Craig Marinaro
08-15-2001, 04:36 PM
Haven't thought of a title yet (nor have I proofread it, for that matter). It's probably the most serious thing I've done to date here, but it's not *THAT* bad. ;)
Comments welcome! Enjoy!
***
It was a gorgeous, starlit night, without a cloud in the sky. The moonlight bathed the statue of Martin Scorsese, giving the two figures perched atop an unearthly glow. Bobby noticed what a spectacular view the statue provided. He'd seen this park every day for years, but for the first time in his life, he looked at it.
The tiny spots of dew on the grass glistened in the moonlight. The tree branches swayed ever so slightly with the gentle breeze. Suddenly, a stronger gust shook the leaves. The figure next to him snuggled up closer. He took her wing and looked at her. She smiled lovingly. Neither of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said.
Her golden feathers were softer than silk in his hands. He noticed that one feather had slipped out of place and fallen over deep blue eye. He pushed it back gently. Something about the way she looked at him...when the moon hit her eye...it was just like...like...
"A BIG PIZZA PIE!"
Bobby jolted upright. He looked around to find himself slumped against the bottom of a garbage can in the park. It was near dusk. Pesto and Squit were perched high above him on the rim of the trash can.
"A big pizza pie, he promised us!" Pesto was ranting. "We send him out for dinner, and he says, 'Don't worry, guys, I'll pinch us a whole wingin' pie!' 'Bada bing,' he says. 'No problem!' he says! Then we find him catchin' forty-something winks over here!"
"Ah, turn off the caloric, ya demented buzzard. So what, I need a little rest once in awhile...not all of us get to take a three-hour nap every afternoon."
"Hey! I need my nappy!" Pesto replied defensively. "I don't take my nappy, I get cranky." "Well, one thing's for sure...it ain't beauty sleep!" Squit laughed.
Pesto smacked him. "Shut up, Squit."
"Yeah, stow it, Squit."
"Sorry."
"Well, while you was playin' Rip Van Winkle, me an' Squit got our own grub. Some old lady was feeding popcorn to a buncha pigeons, and she was 'kind' enough to 'donate' the whole bag to us." He chuckled.
"Actually, Pesto, we kinna nabbed it from her..."
"That was *implied* in what I said! I implied it! I think it was pretty obvious. You got the implication, didn't ya, Bobby? You don't think I was being vague, right?"
"Ah, chirp off." Bobby flapped his wings and disappeared over the horizon.
Squit turned to Pesto. "What's up with him?"
"Pheeew! Your breath prolly drove him off! Here, lesse if we can't dig you up an after- dinner mint somewheres..." Squit followed obediently.
~~~
Bobby muttered to himself as he flew over the city. "Bah...don't even bother saving me any food! That's gratitude...how often have I gotten them nicer meals than their
squabbled brains could even imagine? Well, I’ll show 'em...I'll get a whole pizza, with everything on it, and I'll eat it all by myself! And then I'll get beakin' sick! Sicker than either of those two ingrates could ever dream of getting!" His stomach growled happily. He closed his eyes happily, in anticipation of the feast awaiting him.
Not so happily, he missed the window he was aiming for by half a foot, and smacked into a wall. As he plummeted, he successfully regained his composure. He then turned his attention to the task of regaining his airbornness, and realized that if he had it to do over again, this would have been at the top of his priority list. But we can't live our lives twice, so the next sound he heard was a rather unpleasant little SPLAT, all the more unpleasant in that it involved him.
Picking himself up and dusting himself off, he flew again into the air and swooped into the window, which happened to lead into a nice-looking Italian joint down below, called Manfredi's. He landed on a table in the comer.
"Oh, lookit this! They got red-and-white checkered tables over here! Now *THIS* is eatin' in style! I hope I'm not underdressed..."
