The Pigeon Man

There was something about breaking your own bread for the birds that was more fulfilling than buying what the carts at the park entrance were peddling. The pigeons gathered, calling for more. Greedy little birds.

Finally, one of the men of the group – a hesitant leader, by the looks of things – approached. There was a look of terror and awe on his face as he crossed the distance, then, to the Pigeon Man’s surprise, he threw himself down on the cobble walk in front of the park bench. 

“Oh, Great One,” he said, his face inches from stone and at least one pile of pigeon droppings. He lifted his hands, palms upwards. “We beseech you. Hear our words and acknowledge our requests. We are but your humble servants, and beg you, in all your mightiness, to look down and be charitable to we, the dregs and denizens of sod and soil.” 

There was a long pause, filled with the sounds of confused birds, as the Pigeon Man considered the prostrate form. He spoke like a human, but he smelled like a satyr. Interesting.

“Are you finished?” he finally said. A pigeon, braver than the rest, pecked at the man’s shirt.

The man, who had been displaying remarkable core strength by keeping his face down and arms up, slowly lowered his hands and lifted his head. “Uh,” he said, glancing behind him at the group, still at the far edge of the cobbled walk, “I guess so?” 

“Then get up,” the Pigeon Man said, reaching into his crumb bag. “You’re disturbing my birds.” 

The pigeons had only been mildly perturbed by the sudden adoration. The other park-goers, on the other hand… Well, the man was only making a fool out of himself. He’d have to deal with the after-effects himself.

A few of the pigeons had scattered, though. The Pigeon Man brought them back with a few well-placed throws of bread. Then, with a sigh, he sat back, looking up into the face of the newcomer, who had climbed to his feet. “What do you want?” he asked, trying to force kindness into his voice. A child of the forest deserved that, at least.

The man was anxiously rubbing his hands, glancing over his shoulder. His friends were slowly inching forward, but otherwise provided no support. With a swallow for strength and air, the man said, “Oh, great one, we come beseeching you for information about your sister, and the whereabouts of her most wonderful person.” 

The Pigeon Man gave him a look, then threw a breadcrumb at his forehead. “No.” 

The man wrinkled his brow and tried to look at the place where the breadcrumb had hit. “No, you won’t tell us?” 

The Pigeon Man sighed. “I didn’t say that. I said, ‘No.’” 

There was another pause, but finally the man asked, “And what did the no mean?” 

The Pigeon Man just stared at him, disassociating as he tried to decide what to say. The man, assuming it was a test, continued, “Do you want me to guess? Is she one of these birds here?”

“Do you think pigeons are wise birds?” the Pigeon Man asked instead. The rest of the group – two women and another man – were standing close enough to hear, but still hung back.

“If they occupy so much of your attention,” the first man said, “Then I believe they must be the wisest of all birds!”

The air fell silent as the Pigeon Man mulled the statement over. “No,” he finally said again, throwing another breadcrumb. This one landed on the man’s cheek. The Pigeon Man was disappointed. He had been aiming for the nose. “Don’t lie to me. You think pigeons are dumb, thoughtless birds.”

The man faltered, but lifted a finger, finding a way to answer. “Great One, if you say they are wise, then they must be so.”

Another breadcrumb hit his cheek. Another, “No.”

He had been closer to the nose, though. At this rate, he might get it before the conversation was over. The man was providing ample opportunity for aiming.

“I never said they were wise birds,” the Pigeon Man said, “I asked what you thought. But you’re refusing to answer honestly.”

“I… Uh…” the man said.

One of his friends, a tall, stately woman, joined in. “Sir, I do not see how we could answer that. After all, our experience with pigeons has been so small, there is no way that we would have the requisite knowledge to answer such a question.”

The Pigeon Man let the statement spin in his mind for a second, then responded by flicking a breadcrumb at her. It landed on her shirt and he made a mental note to compensate better for the distance and wind.

“It was a simple question,” the Pigeon Man said. “Do you think pigeons are wise birds?” He squinted at three behind the first. “And I want answers from all of you.”

The first man threw a look behind him, then said, “Yes.”

The other three followed suit, answering the same.

“Wrong,” the Pigeon Man said. He hit all of them with a breadcrumb, then tossed a few to the pigeons, who were starting to get jealous.

