Chapter 7
889words
"Be careful of that white-naped crane named 'Walnut'—she has quite a temper and has already killed two potential mates."
This was the first warning the director gave Chris when he arrived at the research center. Following the director's pointing finger, Chris spotted her. Among the flock of cranes, she always stood out—not for her beauty, but for her stubborn isolation. She avoided all her own kind, pacing alone by the water like an exiled princess.
Her problem was documented on the first page of her file: imprinting behavior disorder. Walnut had hatched in a human incubator and grown up under human care. Consequently, her brain—wired with ancient programming—had accepted an absurd fact: she was human. This was the root of her aggression and oddities. She wouldn't allow male cranes near her because in her eyes, they were nothing but strange winged beasts.
Chris's job was to address this problem. Initially, he only observed from a distance, not wanting to become another perceived threat. Daily, he recorded her behavior and monitored her emotions from across the fence. She seemed to notice this "voyeur." She would pause and tilt her head to look at him from afar. Her gaze lacked the communication patterns of her species; instead, it was eerily human-like, filled with scrutiny and curiosity.
The breakthrough came one afternoon. Walnut approached Chris on her own initiative—not hesitantly, but directly, with clear purpose. Chris held his breath nervously, afraid any sudden movement might startle this finicky "princess." Rather than attacking, she stopped before him and began circling him elegantly, using him as her center point. In that moment, all ambient noise at the research center faded away. Though Chris had read countless papers on avian behavior, none explained what he felt then—a profound sense of being chosen, of being accepted.
From that day, their relationship developed rapidly. Chris received permission to enter her territory. No longer just a shadow beyond the fence, he could now share her patch of grass and wetland. When they leaned against each other, Chris could feel the warmth beneath her feathers. She showed complete trust in him.
Then came the day she performed her dance. It was the mating dance of the white-naped crane—complex movements, elegant postures, every extension and leap filled with ancient, unmistakable invitation. She performed this ritual for Chris, a human. He froze completely, his mind blank. Instinctively, he stepped back and turned away. He needed time to process something that transcended his professional understanding. He was a scientist, tasked with protecting her species, not becoming her mate.
That night, Chris barely slept. Was he betraying the trust of an endangered species, or maintaining his human boundaries? The next day, he returned to her garden with a decision. He brought her favorite food as a silent apology. Then, under her expectant gaze, Chris awkwardly mimicked the movements he'd studied in videos, responding to her dance. His performance must have looked ridiculous, but she understood. She responded with jubilant running and calling, rushing toward Chris and burying her head against his arm. And so, a human researcher and a white-naped crane who believed herself human became "married."
Their "married" life was both beautiful and heartbreaking. Walnut thought that having Chris meant possessing the whole world. But Chris wasn't exclusively hers. He had other endangered birds to care for and his own human life. He needed to go home weekly, needed rest. Whenever he prepared to leave, her emotions would fluctuate violently. She would angrily peck at the ground and make sharp, sorrowful calls. Chris couldn't explain concepts like "work" or "weekend" to her. In her eyes, he could only be the "unfaithful" husband who disappeared repeatedly without explanation, then returned just as mysteriously.
When returning, Chris would spend double the time with her. He would walk with her, bring various treats, and let her express her frustration before quietly sitting beside her. He secretly followed her to see if she might accept other male cranes during his absence. She never did. She simply became more withdrawn while waiting. This knowledge broke Chris's heart but strengthened his commitment to her.
Through artificial insemination, Walnut successfully laid eggs. But Chris knew he had to remove them. Because she didn't consider herself a bird, she wouldn't incubate the eggs, and might even kill hatchlings that didn't look human. Chris became the "thief" who stole their "children." Walnut, in her daily waiting, simply accepted their childlessness as fact.
Twenty years passed this way. They became the most familiar companions in each other's lives. Walnut gradually aged, the strength that once powered her proud dancing slowly fading. All Chris could do was spend more time with her, as if compensating for his countless "absences" over the years. She ate less and less, simply leaning quietly against him, as if his presence alone was enough.
In her final moments, Chris stayed by her side. She looked peaceful when she closed her eyes. Perhaps until her death, she wondered why she had grown old while her "husband" seemed ageless.
They shared twenty years together, until Walnut grew old and died. Throughout that time, Chris never sought a human partner.
In an interview, he said:
"Walnut set the bar too high. It's hard to find a woman who would dance with pure joy simply because she saw me."