A waitress wandered casually up, and delivered a monotone dialogue that by this point came second-nature to her. "Hey there. My name's Angelina, and I'll be your waitress tonight. In your place, You will find a large folded booklet labeled 'MENU.' It contains descriptive names that should give you an adequate idea of what our various dishes consist of. Once you have made a selection, you are to tell me or another designated employee of the restaurant, and you should receive a plate of food within a satisfactory amount of time. We have found this to be a very effective system of serving our patrons. The menu is *NOT* for consumption purposes. Do not attempt to ingest it. Thank you."
"?!?" questioned Bobby.
The proprietor of the place, an overweight, stereotypical Italian, marched up furiously.
"Mama mia! Another pigeon, eh? This place, she's-a goin' to the birds! Well, we never turn away a customer yet... But if you gotta do-a you' business, at least try to do it on one-a the white checkers, eh?"
"Sweet Momma Leone!" Bobby exclaimed. "What kinda guy do you think I am?! I thought this was a classy joint! The very implication...rigatone!" He flew back out the window as fast as his wings would carry him.
"Aaah...now we lose another customer! What am I a-doin' wrong?"
"Maybe you should take the edge off," Angelina advised. "Be a bit more pleasant to the customers! They come here to have a good time, now to have a big, grumpy Italian guy screaming at them."
"Oooh...but it gives me a feeling of inflated superiority, and adds fun and flavor to my otherwise dull workaday existence...it's-a no fair."
~~~
Bobby opened his eyes. His head was throbbing. Glancing casually down, he noted that it was resting on solid granite. He decided he didn't like the sensation this produced, and so attempted to persuade the granite to move away from his head. When it staunchly refused, he began the surprisingly difficult task of relocating his own head.
He raised it slowly, and glanced around at his surroundings through bleary eyes. He was sitting on a stool, one of many, each elaborately connected to the top of a small, dingy- looking birdbath. He groggily looked in front of him, and was startled by the face of a hardened-looking old bird with a scar across his beak staring him down. Bobby started. He then promptly finished, at the realization that sudden movements didn't do much to improve his headache.
The old bird was Joe, the bartender. He stood on the inside of the birdbath, leaning over the granite rim to stare at Bobby. "How ya doin' there, Killer?" he said, as he returned to wiping the grimy stone surface with his barcloth.
"Stupendous. How da heck ya think I'm doin'?!" Bobby slurred. "Gimme anudder."
"I give you anymore, you won't be able to stay on that stool. And it's a long way down!"
Bobby grabbed him by the neck. "I don't plan to stop until I can't tell which was *IS* down! Ya got me?"
"Sure," Joe muttered, yanking himself away, and filling up a glass with water from the bath. He slid it Bobby's way. "Incidentally, how were you planning to pay for all this?"
"Start up a tab."
The barkeep glanced at a collection of drinks sitting in a special compartment on the far side of the bath. "Sorry, we got no Tab. Maybe you'd like a Pepsi One?"
Bobby winced, and took a chug from the glass. Joe went back to scrubbing the bartop. This had no apparent effect, beyond wearing the rag down to nothing. He smiled a faint little smile and glanced up at Bobby.
"I suppose you've got a long, sad story to tell me, huh? Well, I'm here all night...may as well get started..."
"Nah, I got nothin'. Why don't you tell me a story?"
Suddenly, Joe's eyes became host to a light the likes of which they hadn't seen in years. "Really? You want to hear...*MY* story?"
"Meh. Sher," Bobby intoned.
Joe hauled a huge, wet photo album up from the bottom of the birdbath. He dried it a bit with his rag, and then threw the piece of cloth to his feet disdainfully. He then proceeded to open to the first page, on which were some shots of a cute baby bird, doing baby
things.
"I was a very happy baby. My mother always told me that I'd become something
wonderful someday...I look back at those days as the happiest time of my life. She was always there to comfort me when I had nightmares, and play with me, and throw up worms into my mouth when I was hungry. But when she died, my father remarried to an exotic Asian bird who belonged to some rich humans in the upper part of town. She thought I was just a little twerp, and used to make me scrub the cage all day. She eventually threw me out, and her owners sold me to the coal mines, which is where I started to make my way in the world..."
