Panic Signs

29. "What are you doing?"

“It’s forbidden to walk around here at this hour,” squawked the second bird. He had come flying down across the air, his big black wings opening in a sinister fan that covered the round light cast by the neon sign emblazoned with the newspaper’s name. That prohibition was a presumptuous invention of the second bird. But since they had become the guardians of institutions, laws, and decrees, what possibility was there to argue with them? The dialogue would have been a mockery before the sombre strength of power. In spite of that, I showed him the time on my watch. “It’s still early, Officer,” I said. I noticed his eyes on my watch. I understood immediately: that bird had never enjoyed the possession of such a small machine on his wrist. That bird didn’t have a watch to note the time of day, the time of his children , his mother, his death. “It doesn’t matter,” he answered with indignation. “I’ve told you that you can’t walk in this area at this time.” “I am not familiar with that order,” I argued, knowing that any attempt to defend my right to walk within the circus limits was in vain, if the birds didn’t want it. “It’s very, very dangerous to walk on the street at this time of day,” squealed one of the birds, as he underlined the second “very” with a highpitched screech. “Something serious could happen to you,” said the third one. “Irreparable,” added the fourth one. I looked to both sides. They had come through the air to surround me, so I didn’t have much chance to save myself. “What is your occupation?” asked the first bird. He was undoubtedly the highest ranking one: his shiny feathers gave off a fetid smell. “The more important, the worse it smells,” was the popular saying. He had started to go around me, flapping his wings like oars hitting very close to where I stood. Opening them and closing them, he was stirring up the air while the smell of his armpits swamped my nose. My nose like a courtyard invaded by dry leaves that carry with them the water and the storm. “I am a professor,” I declared in a low voice. The bird’s dance was clumsy and ridiculous, but it was making me dizzy. Some stinking blue feathers were falling from his long neck full of buttons that were part of his dirty, wrinkled uniform. “You’re a professor and you take a walk at this hour of the night to breath the air, isn’t that right?” I didn’t want to answer, to avoid conflicts. From the way this bird looked, you could tell he was trying to provoke me in order to increase my —— 50 —— ...