Hatfields and Macaws

Judy felt her heart beating out of her chest, excitement, nervousness, fear. Exhausted after two flights and now a bumpy ride in a beat-up battered jeep, roaring down windy, rocky almost nonexistent roads. Not much more then a goat trail. Her teeth rattled, feeling like a candidate for a concussion as her brain jostled in her head. Her driver and sole companion was a very stoic, silent local who was verging on being a mute. No more than four words passed between them since her tiny plane took off from Sololá’ and landed on the dirt runway that was cut into the Guatemalan forest, over two hours ago.

Judy clutched tightly to her laptop, not trusting it being in the back with her other items. She would be lucky if everything were still in the back after this ride. Risking a glance behind her she saw her backpack still there, doing a jig of its own.

She could hardly believe it when her boss gave her the go ahead to investigate this story, it was too bizarre to believe. Judy stumbled across the article while investigating the economic consequences of the drug trade in central America. There it was in bold letters across the local internet paper.

Locals are demanding Government end the 100-year feud between Hatfield and Macaws

It was too much of a coincident, like the long running feud between the two Kentucky families with similar names. It would make for a delightful story.

During her investigation before heading down to Guatemala, she found very few people willing to discuss the feud. Mere mention of it would bring silence over the phone or a quick disconnect. The person who authored the article was no longer around and no-one knew where she was. Try as hard as she could Judy could not track down any member of the Macaw family, but she managed to find one of the Hatfield's willing to talk. Her article may be one sided, but she would be as open as possible. Hoping that once the Macaws read it they would be more than willing to discuss their side with her.

The sun was still high in the sky, as they pulled into a narrow roadway cut into the thick forest. The humidity clung to her as if she had jumped in a shower with her clothes on. Following the trail they saw, tucked amongst the trees, a small clay and cornstalk hut topped with a tin roof. The front entrance was packed dirt, Judy imagined the interior floor was similar.

The forest canopy above came alive with a flocking of large, beautiful birds Judy had never seen before. Bright multicolored with long tails, the strong curved beaks clacking in unison created a mystical beat, she shivered with the sounds. Their heads tilted with deep dark eyes following the jeeps progression. Turning to her companion, asking in an excited voice.

" What kind of Parrots are these?"

He answered her with his fifth word of the day. “Macaw.”

Judy looked away from the birds and towards the approaching hut. She hopped out of the vehicle before it came to a full stop. Her companion turned off the engine and sat still as a rock. No motion to exit.

Judy suddenly she gave an involuntary shudder. The fine hairs on her body all stood on end. She felt eyes upon her, turning around quickly she saw motion in the trees.

"Did you see that?" She asked her near mute companion.

After a brief blank stare, he placed his hat over his eyes and leaned back into his seat to rest.

Judy shrugged off the feeling and walked on.

Outside sitting on a worn-out plastic chair was the oldest human Judy had ever seen. Dressed in a mixed fashion, blending traditional beautiful bright Mayan style weaved clothing with donated hand me downs from faraway Christian charities. He looked exceptionally comfortable. A dark red patch covered his left eye socket. Atop his head was a straw Texas style cowboy hat, with a large colorful feather stuck in its side. His toothless mouth was sucking on an orange soda.

Approaching the elderly man Judy held out her hand. In response he gestured for her to sit in the chair across from him, under the shade of the overhanging roof. It was then she noticed the shotgun leaning against the wall.

Gently setting her laptop on a small wooden table, fearful the weight would collapse the tiny structure. Introducing herself, she began the small talk, she really wanted to finish this before it got too dark.

In near perfect Spanish she spoke. "Thank you for agreeing to meet me Mr. Hatfield. That is a very non-traditional name?"

The old man nodded in agreement. "Yes."

"Do you have any questions before we begin?"

"No."

Okay thought Judy lets try something else. "I am fascinated to hear your side of the story about this feud, how did it start, why is it still going on today, who is winning, if anyone, how many deaths?"