~~~
Bobby's head sagged. He shook himself to stay awake, and looked up at Joe. He was by now about halfway through the huge album, and his eyes were moist.
"...the wedding was supposed to be in August. The anniversary would've been twenty-five years tomorrow. There she is, look..." He pointed at a photo of a pretty- looking girl perched with him in an amusement park. Her bright gold feathers and deep blue eyes would have struck Bobby if he weren't so woozy, and if the picture had been in color. "Dear, sweet Florence, the only person who ever cared about me since my mother kicked it...and I was gonna be with her for the rest of my life! I look back on it as the
third happiest time of my life...or are we up to the fourth now? I forget...anyhow, what happens? The night before the wedding...twenty-five years tonight..."
"Last night," Bobby corrected, staring at the rising sun in the distance.
"... she leaves me! Says she can't see me again...never again. She disappeared the next day...her nest deserted, not a trace of her left anywhere. I did a lot of traveling after that...it was in Maui in 1983 that my life started to pick up again. There, I met up with some birds who had found a map to the city of Atlantis. It felt wonderful to have a purpose again...I look back on my time with them as--"
"Listen, if it's all the same to you, I really should be--"
"--one of the happiest times of my life! Definitely on the top ten list. But just a week before we were supposed to start our mission, the whole gang was on board the
submarine doing some final checks. And what happens?"
"Look, I really have to be going...sorry if I'm a bit short on cash at the moment, but--"
"IT EXPLODES! The whole thing, sky high...everyone dead but me! Ooooh God, why? Whyyyy?"
Bobby shrugged and flapped off. Behind him, he could hear Joe obliviously babbling, "It wasn't long after that I became manager of the Cleveland Indians for a short period of time, through an interesting series of events..."
~~~
"As far back as I can remember, the Godpigeon had been the boss, the big cheese, head honcho, top banana in our little organization. Whenever any of us had a problem, we
went right to him. We were like his family, and he always--"
"Squit! What in the name of Vincent Pastore are you doing?!"
Bobby soared down and landed at the foot of the Scorsese statue, to find Squit having a monologue with a rather disinterested-looking chipmunk. The rodent seized this opportunity to grab his nut and make a run for it. Squit turned to Bobby.
"Ah, Pesto said I have to finish this mint before I can perch on the statue." He opened his beak to reveal a ridiculously large breath mint." I've been nursing it all night...I was just trying to pass the time talking to the local wildlife."
"What was that gibberish about the Godpigeon?"
"Oh, just that we received this note earlier. I can't make heads or tails of it, but it looks like it's in his hand."
Bobby grabbed the piece of paper and scanned it. To the untrained eye, it seemed to be just a bunch of incoherent scribbles, but Bobby could immediately translate it from the Godpigeon's hand. "'Hey, Bobby, '" he read. "'I'm currently being kidnapped. How are you? I apologize for the spotty penmanship...this lunkhead keeps grabbing at my arm. Can't he see I'm trying to write? People today have no courtesy. At any rate, I just thought I'd let you know who my captor is. You may take three guesses first, if you like. No, no...you'll never get it! Well, I shall tell you. The identity of my discourteous kidnapper is none other than: ............. oh, shoot, got to go! Hope all is well with you and the boys. With love, your Godpigeon.' Rigatone..."
"Wait! There's more on the back!"
Bobby flipped it over. "'P.S. Well, the fellow here appears to be having a bit of trouble with the string he'd planned to use to tie me up, so I seem to have a few more minutes. In case I don't see you again, here's the lyrics to that song you were always bugging me
about. "Well, the shark has pretty teeth, dear / And he shows 'em..."' Et cetera, et
cetera...ah-ha! 'P.P.S. The kidnapper is O.J.'" Bobby's jaw dropped. "Riiiiigaaaaatone."
"Who's O.J.?"
"Oooh, that s a long story. I ain't gonna tell it twice, so you better wake Pesto up so he can hear it, too."
Squit got a bit squeamish at this suggestion. "Um...couldn't you maybe just wait 'til he
gets up to tell it...perhaps...?"