“First of all,” he said, pointing to the man directly in front of him, “You are speaking untruthfully. You are trying to give an answer that I want to hear. And, I might add, you’re failing.” He pointed at the woman, “You, on the other hand, tried to dodge the question. A fair attempt, I will admit, but!” he raised a finger in warning, “Likewise, not what I was looking for.”

He leaned to the side, around the man, giving another glare to the two others. “And you just went along with it because you thought they knew best. Shame on both of you.”

The Pigeon Man straightened, tossing another handful of crumbs to the birds. “But most importantly, your answers are wrong because they are wrong.” He looked up, checking to see that his audience was suitably confused. He nodded at their puzzled expressions. It meant he was doing his job correctly. “The right answer was no. Pigeons are not wise birds. They’re dumb. Maybe even dumber than the rocks they’re walking on.”

A few of the pigeons seemed to protest, but after a feeding of breadcrumbs, they quieted down. It only made the point, the Pigeon Man thought.

“Now, I’m going to ask you another question,” he said, turning back to the group. “And I want you to speak plainly. Don’t address me as ‘Oh, Great One,’ or speak lawyer to me.” He directed the last statement at the woman with a wagging finger. “I’ve had enough dealings with lawyers to last me forever.”

At their nods, the Pigeon Man continued. “Why do you think I spend so much time with these dumb birds?”

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it was the woman who spoke up first. “Maybe they’re the only ones who can put up with you.”

She exuded the strength of a woman used to control and power, especially with her words. He had clearly struck a nerve with his lawyer comment.

The man spun, horror clear on his face. “Miss Blackstone! You can’t say that!” He spun back, clearly expecting to be killed, but found the Pigeon Man chuckling.

“Young lady,” the Pigeon Man said, wiping tears from his eyes, “I have heard many witty comments in my life, most of them from my own lips. In another day and place, that would have earned you a chance among my closest circle. However, I don’t think it’s as truthful as you want it to be.”

“Is it peaceful?” the other man said. “After the lifetimes you’ve had, maybe it’s peaceful not to have followers with thoughts in their heads?”

The Pigeon Man rolled the thought, considering it from all angles. “You’re closer than you know,” he said. “But between you and me, very few of my followers had any thoughts.”

“My great-great-grandfather was your follower!” the first man exclaimed.

The Pigeon Man turned a dubious expression on him as he reflected on his ancestor.

“I guess he wasn’t known for deep thoughts,” he finally admitted.

“Does it remind you of that?” the other woman asked, raising her hand like she was in a class. “You know, throwing out something they like to make them follow?”

“It could be described as an analogy of my former life,” the Pigeon Man said, “But no, that’s not why I spend so much time with the birds.”

The first man scoffed. “You’d compare breadcrumbs with the grand parties? I grew up on stories of you. These birds might be comparable for your followers, but nothing else here could dare compete.”

“So what’s your answer, child of the forest?” the Pigeon Man asked.

The man – the satyr – froze. He wasn’t really surprised that the Pigeon Man had known his true nature, for like calls to like, but he was off-balance and uncertain.

“I don’t know,” he said, the confusion finally leading him in the right direction.

“Yes,” the Pigeon Man said, then rewarded his answer with another breadcrumb. This one hit him squarely on the nose. “Yes!” the Pigeon Man said again, for a completely different reason.

“One more question,” the Pigeon Man said, “Then I will answer yours.” He looked around the group, leaning forward slightly. “Why did you come to me?”

“We’re in trouble,” the tall woman said before the man could answer. “We’re in danger, and we need your sister to give us information that can help us. But no one knows where your sister is.”

“But why me, specifically?” the Pigeon Man asked. “My sister has other friends who could help you.”

“Because of me, sir,” the first man said, rubbing his hands awkwardly again. “I hoped that, being a satyr, you might be more willing to listen than if we went to, say, the ocean.”

The Pigeon Man considered, nodding sagely. “Good point,” he finally said.

He reached down and scooped up a pigeon, which let out a squawk of confusion. Then, carefully, he whispered directions into its ear. “It is a homing pigeon,” he said, lifting it up to the man. “It will guide you to my sister.”

The man picked it up with reverence, studying it in fascination. The bird studied him back, mostly likely considering if this satyr would be the one to finally eat it.

“They may be dumb,” the Pigeon Man said, “But they have their uses.”

The woman turned to go, but the satyr lingered for a second. “Sir,” he said, trying to build up his courage, “I know I don’t deserve to request any more from you, given the boon you’ve already deigned to bestow upon our sorry-“

He was cut off as the Pigeon Man cleared his throat. With a serious expression, he said, “Try again. Truthfully and clearly.”

