Life and Death in the Shadow of the El - Part II

The pigeon struggled for a bit, then settled down. The three laughing girls approached. He must have been a sight, swaying slightly on his heels, black overcoat unbuttoned over a tux, bow-tie undone around his neck, white scarf hanging down, grey fedora pushed up high, shock of light-brown hair tumbling over his forehead, a face damp with sweat and rain; in his hands a pigeon that he was stroking gently. The girls paid him momentary attention. "Hello bird boy!" Laughter. He was thinking hard of something witty to say but he was distracted by the sound of an automobile splashing its way through some deep puddles up behind. It was a taxi. The girls flagged down the yellow cab which pulled up by the side of the road; they ran across to pile in. As the taxi pulled away, James was left alone.

A wave of nausea hit him, which he struggled to keep down. He closed his eyes momentarily and felt the world reeling, so he opened them again and concentrated on staying upright. He counted slowly to ten; the nausea passed.

He gave some more thought as to what he should do with the pigeon. Leave it on the sidewalk and the alley cats will get to it; they'll play with it for a while before despatching it with a bite to the neck. A distressing way for the poor bird to die, conscious of what was happening to it right up to the end, unable to escape its fate.

There was only one solution. Only one. He placed the bird back on the sidewalk. It was still fluttering as he laid it down, making another futile attempt to get away from him. He pulled a paper serviette from out of his coat pocket and laid it over the pigeon. In a while, the bird became less agitated, just lying there under the napkin.

Then in one swift decisive move, he brought his heel down of his right shoe sharply on the bird's head. Without enmity. It was over in less than a tenth of a second. The life snuffed out, though with the minimum of pain and distress. Ideal way to go; like the guys at Tarawa who caught a bullet in the head - clean, over before you knew it. Not the lingering, agonizing end of a massive stomach wound or losing a limb or something. The pigeon's soul was free, he thought, free to be whatever it had wanted to be. James resolved to be a better man. He shouted out his resolution unto the empty street. "I - WILL - BE - A - BETTER - MAN!" The el had long stopped running, he'd have to walk the nine blocks home.

As he did, he thought about Tarawa. He'd felt guilt about mentioning it. He landed there long after the fighting was over, but did not hesitate to drop that name in bars. James got back to his tenement on E.157th St, made it up to the fourth floor, along the corridor, fumbled to get the key in the lock, he'd sobered up a lot, but is head still wasn't great. As he pushed open the door to his room, he saw a small envelope on the floor. It was a hand-written note from Evelyn. "Sorry James", it said, "I had to work late at the office, my boss made me get some urgent papers typed up. Let's meet tomorrow night - Brophie's at eight."

This time last year:
Skiing in the Beskid Wyspowy

This time two years ago:
Warsaw's unmade roads: what's to be done?

This time three years ago:
Jeziorki in the fog