Cold Stone With Pigeons

by Anita Gazzard

Startled Pigeon scurries backward and disappears with a squawk asI complete my ascent to the top of this world. A mottled featherraces across and catches in my hair but I ignore it and look out intothis sharp night. Wind blows steady up here and slips frigid fingersaround my neck and up my sleeves. I breathe deep and bare my teeth.Fangs, some would call them. Teeth to me.

So high am I that the scurry and growl of the road below cannotreach me and I am alone until Startled Pigeon flutters gracelesslydown again, giving me an old-fashioned look and ruffling it'sfeathers in a busy-body way. It stares at me. I stare back. It knowsme, you see. We've met before up in these stone tops and it is alwaysreceptive to a bribe. It's good at hypnotism too, it seems, and Ilose a battle of wits with a flying rat and draw a bag from myclothes. Another pigeon arrives ping like magic and sidles close butStartled pushes it and it sidles off. It sidles everywhere, this one.I throw it a biscuit which it accepts without thanks. They're uplate, these two.

I look out again across the deep dark park to the buildingopposite. It is The building, of course - the lucky one that holdsher snug every night. It draws my eye the way she does. She is notthere. It's still early in this winter night but I will wait untilshe arrives. Startled has settled on my knee and buried it's head inthe bag. Sidles is sneaking crabwise behind me pecking at stone. Thewind pushes my hair into my eyes and mouth and I pull my cloak closerabout me.

She stayed below one night last week and I couldn't sleep. My bedchamber has never seemed so empty. Only a short way down the tunnelto her room and I could have changed my life. But no, I just turnedand turned and wore out the night with my sleeplessness. That roomcarries her scent now. I can't think clearly when I go in there so Itry not to do so too often. Keats, Shakspeare, Browning, they allknew.

A light is on. My breath catches and I lean forward pushingStartled from it's perch. I can see the balcony. She has come to thewindow and is looking out - she know I'm here but she hasn't myvision. I want to run to that place and accept everything she wouldgive me. Instead I give Sidles another biscuit.

The wind has dropped and the sky is clear. I wave although I knowshe can't see me, and she places her hand on the glass for a momentthen turns and disappears. I am at ease. Now it's time to go, back tothe world below, leaving all I love in the cold world above. Trite, Iknow, but I'm capable of much worse.

I rise and Sidles flies away. To my surprise Starled comes with meall the way to the tunnels. It flies off, though, when I enterthem.