The nest of the house

I was on the balcony, having breakfast with Rocamadour and Cortázar's Maga when suddenly, a restless bird (or birds; I could never distinguish the gender of birds) appeared. "Don't look directly; maybe it thinks we're wolves," I said, and Rocamadour noticed that it had a worm in its beak.

After a few seconds, it flew to the ledge and revealed a small nest with three chicks. The scene began to repeat, although after ten times, we observed that there were two different animals bringing food. Rocamadour advised not to approach or feed them to avoid getting them accustomed. I philosophized about the reason that made the whole show work, as a new dead worm appeared in the nest every twenty minutes.

Avoiding the romantic idea of maternal or paternal love, I thought it was simply a matter of instinct or survival. But maybe there's something more; maybe each animal is like a cell that functions without the need for incentive. "If I have a wound, my cells will heal it, even against my will," was a silly example I used to validate my idea.

The Maga, who had remained silent until that moment, shed a few tears. "To me, it seems like the most beautiful scene in existence. I'm sure it's pure love, not your nonsense. A life that sacrifices itself for another, that gives without expecting anything," she said, sobbing.

We remained in an uncomfortable silence until Rocamadour brought a little worm from the garden and gave it to the Maga to comfort her. It was magical, turning tears into smiles.