There's this bird, this big white cockatoo, in the shaded yard of one of those charming little guest houses on Collins Avenue. Liz is sure she was connected to the bird in a previous life. The bird, of course, was a person then. Now she wishes that she had continued to discover her past selves.

Liz was Imhotep, the royal architect of King Zoser's step pyramid -- in fact the first Egyptian pyramid -- and the funerary enclave surrounding it. She was also the Spanish farmwife who first cultivated potatoes in Europe. Liz and a psychic Cuban woman with a storefront on Calle Ocho in the Little Havana section of Miami are the only ones who know about these earlier incarnations. There were other lives, too. But Liz stopped going for past life consultations after finding out about the potatoes. She figured that any other incarnations had to pale in comparison to giving the world pyramids and potatoes. Liz is single, 46, a cosmetics salesperson at Burdine's in South Beach and, in this lifetime at least, very lonely.

Liz knows that there are those who believe that coming back as an animal is a spiritual dead end, a form of punishment for an evil life. She wonders if birds count. She considers going to Little Havana and discussing all this with Lela, the psychic. But a hundred dollars a visit is too much. Instead, she decides, she will steal the bird.

She goes to the library after work and looks at a book on cockatoos. Her bird is a Moluccan. She reads that cockatoos have beaks strong enough to bite your finger right off. She is sure that won't be a problem. She and the bird have a connection.

She strolls past the guest house yard again. The bird, shaded by the yard's canopy of palms, sits in a big stationary steel cage. It displays its crown and fixes her with one eye. The connection is unmistakable and deeply felt, by both of them, Liz is sure. It's like there's an electromagnetic charge running back and forth between them. Liz observes that the cage door is latched but not locked. She realizes she is casing the joint, and that she has never "cased" anything before, and she wonders if she and the bird might have been some kind of criminals together. This bird, she tells herself, should not be trapped here for the amusement of tourists. She continues walking, planning the birdnap.

Two blocks away, at home in her one bedroom condo, she remembers that the book said a strong cage is essential. She calls some pet shops and finds out that a cage for a bird like that is going to cost hundreds of dollars. She decides that they will have to do without a cage for the first few days, at least until she gets her paycheck.

The next day she is off work. Her plan is put into motion when she dons a big wide brimmed straw hat with a pink ribbon tied under the chin. She hides her long straight mouse brown hair up under the hat. She is wearing a floral pattern sun dress with spaghetti straps and dark glasses; no make up. The absence of cosmetics, she feels, is an integral element of her disguise. No one has seen her without make up for years. Over her shoulder she slings a large red and white broad striped canvas bag with a flap top -- sort of Parisian chic meets mail carrier -- and the heist is underway.

She casually enters the pale yellow stucco garden wall enclosing the guest house and stands by the cage. A thrill of recognition flows between her and the cockatoo. She gives a cursory glance around the yard and over the facade of the building. It seems no one is around. She reaches out and unlatches the cage, opens the door, waits. No one challenges her. The cockatoo immediately comes out of the cage and starts to climb the outside of the steel bars using its putty gray beak and talons for purchase.

Liz clasps a hand on each side of the big white bird and yanks it off the cage and stuffs it into her shoulder bag and flips the flap closed and walks out of the garden. During the planning stage Liz had worried that the bird might squawk. But clearly, clearly to her anyway, it is cooperating. She can't wait to get the bird home. She is certain the past life connection will reveal itself once the two of them are alone together. If not, they will visit Lela together. Adrenaline is surging through her as she rushes along the sidewalk. The bird starts to struggle inside the bag.

In her apartment she slings the bag off her shoulder and carefully sets it in the middle of the living room floor. She opens it and steps back. "Welcome," she says as the cockatoo's head appears. The bird scrambles out of the bag and stands in the middle of the tile floor. The blinds are all closed against the tropical sun and neighbors' eyes. The light inside is gray. Liz squats on her haunches to face the bird. It spreads it wings and flaps and flutters upward. Its talons menace her. It begins to screech and screech, a piercing battle cry. Liz stumbles to her feet. She's sure the bird is going to attack her. It's flapping and fluttering everywhere, and that deafening screech, again and again. She snatches a cushion from the sofa to defend herself; then crosses and opens the front door wide. With a great deal of trepidation, recalling what the book said about the power of a cockatoo's beak, she uses the pillow as a shield and shoos this white demon out the door. She slams and locks it as soon as the bird is out of the apartment. She leans with her back against the door and feels her heart thud.

A couple days go by before she dares walk past the guest house again. The bird is back in its cage. No sign or surge of recognition passes between them. Liz notices that there's a lock on the cage now. Good.

As she walks to work Liz convinces herself that this is a different bird altogether, a replacement. It is certainly no one she wants to know. She realizes that she may have had enemies, powerful enemies, in previous incarnations. Especially Egypt. From now on she will have to keep up her guard.