Buen corazón quebranta mala ventura.
Apparently, a good mood makes misfortune bearable and, sometimes, it’s even enough to spare you the trouble. The saying uses the word break. It doesn’t translate as breaking a streak of bad luck, but translations are horrible creatures and we will settle for that one. Anyway, bones break. And we thought of the bird that goes by that name. But, once again, this is a translation, and that means that things got lost along the way. Are an osprey and a bearded vulture even the same creature? Horrible, horrible translations. But we won’t let them dishearten us. This will be a story about broken bones and broken hearts.
Once upon a time there was a bone-breaker that, unlike other birds of his kind, fed on hearts instead of bones. Somehow, that bone-breaker realized that if he broke somebody’s bones after having eaten a good heart, he could change that person’s luck for the better. But if he fed on a bad heart, breaking somebody else’s bones resulted in bad luck. And that luck, both the good and the bad, lasted until the bones healed.
One day, a little girl came to the bone-breaker and laid a corpse at his feet. The little girl asked the bone-breaker to eat that heart, and she offered him the bones of her little finger. The bone-breaker complied. He ate. He broke. The little girl cried in pain. And, after wiping her tears, she asked the bone-breaker whether that heart was good or bad. And that question came as a surprise to the bone-breaker, because people had only ever asked him whether their luck had changed for the better or for the worse.
The little girl told him that she didn’t care about her luck. That she only wanted to know whether her father’s heart was good or bad. Because he made her a promise that he didn’t keep, and she needed to know which heart made that promise to her. The bone-breaker told her that the heart was good, but that he could have given her that answer without breaking any bones, without hurting her. And the girl’s answer was that what hurt the most was knowing that somebody could have a good heart and still break a promise. She told the bone-breaker that she had feared that would be the answer she got, and if she had to have confirmation that promises don’t mean anything at all, at least she would leave with good luck, in exchange for her pain.
Some birds don’t let you take anything to your grave. They get a bird’s-eye view of the world, they even get to peek beyond the horizon, and you would think that they would know better than anyone else that some things are better left unseen. But apparently that’s just how I feel.
Good luck, my child. I just wish you could have believed in my love for you. But you had to grow up some time, and only children believe wholeheartedly, without needing proof.
Did you expect something different? I am sorry to disappoint, but hearts are just flesh and blood. They aren’t a mirror, and ugliness doesn’t show. Monsters are as human as everybody else.
Has nobody ever told you that unless you peek inside the box the cat stays alive? It’s called hope. Hearts might not purr, but the same principle applies to them too. If I were you, and I still had someone I loved, I would never feed their heart to some bird that only knows how to break fragile things beyond repair.
Why? Why did you make a promise you had no intention of keeping? I didn’t need you to slay any dragons for me. I didn’t need you to gift-wrap the moon for me. My definition of hero never included moonlight shining on your armor. I only needed you to show me that there was still good left in the world. What you had to slay was my fear of growing up. You had to reassure me that I wouldn’t lose everything worth loving along the way. Why did you have to break my heart? Why? Just, why? Weren’t there already enough monsters in the world? You had no reason to feel lonely. Your name wasn’t misery, and you had no right to love my company!
I can’t. I thought that I would, but I can’t let you break my bones. Don’t say anything. Don’t put that bloody heart into words. I thought that I would just make the most of my loss. But I can’t. I didn’t want to live with the knowledge that I had cried in vain. I wanted something, anything, other than a broken heart. Hurt stays, long after the tears dry up, and I needed a different memento of the worst day of my life. But black and white aren’t absolutes. Luck depends on your outlook. And right now, even the brightest streak of sunlight wouldn’t be able to break through that darkness, the color of dried blood, that my tears have left in their wake.
It’s alright. I don’t hate you for breaking your promise. Heartbreak is part of life. Sadness. Hurt. Disappointment. I would have learned those lessons sooner or later. I can’t say thank you, but I am grateful that you were my teacher. Because at least you loved me. And you didn’t let some indifferent stranger be the one to break me.
What do you want me to say? That he was a monster? That he had a horrible heart, but there was a shred amidst all that ugliness that could love you, and there wasn’t a heartbeat when he didn’t do just that? I could give you those words. The question is, would you accept that love? Something tells me that that is not the kind of monster you came here for. You want proof, and I can give you that, but I can’t give you permission to hate him. Telling you that he never loved you would let you forget everything else. It would let you scrape his bones clean. Until you had the perfect canvas for your hatred to start painting a monster. There you have it. Your proof. You can hate him now. But I can’t absolve you. If you become a monster, that’s on you.
Haven’t you heard about doctor-patient confidentiality? I can’t disclose their reasons for feeding me hearts. Some people want to have their worst fears confirmed, others want solid proof to replace their fragile hope. And there are those that couldn’t care less about feelings and just want a little bit of luck to get ahead in life. But I can’t tell you who makes up the majority. Why don’t you guess?
Here’s a piece of advice. Think twice before turning something you love into your job. I used to love the taste of hearts. The good, the ugly, the selfish and the deluded, I used to love them all. Each one had its own unique flavor. But the tears of little girls like that one over there overpower everything else. I can’t savor my food anymore, and I could have done without experiencing this heartbreak.
I wish I could go back to breaking bones. I needed to feel special, that’s why I started eating hearts. But I miss sharing my name with someone else. I am growing lonelier by the day. Other birds flock together, and I am sure that the blue of the sky doesn’t seem so hollow to them.
I will never understand that bird’s choice. There are already enough heartbreakers under the sun. Cruelty, indifference and revenge don’t need any more help. Their ranks are full. They will never run out of hopefuls. Breaking bones causes less pain, and I would have chosen to keep showing kindness.
What’s the word I am looking for? A no-brainer? A breeze? It should be easy enough. Birds have wings, and they know that they are born to fly. They would never promise to stay out of the sky. You have a heart, and you should have known what calls to you. The edges of your sky. You could have skirted them. You could have avoided breaking my heart. All it would have taken was to choose your words carefully, instead of lightly promising me my heart’s deepest desires.
I opened my imagination’s birdcage a long time ago. Two tears and it was gone. I used to think that bones embodied loyalty and hearts embodied love. I imagined a thousand different futures for myself, each one more beautiful than the last. But I have eaten enough bones and enough hearts to know that they are just food. Nothing more. Nothing less. Believe me, Life tastes better when you don’t set yourself up for disappointment.
I don’t believe in luck. I am a bird. I am above gratitude and grudges. To fly, I have to hollow out my bones, and there is little sense in flying against the wind. Life is what it is. I don’t see the world in black and white. I don’t pile all the bad on one side of the horizon and all the good on the other side. When I fly, I see endless blue. And that is why nothing brings me down.