“Right. Sorry.” He searched for words, then blurted out, “Why do you feed pigeons so much?”

The Pigeon Man let the thought sit for a long second, then said, “I have been a lover, a fighter, a poet, a drunkard and a king.” He shrugged. “At the end of the day, I just like pigeons. They make me happy, just like all those things I’ve done before did.”

The man looked at him, confused, but the Pigeon Man could see the gears turning in his mind. “You’ll understand someday,” he promised, tossing another handful of breadcrumbs to the begging masses. “Now get on your way. My sister will not stay in one place for long.”

As the group walked away, the Pigeon Man pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily on his cane. The pigeons moved out of the way as he began to follow the path deeper into the park. Some followed, but most wandered away.

The path wrapped around a small hill, where children were attempting to pull a kite into the sky. A beautiful scene, one the Pigeon Man did not want marred by what he thought might happen. 

Just further on, the Pigeon Man nodded and exchanged smiles with the faithful gathered by the fountain. Their flock, a mass of gray and iridescence, milled in front of them, greedily snatching up the feast that was thrown to them.

Some of these men had followed the Pigeon Man for their entire lives. Some even recognized him. It was these that he nodded to the deepest and smiled with the most earnestness. Others wouldn’t know him this way. They would expect the person that he had been – the person that they still wanted him to be.

Everyone needed to grow up someday. It had just taken millennia for the Pigeon Man to get around to it.

Finally, the Pigeon Man found his destination, a quiet bench near the shelter of a reaching willow tree. A handful of pigeons had followed him the entire way, and he fed their eager mouths, laughing slightly to himself.

It didn’t take long for the men in suits to find him.

Unlike the group before, they wasted no time in approaching him, brushing the willow branches out of their way as they came through. “So it is you,” one of them said, a chuckle blossoming from his throat. “I didn’t believe it when they told me you’d fallen so far, but I guess it’s true. Even the greatest get old.”

“No,” the Pigeon Man said. He considered throwing a breadcrumb, but decided against it. Instead, he continued feeding his pigeons.

“Where is she?” the man said, leaning forward. “We know you sent them to her, so where is she?”

“Well,” the Pigeon Man said, “She’s certainly not one of the birds.” He motioned to the growing flock, and threw some more breadcrumbs into their midst.

“Tell us where your witch sister is, and we’ll leave you in peace,” the man demanded, pushing his face into the Pigeon Man’s. “Or I might get angry. And you won’t like what happens when I get mad.”

The Pigeon Man calmly lifted his cane, pushing the man back to a more manageable distance. “I hate to say it, but I think I liked the other approach better. You know, falling on your face in worship?” He leaned back. “It might go better for you.”

The man in the suit grabbed the end of the cane, pulling it out of the Pigeon Man’s hands. “I’ll show you my worship, old man,” he seethed, bringing the cane down across his knee. To his surprise and pain, it didn’t break.

The Pigeon Man’s face turned to a scowl, shaking his breadcrumb bag. “As an expert,” he said, “I can assure you that was a terrible decision.”

Angry, with a bruised leg and pride, the man lifted the cane to strike the Pigeon Man. He brought it down, smiling at the force of the impact. His glee did not last.

“And that was even worse,” the Pigeon Man said, holding the cane where he had caught it. He twisted it, pulled it back to his own control. “I doubt you’ll listen to my advice, but I’ll give it anyway. Say your prayers.”

With his opposite hand, he lifted the bag and tossed the remainder into the air. The homemade blend of breadcrumbs scattered across the men, sticking to their stylish jackets. They brushed them off, expressions annoyed and ready for murder, but oblivious to the sky that was darkening around them.

“Like I said,” the Pigeon Man said, leaning on his cane, “A terrible decision.”

The air erupted around him as hundreds of pigeons descended, seeking breadcrumbs and vengeance. The men were pulled backwards into a swirling tornado of birds, disappearing into a maelstrom of feathers, beaks and claws.

The Pigeon Man pushed himself to his feet. “Say your prayers,” he said as he turned away, “But I can promise I won’t be listening.”

It didn’t take long for the storm to quiet down. The Pigeon Man turned around, looking at the wide-eyed gazes of his favorite animals.

They were dumb birds, that was true.

But they did have their uses.