"Oh, no, this is one of those where you gotta be in the mood. I've got my whole 'in the mood to tell the story of my past' thing goin' here. Gotta get it out before I lose that."
"So..."
"So go wake Pesto."
"What if I just--?"
"Squit?"
"Yeah?"
"I hit a lot harder than Pesto."
"And...?"
"Go wake Pesto."
Squit gulped. "'k."
He flew up to the top of the statue, and gently shook Pesto. "Pesto," he whispered faintly.
"Pessstooooo... Pesto." He shook him a bit harder. Finally, he decided it was inevitable, so he took a deep breath and yelled, "PEEEEEEEEESTOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!"
Pesto jolted up. "Did I place a wake-up call?"
"Well, Bobby said--"
"Did I place a wake-up call?"
"Nossir."
"Then you have a death wish."
"No, I--"
"Yes, You are suicidal. You are intent on departing the land of the living."
"Pesto..."
"Well, I am feeling surprisingly eager to please this morning... "
"Yo! Pesto!" Bobby shouted from below.
"Be with ya in a second, Bobby! I'm just helpin' Squit make his dreams come true!"
Pesto grumbled a bit. "Yes, sir." He turned on Squit. "Later...you're goin' down." He jumped off the statue and flapped down to Bobby. Squit reluctantly followed.
Bobby started darkly. "Our tale begins many years ago, back in the old country..."
"Norway?" suggested Pesto cheerfully.
"No," Bobby angrily responded. "Not Norway."
"Well, I was just tryin' to specify," Pesto whispered to Squit. "Norway is an old country, you know."
Bobby cleared his throat. "Our tale begins many years ago, back in the old country. I never had any real parents. I was just a precocious little squab running 'round the streets until the Godpigeon took me under his wing..."
~~~
Venice, 1969.
A cool breeze blew over the bustling seaport. Humans double-checked the cargo on their ships before they went out. Nearby, some birds surveyed their own cargoes, which were being brought overseas in canisters strapped to the legs of professional transport birds, The rising sun glistened down gently on the shimmering sea. Two shadows fell on the sparkling, pristine water, as a couple of birds swooped over and landed on the dock behind one such bird-merchant. One of these two was Solly, Bobby's Godpigeon, looking much leaner, rather roguish, and resembling a pigeon-ized version of a young Marlon Brando, circa Streetcar Named Desire. His accompaniment was a much younger Bobby, about sixteen, looking thrilled to be playing a part in grown-up affairs.
"Antonio?" Bobby asked of the bird they had landed behind. He actually said it in Italian, but it winds up being the same in English, since he just said the guy's name.
"Yes?" replied Antonio, turning around. He actually said, "Sì?" in the original Italian, but for the sake of convenience, we'll just do the rest of the Italian dialogue in the English translation. Mostly because "sì" is about as far as the author's knowledge of Italian goes.
"Sig. Solly wishes to have words with you regarding your...payments."
"I'll tell Sig. Solly where he can shove his payments."
Solly muttered something incomprehensible.
"Sig. Solly wishes you to elucidate him. Where would you recommend that he shove his
payments?"
"Someplace...someplace where I don't have to pay them. If that's quite alright with him." Solly again muttered something.
"Sig. Solly says that it is not quite alright with him. However, he appreciates your consulting his preference, and thus, will hold no hard feelings if you will merely fork over the cash you owe now."
"Well, that shouldn't be difficult, considering that I don't owe him a cent. What does he think, he owns this port? By what right does he demand 50% profit from every merchant who sends out a few pounds of birdseed? Well, these other birds may be frightened into submission by your threats and your 'influences,' but I've had it. You're nothing but a cheap lousy dirty stinking mug, and you're not getting another cent of my money."
Solly muttered something else.
"And just what language does this guy speak, anyhow?!" Antonio demanded. Bobby ignored the question.
