Yashka

(From the book Altruism, The good, the Bad and the Ugly by Valdemar Malin)

I have spotted him first at the beach among his friends. The noisy company made themselves comfortable right across the steel picket fence of the ocean-front Florida condo where I live. This was their favorite place, and I was watching them often lazing on my lounge. He was obviously a leader of this group judging by the respect he was receiving from others. He was observant and quickly noticed that I was watching him. Then he started showing some curiosity too. Eventually, he approached me, and since that time, we have spent a lot of time together and became good friends.

I cannot even say that I came to know him that well for these five years we knew each other. There was something mysterious in his appearance, character and behavior. Still, one thing was standing out. He was remarkably natural—what you see that’s what you get. He was just like raw nature—genuine and sincere, individualistic and free-spirited; independent and free. And he did not trust anyone. Almost. During our frequent meetings, there was so many questions I wanted to ask him, but I did not because he was…a seagull!

An unsightly crooked beak; an unpleasant and loud voice; a nasty red mouth; a body of fifty shades of grey; ridiculously thin legs and clumsy walk—a common gull like hundreds of others around. But he was unique in my eyes and adorable; he was more beautiful than any gull or pigeon in that flock. Because he was…mine! Because I trained him for years and have eventually have tamed him defying the popular belief that gulls were almost impossible to break in. I invested time, patience and my heart in him, and…a ton of mozzarella cheese. I gave him a name—Yashka (after a street pigeon I tamed many years ago). And I introduced him to my friends, neighbors and our pool attendants who accepted him calling him by name.

Yashka was loyal, kind of. When I was absent, he was looking for me walking along the shore and peeping under every beach umbrella. But when he saw me, he was running straight toward my lounge swinging clumsily from side to side, and jumping on the lounge without invitation. In the morning, when I was doing my walking on the brick paver along the fence, he was running along in the sand on the other side like a faithful dog.

But it was not easy to ern his loyalty, at first. I spent the entire season before he took the first bite off my hand. After that, everything went much easier. Other gulls were watching him with horror and indignation. “What are you doing, stupid?” they screamed. “You are breaking the eternal law of Nature—don’t trust anyone with your freedom and your life!” Yet, he was the only one to overcome his natural, ageless instinct of fear.

It is still a mystery for me. Was Yashka the most curious, greedy or stupid bird in the flock? Or he was the most intelligent one capable of measuring and taking a calculated risk. And he made the right decision—to trust me. He offered his unlikely friendship to me, which was seemingly faithful and selfless. I wish it was!

I knew that his devotion to me was not selfless, but rather selfish. It was not my friendship he was interested in, but a bag of his favorite mozzarella cheese I was buying at a supermarket, just for him. I knew this bitter truth too well, even when he was still willing to sit next to me on the lounge for a while after the bag was empty; even when he was grooming himself sitting on my laps—quiet, calm and content turning heads of beach walkers.

But I did not care. It was a good deal. I experienced an indescribable pleasure; a feeling of awe as if an invisible door was suddenly opened, and I was allowed to step into a mysterious world, unknown to and forbidden for mortals. I felt as if I was a guest of honor who received a personal invitation from Nature herself. I was chosen and privileged—he trusted me with his life. And I did not let him down! At least, I thought so.

One morning, I came out with the bag, but there was no Yashka. He’s gone! Just vanished without even saying good bye. I don’t even know where he is now or what has happened to him. Is he still alive or flied away following the call of the wild, a free son of Her Majesty Nature?

What have I done wrong, Your Majesty? Did I make him believe that all people were kind and could be trusted; that all of them were walking with the bags of his favorite food? Did I dull his eternal instincts of self-reliance and self-preservation and put him in danger?

I thought that my behavior was altruistic. To feed a poor, hungry bird and to make this patch of beach a better place to live for him—that’s what my good intention was. I thought I was making his life a little bit better. But was I?

Now, when Yashka has gone, I realized that I was selfish too. I was acting out of my own self-interest and vanity. I was seeking pleasure from being up close and personal with this beautiful and wild creature (although in exchange for treats); from being recognized and singled out by Mother Nature herself.

I loved him. But it was selfish love—I made a free and proud bird dependent on humiliating handouts. I must’ve loved him with my eyes only, at a distance, rather than with my outstretched hand flashing a piece of cheese.

I was kind. But it was not genuine kindness either—I expected pleasure in return. Ironically, I created another dependency…of my own. I wanted to see and feed him again and again because I was craving for that pleasure.

Good bye, Yashka, my unlikely friend! I may never see you again. Thank you so much for letting me be a part of your life for five short years and giving me so much joy. I hope you are fine and flying high in the blue sky over the waves again—hungry but free and independent. I hope that you parted with a foreign world of humans and returned back to Nature, to your natural world. I hope you are working hard for a living again—diving into the deep for fish; pecking the sand for earthworms; and knocking insects out of the air. I pray that you are not running after people again begging for handouts and trusting them with your life. And I am so sorry if I hurt you inadvertently by playing this altruistic game.

You were such a good teacher, Yashka. A messenger of Nature, you gave me a bitter but sobering lesson straight from the Nature’s Book of Life. In your own natural way, you revealed to me the real meaning of genuine kindness; the selfless motives of givers that may be inadvertently selfish; the incorrigible motivation of the receivers of their help who may be driven by self-interest and egoism; and the price of emotions, compassion and good intentions if they are taking priority over and flying in the face of reality. And I thank you for the thought-provoking introduction to Part II of my book describing a modern phenomenon that has overwhelmed many aspects of our social life—modern altruism.

P.S. Just before I submitted my manuscript to the publisher, Yashka—the prodigal son of a beach—has returned from his 11-month long roaming. To my great relief and joy, he is safe and sound. And sane, except that he brought a girlfriend. Wasting no time, he is back resuming his gilt-provoking, mozzarella-cheese-shake-down routine, again. But this time, we don’t pretend to be idealistic, selfless altruists. We realized that altruism was a pure business deal—this time, a compensation…for his contribution to the book. Well, to keep girlfriends is not cheap, I understand.