Divorce in Seabirds

He is lying on his bed looking out through the window. Outside, on the windowsill there’s a seagull looking through the window. Inside, on the small bed facing the window there’s a man. The man is lying down and looking out through the window, at a seagull.

A seagull that could be gliding over the sea, picking clams on the rocks, building a nest, stealing, procreating, rearing, growing, ageing and dying.

Procrastinating, the woman would say, but the man is contemplating. In bed, motionless.

And as the man lies in bed, motionless, contemplating the seagull on the windowsill, not daring to blink or scratch his itches, his hair is growing, his nails are growing, his teeth decaying, going on and on and on.

The man could keep moving to stop it from going on and on and on. Cut his hair, and his nails, clean his teeth, throw away the half empty cans of tuna, once dead, now alive by the windowsill inside his room. He could message, he could grab a pen and paper and write a letter. Apologies. Prostrations. Excuses.

The seagull still outside on the windowsill could scream and press its beak against the glass, like the woman crying and a knock on the door. The man still motionless on the bed could place his right foot on top of the metal frame at the end of the bed. The cold metal frame like the woman’s leg.

And he would then be stirring still. A small movement, an immense moment of entropy. On his arms and on his legs, his hairs would rise. All stiff and hot, all over. All movement, all energy.

But, as he is lying down on his bed looking out through the window, he sees a seagull looking at a man, motionless in bed. All weak and hot in his face, he moves.

Outside, on the windowsill there’s a seagull looking through a window. Inside, there’s a man lying on his bed facing a wall.

Sandra Castiço is a Portuguese writer with a background in film. Her documentary, “Rockumentário,  was broadcast on national TV, in Portugal.