"Sig. Solly is very disappointed by your lack of respect toward him. However, he admires your character, and as such, has agreed to give you one more day to get your priorities in order. If the cash is not in his wing by sunrise tomorrow, he may be forced to do something drastic, which would bring great discomfort to both you, and, in a lesser, more indirect way, him. He wishes you a good day." The two turned and flew off.
A young girl ran up and hugged Antonio. Her golden feathers glistened beautifully in the sun. She was perfect in every way--innocent, trusting sweet. In fact, it she had any fault,
it was that she was too perfect. Yes, hers was a fatally flawed perfection.
Oh, yeah, she had deep blue eyes, too.
"Hello, Caprice."
"Who were you talking to, father?"
"Oh, that was Sig. Solly. He was just making his daily threat to my livelihood."
"Oh, no, there must be some mistake! Bobby would never let Sig. Solly bother you!"
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Because I asked him! I asked him not to let Sig. Solly bother you."
"Well, now, honey, I'm sure a handsome young scoundrel like Bobby has dozens of girls
making requests of him every day. If s understandable if he loses track of a few of them every now and then."
"Oh, Daddy, that's a horrible thing to say! I'd tell you that you were a wretched, unsympathetic father and you don't understand me at all, if I didn't love you so very very very much!" She collapsed into his arms. "You must be the greatest daddy in the whole world. And tonight I'll straighten everything out with Bobby, and everything will be perfect, like always!"
Antonio gave her a gentle squeeze. "Sure. Sounds wonderful, honey. Sounds...wonderful..."
~~~
Bobby and Caprice flew over the city of Venice. They soared in the window of a small bistro, and landed on a comer table. The proprietor of the place, an overweight, stereotypical Italian, marched up cheerfully.
"Hey, it's-a the love birds, come back! They musta like our little establishment, huh? Heya, Luigi! Make 'em some-a you' finest pasghetti, onna the house, eh? Here, while-a you wait, I serenade you!" He whipped out an accordion, and began to play (for lack of a better word) the accompaniment as he sung an aria from The Barber of Seville. "Laaaaargo al factotum della citt...lar-go! La ran la la ran la la ran laaaaaaaaaa!"
Bobby grabbed the guy's shirt, pulled him down to level, and gave him a smack in the kisser. "Ah, you cute kids wanta be alone, eh? 'Atsa fine, 'atsa fine!" He smiled to himself as he wandered off, alternately whistling the aria and muttering to no one in particular, "Wonderful kids, wonderful kids!"
Bobby threw a glance her way, and caught her staring at him dreamily. She turned away for a moment, embarrassed, then turned back. He smiled. She let out a happy sigh. Luigi brought the "pasghetti," and, figuring he shouldn't plan on a tip, turned and left in a huff.
Huffs weren't really his specialty, but he'd been practicing in front of a mirror every morning, and he felt he had it down pretty good, if he did say so himself, which he did, quite often.
Bobby and Caprice began to devour the pasghetti. As they reached the bottom of the dish, it became apparent that they were each sucking on opposite ends of the same strand. Unfortunately, Bobby had a lot more power than his delicate little sweet, and he wound
up overpowering her and nearly devouring her head. He spit her out just in time and brushed the feathers off his tongue.
"Yech...that worked a lot better in the movie!"
"Bobby?"
"Yo?"
"Why do you hang around with that awful Sig. Solly?"
"Ah, he's not a bad guy. He's like a father to me! He teaches me about life and personal
hygiene, and buys me gelato on hot summer days!"
"Well, he threatened my father today. And my father is like a father to me!"
"Capri...don't sweat it. He won't really do anything...he's all talk! Godpigeon loves to
talk...just to communicate with people. 'Good morning,' 'How's the wife,' 'I'm going to brutally murder you and your firstborn'...it's what he lives for! He doesn't mean nothin' by it..."
"Well--"
"Forget about Sig. Solly. Forget about your dad. They can do as they please...tonight, there's just you and me." She smiled. He slipped his wing around her and pulled her
closer. And for a brief moment, everything was impossibly simple and perfect.