The old man reached behind him, opening a bent metal cooler box and pulled out two orange sodas, opening them both he handed one to Judy.

Taking a long swig, the old man closed his eye. When it blinked open again, the solitary dark eye burned into her. His face and body looked old but there was a fire inside.

"First off you may call me Bastian."

"Thank you, Bastian. I should let you know that I genuinely want to hear your side of the story. Now how did this all begin?" Judy readied her fingers to type.

Bastian perked up. Leaning forward he began.

"Over one hundred years ago my grandfather came from the United States of America, to work on the railroad line. He met my grandmother and fell in love. After years of saving, they bought a large plot of land. They cleared an area and built a home. My family worked hard to make this a place for generations of Hatfield's to live."

He continued after a sip of pop.

"For fifteen years my family prospered. They raised their five children, along with my grandmother’s large family, who also settled on the land. Then for unknown reasons the authorities came to review the land and holdings to make sure all was in compliance with the law. My grandfather readied everything, food and drink were prepared, plans and paperwork organized, all was in order. Before the officials arrived those thieving Macaws swooped in and stole my grandfather’s papers with the deed and land title."

"Surely the local authorities stepped in and demanded the return of the papers?"

"Oh, they didn't believe my grandfather."

"Well surely there was a copy somewhere."

"Back then without your papers there was no proof you owned the land; the law was useless. My Grandfather had to start all over again. While those Macaws stayed on our land."

" I see, seems very unfair to me. Please continue."

Years later when he saved enough again, that same land was no longer for purchase. The government was keeping the land for themselves.

"So, the Macaws had to vacate as well?"

"Oh no, they were allowed to stay."

Sip.

“He had to settle for the land next to it. It wasn't as rich in resources, life was tough. But the Macaws flourished."

"Well, that doesn't seem fair. How is it that the Macaws got to stay but your family could not?"

"Government, that's how. They sided with the Macaws. So, my grandfather decided to run for a position in the government, to remove the evil that resided there."

"Yes, I read about that, but he committed suicide by jumping from the balcony of his hotel room the night before the election."

“No. He was killed by the Macaws.”

“How, they said the doors were locked and there was no forced entry?”

“Macaws don't need doors now do they? They swarmed from above and drove him over the edge.”

"Like Ninjas?"

“After that, things started happening to our family. Our homes broken into; items went missing. If ever we went into the forest alone we were attacked.”

“What did you do?”

“We did what anyone would do, we hunted Macaws."

"Wasn't that extreme?" Judy winced.

"Not at all. The Macaws were clever though, they were hard to catch. They took flight when ever we gave chase. Yet they continued to steal from us, harass us, making our life a living hell."

“Like guerrillas?”

“Gorillas don’t live here.”

“What…no, not the animal…never mind. Are you sure it was them?"

Bastian spit into the dry dirt. "Of course, I'm sure. You are like the rest, calling us liars, they steal and murder I tell you."

Putting both hands up, Judy tried to calm Bastian down. "I have to ask these questions; I am not taking sides."

"It didn't matter how many we hunted, they bred like rats. They were everywhere, hiding in the forest waiting. They always attacked us in flocks, leaving us bloodied. How do you think I lost this eye? They kept coming at us, until we couldn't fight back. "

"Why couldn't you?"

"A group of outsiders came and negotiated a truce without our consent. They convinced the Government to officially side with the Macaws. If we harmed any Macaws our lands would be forfeit."

"So, you gave up?"

"Not at all."

"They continued to harass and attack us, we fought them."

"And?" Judy was getting her hopes up this story was going to be great, weird but great.

"And nothing. Most of our lands were eventually taken from us, my family had to leave. So, now I am the last Hatfield.”

"They won?"

"I didn't say that."

"I still owned some land." Bastian gave a toothless grin. “I just sold it to a timber company. They will begin harvesting the forest soon." With that he began to laugh, which was more of a cackle.

