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She throws the bird out the door and goes back to her table. The bird arises feebly and flutters along the ground and off right. The old woman works away, grumbling. narrator: The day passed into afternoon and afternoon into evening. And finally, when the sky was red with the dying sun, the old man hurried in from the fields, eager to see his little bird and to hear its beautiful song again. The old man enters right, hurries across and into hut, looks frantically around for the bird. narrator: "But where is my sparrow, where is my little Suzume-San?" he cried. "In the fields where she belongs," the old woman replied spitefully. "I threw her out. And you needn't be listening for her song, either. No bird can sing without a tongue!" |
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