Felix and the Pigeons

By Liane Smith

The crouching boy clasps a pigeon between cupped hands and stands tall, looks around the square for someone to affirm his triumph. The bird flutters, the boy relaxes his grasp and the pigeon escapes, takes off in token flight, changes its mind, lands close by and waddles off. The boy returns to the café terrace where his parents are seated.

“Je l’ai attrapé—t’a vu? Did you seen me?”

His mother is talking on her phone. She smiles and nods.

“C’était comme ça!—It was like that.”

His hands describe the capture and he is off again. Several attempts later, he comes back and eyes the food on the table.

“Wash your hands first,” says his father.

“Non. I have not the time!” He reaches towards a bowl of crisps, hand open palmed and pleading.

“Ah, mais oui, Felix, il le faut,” says his mother. “You have to.”

“Non!”

He snatches a large crisp and runs to the middle of the square where a boy in a green hat is pursuing a plump pigeon. Felix runs after him, waving the crisp, and the boy pauses for a moment. Felix gestures with the crisp, demonstrates in mime how the bird might be enticed. The other boy laughs, shakes his head, and returns to the chase.

Felix wanders away in the direction of a group of teenage girls who are sitting on their jackets, eating sandwiches and taking no notice of the attentive birds that now surround them. The pigeons woo the girls, the girls ignore the pigeons, and Felix watches, pensive. The girls finish lunch, gather up their jackets, and are gone. He retrieves an abandoned crust and crouches, holding out the lure, but the birds are wary, circling him. He is patient. After some minutes, one takes the bread and is caught fast in his cupped hands. Felix stands tall, holding up the bird.

“Regardez!”

His appeal is made to every person there, but the boy with the green hat keeps on running. Every other child on the square is aware of the triumph and smiles, nods, tugs at their parent’s hand, gestures towards Felix and his prize. The bird frees itself and soars upward, finding safety on the bracket of a lamp. Felix looks across the square and the boy with the green hat stops running. He waves at Felix. Felix nods and runs back to the terrace. His father is standing up.

“T’as vu, t’as vu?—Have you seen, have you seen?”

“Felix! Wash your hands, now!” His father moves towards him. “Come, you’ve caught enough birds.”

Imperatives tumble about Felix as he shakes his head.

“Non, I want a baby one—I got to catch a baby one—that one—the grey baby one!”

He seizes another crisp, ducks under his father’s hand, and makes for the square. In that instant, he and the boy with the green hat become accomplices. They crouch on either side of a market stall. Felix moves cautiously forward on his haunches, crisp extended. Green hat advances, back bent low, and they form a pincer movement, closing in on a small grey pigeon. The flock disperses in an untidy clattering scuffle and the boys break into a run behind the fleeing birds.

Now every child comes out to join the chase, circling, weaving, running, a hundred pigeons fluttering overhead. The rainbow tapestry of birds and girls and boys moves across the square to where, on the platform of an iron bandstand, two boys stand, one in a large green hat. The taller boy holds up a small grey pigeon, opens his hands and watches as it flies free, settles on the bandstand roof and fluffs its feathers. He lifts a clenched fist skyward and a cheer goes up. He turns to his companion and Felix steps forward, waving his new green hat.