Does seeing my feathers make you scoff at me? Strangers, I was once upon a time a man.

It’s not you we’re laughing at.

Then what is it?

It’s your beak—to us it looks quite funny.

It’s how Sophocles distorts Tereus—

You didn’t let go? What a valiant man!

TEREUS: [from inside, speaking in a grand style]

Throw open this wood, so I may issue forth.

O Hercules, what kind of beast is this? What’s that plumage? What sort of triple crest?

Who are the persons here who seek me out?

The twelve gods, it seems, have worked you over.

Does seeing my feathers make you scoff at me? Strangers, I was once upon a time a man.

It’s not you we’re laughing at.

Then what is it?

It’s your beak—to us it looks quite funny.

It’s how Sophocles distorts Tereus—

You didn’t let go? What a valiant man!

TEREUS: [from inside, speaking in a grand style]

Throw open this wood, so I may issue forth.

O Hercules, what kind of beast is this? What’s that plumage? What sort of triple crest?

Who are the persons here who seek me out?

The twelve gods, it seems, have worked you over.

Does seeing my feathers make you scoff at me? Strangers, I was once upon a time a man.

It’s not you we’re laughing at.

Then what is it?

It’s your beak—to us it looks quite funny.

It’s how Sophocles distorts Tereus—

that’s me—in his tragedies.

You’re Tereus?

Are you a peacock or a bird?

I am a bird.

Then where are all your feathers?

They’ve fallen off.

Have you got some disease?

No, it’s not that. In winter time all birds shed their feathers, then new ones grow again. But tell me this— who are the two of you?

Us? We’re human beings.

From what race were you born?

Our origin? In Athens—which makes the finest warships.

Ah, so you’re jury-men, are you?

No, no. We’re different—we keep away from juries.

Does that seedling flourish in those parts?

If you go searching in the countryside, you’ll find a few.

So why have you come here? What do you need?

To talk to you.

What for?

Well, you were once a man, as we are now. You owed people money, as we do now. You loved to skip the debt, as we do now. Then you changed your nature, became a bird.

You fly in circles over land and sea. You’ve learned whatever’s known to birds and men. That’s why we’ve come as suppliants to you,

If you go searching in the countryside, you’ll find a few.

So why have you come here? What do you need?

To talk to you.

What for?

Well, you were once a man, as we are now. You owed people money, as we do now. You loved to skip the debt, as we do now. Then you changed your nature, became a bird.

You fly in circles over land and sea. You’ve learned whatever’s known to birds and men. That’s why we’ve come as suppliants to you,

to ask if you can tell us of some town, where life is sheepskin soft, where we can sleep.

Are you looking for a mighty city, more powerful than what Cranaus built?

Not one more powerful, no. What we want is one which better suits the two of us.

You clearly want an aristocracy.

Me? No, not at all. The

son of Scellias is someone I detest.

All right, then, What kind of city would you like to live in?

I’d like a city where my biggest problem would be something like this—in the morning a friend comes to my door and says to me, “In the name of Olympian Zeus, take a bath,

an early one, you and your children, then come to my place for the wedding feast I’m putting on. Don’t disappoint me now.

If you do, then don’t come looking for me when my affairs get difficult for me.”

By heaven, you poor man, you do love trouble. What about you?

I’d like the same.

Like what?

To have the father of some handsome lad come up to me, as if I’d done him wrong, and tell me off with some complaint like this— “A fine thing there between you and my son,

you old spark. You met him coming back from the gymnasium, after his bath—

you didn’t kiss or greet him with a hug, or even try tickling his testicles— yet you’re a friend of mine, his father.”

How you yearn for problems, you unhappy man. There is a happy city by the sea, the Red Sea, just like the one you mention.

No, no. Not by the sea! That’s not for us, not where that ship Salamia can show up with some man on board to serve a summons early in the morning. What about Greece?

Can you tell us of some city there?

Why not go and settle down in Elis— in Lepreus?

In Leprous? By the gods, I hate the place—although I’ve never seen it—

it’s all Melanthius’s fault.

You could go

to the Opuntians—they’re in Locris— you might settle there.

Be Opuntius— no way, not for a talent’s weight in gold. But what’s it like here, living with the birds? You must know it well.

It’s not unpleasant.

First of all, you have to live without a purse.

So you’re rid of one great source of fraud in life.

In the gardens we enjoy white sesame,

it’s all Melanthius’s fault.

You could go

to the Opuntians—they’re in Locris— you might settle there.

Be Opuntius— no way, not for a talent’s weight in gold. But what’s it like here, living with the birds? You must know it well.

It’s not unpleasant.

First of all, you have to live without a purse.

So you’re rid of one great source of fraud in life.

In the gardens we enjoy white sesame,

the myrtles, mint, and poppies.

So you live just like newly-weds.

That’s it! I’ve got it! I see a great plan for this race of birds— and power, too, if you’ll trust what I say.

What do you want to get us all to do?

What should you be convinced to do? Well, first, don’t just fly about in all directions,

your beaks wide open—that makes you despised. With us, you see, if you spoke of men who always flit about and if you asked, “Who’s that Teleas” someone would respond, “The man’s a bird—he’s unreliable, flighty, vague, never stays in one place long.”

By Dionysus, that’s a valid point— the criticism’s fair. What should we do?

Settle down together in one city.

What sort of city could we birds set up?

Why ask that? What a stupid thing to say! Look down.

All right.

Now look up.

I'm looking up.

Turn your head round to the side.

By Zeus, this’ll do me good, if I twist off my neck.

What do you see?

Clouds and sky.

Well, then, isn’t this a staging area for birds?

A staging area? How come it’s that?

You might say it’s a location for them—

there’s lots of business here, but everything keeps moving through this zone, so it’s now called

a staging place. But if you settled here, fortified it, and fenced it off with walls, this staging area could become your state. Then you’d rule all men as if they’re locusts and annihilate the gods with famine, just like in Melos.

How’d we manage that?

Look, between earth and heaven there’s the air. Now, with us, when we want to go to Delphi, we have to ask permission to pass through from the Boeotians. You should do the same.

When men sacrifice, make gods pay you cash.

there’s lots of business here, but everything keeps moving through this zone, so it’s now called

a staging place. But if you settled here, fortified it, and fenced it off with walls, this staging area could become your state. Then you’d rule all men as if they’re locusts and annihilate the gods with famine, just like in Melos.

How’d we manage that?

Look, between earth and heaven there’s the air. Now, with us, when we want to go to Delphi, we have to ask permission to pass through from the Boeotians. You should do the same.

When men sacrifice, make gods pay you cash.

If not, you don’t grant them rights of passage. You’ll stop the smell of roasting thigh bones moving through an empty space and city which don’t belong to them.

Wow!!! Yippee!!

By earth, snares, traps, nets, what a marvellous scheme! I’ve never heard a neater plan! So now, with your help, I’m going to found a city, if other birds agree.

The other birds? Who’s going to lay this business out to them?

You can do it. I’ve taught them how to speak.

Before I came, they could only twitter, but I’ve been with them here a long, long time.

How do you call to bring them all together?

Easy. I’ll step inside my thicket here, and wake my nightingale. Then we’ll both call. Once they hear our voices they’ll come running.

O, you darling bird, now don’t just stand there— not when I’m begging you to go right now, get in your thicket, wake your nightingale.

Come my queen, don’t sleep so long, pour forth the sound of sacred song—