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The man who could become a duck.

     A mazy vapour lay oppressively across the canal. It
was too hot to walk or work, it was the kind of day for
stretching out in the shade and resting. Some ducks were
gathered on the concrete bank, David looked at them with a
conspiratorial stare. It had been during the pains and pulls of
puberty that he first became aware of his unusual ability. By
focusing on the dull aching his abdomen he was able to turn
himself limb by limb, organ by organ, into a duck. At first he
had been scared, wondering how normal it was to be able to
perform this metamorphosis. In the ensuing years he practised
his gift in private until he could affect the change in seconds,
then spreading his wings he would take to the air, swooping
across the water, the fields across Kidderminster as it lay
grounded and unaware beneath him. The importance of hiding
his ability was highlighted to him as the years passed. What
had been an exciting game to him at first would have made
scientific history if it was discovered, he would be examined,
maybe even dissected and so he kept his talent hidden.

     When he started to date Tracy he began to lose every
secret which he held. His virginity, his nakedness and his
inabilities. There was never any question that she would find
out about his alter ego, but somehow, eight years later, that
tiny corner of himself stood intact. The change was very
natural to him now, and there was a compulsion to morph if
he stayed in his man-form for too long. He had dealt with this
discretely, in lunch breaks and on his own in the bath.
     He watched the other ducks enviously, he never felt at
home among them, they seemed suspicious of him when he
waddled with them. When he needed a moment to himself he
would often come to the canal (whether he changed into a
duck or not), the lapping of water against concrete helped him
to think and at the moment he was feeling particularly
troubled.
     The last couple of months had been tense, Tracy quite
rightly felt that it was about time they reached a commitment.
He hadn't disagreed, indeed two years previously he had felt
the same way, but Tracy's request had come just at a time
when he felt less than happy with the relationship. The early
days of their courtship were over and the question of the rest
of their lives had a certain inevitability to it. Last night David
had dreamed about Judith again. It hadn't been a sexual dream
(he was almost always a eunuch), they had merely been
walking by the canal, she'd been striding and he had waddled
along by her side changing with each step from a man to a
duck and back again.
     During his daydreams he had often thought of Judith
in a sexual way. The smooth white skin under her chin enticed
him. When they met he would often point out strangely shaped
clouds in the sky and gaze his fill, he guessed that she knew
something was amiss and so he tried to be discreet. There was
also the question of whether there was any other men on the
scene, he would have ditched Tracy in a flash if he believed he
would be accepted, but to risk losing the comfort he found
with her on a whim scared him. Judith spent a lot of time with
Mark, but he knew that there was nothing going on there.
When Mark had dated some girl or other, David had watched
Judith's reaction carefully, there was no jealousy, no hatred or
air of betrayal. His experience in life so far had told him if
there was the hint of a physical relationship between the two
she could not have shrugged off these encounters so easily.
     The mere presence of Tracy however seemed to render
him harmless and asexual to other women. He'd never been
the most attractive man around, but it would be unfair to call
him ugly. Judith was also one of those women who you never
quite know. From time to time Dave fancied that he saw a
friendly (or wanton) glint in her eye as she admonished him for
his clumsiness. The dull throb of his other half ached below his
ribs and the urge to change and swoop low across the water
pounded relentlessly in his mind.
     He smiled at the thought of stretching his wings. The
rush of air and the flash of trees and street lamps as he glided
effortlessly seemed fresh and real in his mind. He had arrived
back to work a little late from lunch last Wednesday after
flying out into the coppice by the playing fields of his old
school. It was there, walking Judith home from Mirage (the
nightclub) that Dave hadreceivedd his first taste of infidelity.
They had taken a shortcut through the old school after
dropping Tracy back to her parents house. Judith was chatting
happily about her days at school and the cigarette breaks they
used to steal at this very spot. David was finding it hard to
concentrate and his eyes kept drifting to where her blouse was
lifting.
     "Of course I didn't smoke, so it was all very peculiar
for me, but I suppose it was the social side of it I liked. There
was none of that peer pressure stuff, nobody was going to
give me a cigarette if I didn't bring my own anyway."
     She had sat down on a grass bank and closed her eyes.
He remembered leaning forward, his hands awkwardly pressed
on his thighs and gently pressing his lips against hers. He
pulled away and stood up quickly. Judith hadn't moved. He
touched her shoulder and she shuddered softly.
     "Whhrrr. Oh. . . I must've dozed off for a second, I
think I need to get to bed."
     David still felt a tingle along his back as he walked her
the rest of the way home. He couldn't rid himself of an
unpleasant acidy feeling in his stomach, if only she'd woken
and there had been a reaction and a change. But instead it was
as though his indiscretion had never happened.

     He walked a little further along the canal, the urge to
morph and fly had passed and he just felt tired. The ducks on
the bank were jumping into the water with a plop. One of
them flapped it's wings and as the water parted behind it, took
to the air. David watched it glide, so fast and cool near the
surface of the water. He spread his arms and breathed in
deeply, the ache throbbing in his abdomen. He stepped
forward and then changed his mind. Not today, he wasn't in
the mood today.

©1998 Mark Sexton