"You are willing to destroy this land over a feud."

"You sound like my grandchildren; they say let it go. But if not for those thieves, our family would have been wealthy."

"Children today are wiser than we give them credit for, maybe you should listen to them. Talk to the Macaws, maybe you can resolve this without anymore tragedy."

Leaning forward and gazing into Judy's eyes Bastion looked puzzled. "Talk to a Macaw, you serious?"

"Yes, I find talking works."

Finishing the last of his soda, Bastian slammed the bottle on the table. "Are you loco, You think they understand what I say?"

"Why not?"

"Look, I can yell and scream all I want, they scatter for a moment, but they return."

"You are willing to let them cut down and burn the land your grandfather fought for; it doesn't make sense."

Bastion remained silent.

"Will this end the feud?"

Nodding his head , Bastion said quietly, “No, Macaw will habitat our land. This will be the Hatfield's final play."

Leaning in he whispered, “Be careful when you leave, they will not want this story out.”

Judy smiled to herself, “I will be leaving the moment I return to Sololá.”

Darting his eyes about, he warned . “You may not make it; they will attack you before you get there.”

“Why would they attack me?”

“Because they wish to remain secretive, your story would expose them. They watch us now; they are everywhere.” With a secretive gesture Bastian pointed towards the forest. " That other reporter didn't listen."

Judy slowly looked up; all she saw were the beautiful colored birds. Then she pieced together the words Bastian spoke, Swooped in, swarmed, flocked, took flight. The bright colored feather in his hat…

Her stomach sunk with a realization, pointing to the trees and the birds she asked, “Are you saying those Macaws are watching us?”

“Always.”

“Those Macaws are the reason you are destroying the forest, their home?” Looking directly in his eye Judy spoke. “They are endangered, they need protection, not have their homes ripped away.”

“Bah, exterminate every last one.” Bastian said with disgust. He hopped up with a speed that was surprising for his age and blasted the shotgun into the forest. The birds took to flight.

With a ringing in her ears and a new understanding. She realized, Bastian was crazy, a senile old man. His feud was with protected birds, not a family. No wonder she couldn’t find any Macaws to interview. She felt stupid, her article useless. She would be lucky to ever get another assignment again.

Packing up her laptop, she said her goodbyes. Bastian continued to cackle away. Shaking her head at such a waste.

As she approached her ride, at least a dozen of those beautiful birds were resettling and perching themselves around branches that hung over the jeep. Looking to her driver she gave a questioningly look. He just shrugged his shoulders.

From a distance she heard Bastian laughing and crying out, "They started it, beware the Macaws."

Judy tossed her laptop in the back and hopped in the front.

In the woods a solitary figure watched. Raising an ancient weapon, a blow gun loaded with a lethal dart, tipped with poison. He kept Judy in his sight as she packed up her items and headed back to the vehicle. As she sat in the front seat, the tattooed individual took a deep breath, pressed his lips against the hole and prepared to deliver the deadly missile into her.

“So, did you get what you came for?”

Judy jumped with surprise at hearing so many words flow from the driver’s mouth. “What?”

“Did you find out about the Macaws?”

Shaking her head , she sighed. “No, the only thing I found was a loony old man, who likes to tell tales.”

Her companion removed his hat and waved it around, batting away at the insects that hovered around.

“So will you be writing an article?”

“No, I’ll be lucky if they don’t fire me.”

The driver placed his hat back on his head.

The assassin in the woods watched as his partner signaled. There was no need to kill this woman. With that he blended into the forest and disappeared.

“Take me back, please.” Judy was so dejected that she never noticed the colorful tattoo of a macaw on her companions left forearm.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story. I was interested to find out that many people were unfamiliar with the feud between the Hatfields and McCoys. Which make my title quite confusing, or unnecessary. If you are one of these people, I highly recommend you familiarize yourself with this little piece of American history. Then the title will be hilarious.

Jason