Birdmen and Teacups Named Florence
by Steve Duno
His wife opens the blinds and stares out the living room window at him feeding pigeons on the sidewalk. She watches for a while then closes the blinds, buttons her sweater and goes outside to where he is standing. The pigeons slowly give ground.
"Anton," she says. "Please don’t feed them. They are dirty. They have germs."
"They have to eat."
"They are birds, Anton. They can fly away and find another old man to feed them."
He stares down at her sweater. "You’re buttoned up all crooked again. Can’t you see that extra buttonhole on the bottom? Wear something with a zipper next time, will you?" He buries his hand into his stained paper bag and lifts out a fistful of seed, flings it down and watches the seeds bounce and scatter on the cement. The pigeons go crazy. A few of the seeds fall into the cracks in the cement and escape being eaten.
"See that? That’s something. Look at them go for it."
"Look at the sidewalk, Anton. Look at what they do. Look at your slippers. Those slippers will not come into the house without a cleaning."
"Go inside. They don’t like you. They don’t like all this neat talk while they eat."
"Someone will slip on the sidewalk and sue us. They will take the house, Anton. This house is all I have."
"Go inside," he yells, staring down at the buttoning of her sweater while flinging out more seed. Seeds wash over the tightly feathered bodies of the pigeons, the sound of it on their backs like rain on a canvas tent.
She goes inside and comes back out holding a damp rag.
"Here, Anton, wipe off with this." He watches water drip off the rag onto the sidewalk then waves her off. "I will leave it on the steps for you," she says, then goes back inside.
He stares at his watch, then down into the paper bag. "Four-thirty," he says aloud. More than half of the seed is gone. "I’d better ease up," he says to the pigeons, wanting their meal to last until five o’clock, when the news comes on.
A one-eyed tan and white pigeon flies down from the television antenna and mixes in with the other birds. "Hello Blindy. Eat yet?" He backhands a fistful of seed onto the bird. "There you go, tough guy. Choke on that."
He scatters seed onto his slippers. The pigeons gather around him, up onto his slippers and between his feet. He throws down more and the whole flock moves in and cover up his feet completely.
He looks down. "Hah! I can’t even see my feet!" He laughs and laughs, arms lifted up from his sides. "Some scarecrow! Hah hah hah! Some scarecrow!"
His wife closes the blinds and slumps down onto the sofa. She flicks on the television with the remote and watches a minute of "Oprah". Then she gets up quickly and goes into the kitchen.
He comes in while she is draining his rigatoni into a colander. Steam shrouds her face. She arranges the rigatoni in a deep dish then smothers them with meat sauce and grated Romano.
He is sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table when she comes in with his food. The news is on.
"Anton," she says softly, setting the dish down onto a Disney placemat on the coffee table. "Oh Anton, you are just like a child." She removes one of his slippers but he yanks it out of her hand.
"Damn it!" he screams.
"But they are dirty."
"I like it."
"No you do not, Anton."
"Oh yes I do."
"At least let me wipe them."
"Go upstairs. Clean out a closet. Bake a pie."
"Please—"
"Go, go. Let me eat. I need to eat and watch the news. Important things are happening and all you want to do is clean. Let it get dirty. Let it go. It’s the way it wants to be."