The Pigeon Tamer

I watched a pigeon tamer on a square in my neighbourhood. He has a special whistle to call them before he throws a bag of grain on the ground. He trained them. Other people only feed the pigeons, but this man revels in his power over the birds. He is a performer who lives for the spectacle. 

This is a recount of his act:

The pigeon tamer approaches the square. He starts to whistle even before reaching the perimeter. He needs to enchant as many birds as possible. His whistle is loud, but he is not using his fingers. The pigeon call is a complex pattern of short, then long whistles. It’s more a song, not a signal. 

He repeats the song again and again as all birds in the periphery rise to the sky and quickly touch down at his feet. They know what is coming. 

The pigeon tamer is now surrounded by birds, his feet disappear behind rummaging, ecstatic bodies. Above this pigeon pool, more birds are circling him like huge mosquitoes.

For his next trick, the man, still holding the fodder, starts walking slowly to avoid stepping  on the pigeon mass at his toes. He is walking on a cloud of pigeons as the grey crowd follows him closely to the centre of the square. Everyone is watching them. This is a spectacle and the man knows that. He is their master, their provider, their god. 

For a short moment, as he stands there looking at his disciples, they become one; united in their codependency. The performer is proud because at this moment, before inciting the feast, he is in total control.

Finally, he gives in to the beggars and empties his bag of grain. He does this unceremoniously - he is dumping, not offering. The pigeons have performed and he pays them.

As the birds feast frantically, he crouches down and carefully extends one hand into the sea of birds as if to pet them, trying to reclaim their connection. His attempt is unsuccessful, they evade his touch and keep pecking. 

Now it is their spectacle: The survival of the fittest, fastest pecker. The animals are in charge again, and they’re not interested in connection. A moment ago the man had all the power, but the tables have turned. The pigeon tamer feels rejected and withdraws his hand. 

The rejected performer does not linger. He walks away, crumbling the empty bag in his hands. He leaves his arena awkwardly because nobody is applauding. 

The grain on the ground has vanished completely even before he is out of sight and the birds rise to the sky once again, all at once as if rejoicing. They fly a few circles above the square, triumphantly, until they disperse and resume their pigeon activities.