The world stopped and took a took at these two, and thought to itself, "Hey! These people are living on me! But...they're happy! Myyy my my...I must not be making this hard enough." And he decided to rectify this problem immediately.
~~~
The sun was rising on the new day. A sneering little raven had just finished his job in the nest of a stranger. He flew quietly off into the distance, snickering. His boss had ordered him to give this deadbeat his comeuppance, and he had. And it had been fun, too. He
wondered why everyone didn't enjoy their work as much as he did, and snickered again.
In the nest, Antonio slept peacefully. The warm sun shone on his face, and he smiled. He pulled the beautiful silk handkerchief he and his wife used as a blanket up over his shoulder, and rolled over. Then he opened his eyes, and what he saw filled him with an unspeakable horror.
His wife's head lay next to his own, its eyes peacefully closed. Below it, the "blanket" was drenched with red. He jumped up and screamed.
"SOLLY! You crummy swine! I'll get you for this! I'LL GET YOU!"
His wife sat up. The covers slid off to reveal her body. "What are you yelling about?"
"That creep Solly sent one of his stooges over to drench our gorgeous hanky in tomato sauce!"
"So?"
"So?! Do you have any idea where I got this handkerchief?" He lifted the corner of the handkerchief and showed her the initials.
"'J.M.' ...oh no. You didn't."
"Yes. This handkerchief belongs to John Maridono."
"But he's the most ruthless creature in all of Venice! Why would you deal with him?"
"We need something to keep us warm int he winter! I couldn't afford the prices of the handkerchief wholesale retailers. Maridono loaned me this fine piece of material for a highly reasonable price."
"But now that it's ruined..."
"I'm on his bad side. Which means I'm as good as finished. But before I go down, I'm going to give Sig. Solly what he's had coming to him for years." He jumped off the nest and flew away.
His wife pushed the blanket aside, and shuddered.
Comments welcome! Enjoy!
***
It was a gorgeous, starlit night, without a cloud in the sky. The moonlight bathed the statue of Martin Scorsese, giving the two figures perched atop an unearthly glow. Bobby noticed what a spectacular view the statue provided. He'd seen this park every day for years, but for the first time in his life, he looked at it.
The tiny spots of dew on the grass glistened in the moonlight. The tree branches swayed ever so slightly with the gentle breeze. Suddenly, a stronger gust shook the leaves. The figure next to him snuggled up closer. He took her wing and looked at her. She smiled lovingly. Neither of them said anything. Nothing needed to be said.
Her golden feathers were softer than silk in his hands. He noticed that one feather had slipped out of place and fallen over deep blue eye. He pushed it back gently. Something about the way she looked at him...when the moon hit her eye...it was just like...like...
"A BIG PIZZA PIE!"
Bobby jolted upright. He looked around to find himself slumped against the bottom of a garbage can in the park. It was near dusk. Pesto and Squit were perched high above him on the rim of the trash can.
"A big pizza pie, he promised us!" Pesto was ranting. "We send him out for dinner, and he says, 'Don't worry, guys, I'll pinch us a whole wingin' pie!' 'Bada bing,' he says. 'No problem!' he says! Then we find him catchin' forty-something winks over here!"
"Ah, turn off the caloric, ya demented buzzard. So what, I need a little rest once in awhile...not all of us get to take a three-hour nap every afternoon."
"Hey! I need my nappy!" Pesto replied defensively. "I don't take my nappy, I get cranky." "Well, one thing's for sure...it ain't beauty sleep!" Squit laughed.
Pesto smacked him. "Shut up, Squit."
"Yeah, stow it, Squit."
"Sorry."
"Well, while you was playin' Rip Van Winkle, me an' Squit got our own grub. Some old lady was feeding popcorn to a buncha pigeons, and she was 'kind' enough to 'donate' the whole bag to us." He chuckled.
"Actually, Pesto, we kinna nabbed it from her..."
"That was *implied* in what I said! I implied it! I think it was pretty obvious. You got the implication, didn't ya, Bobby? You don't think I was being vague, right?"
"Ah, chirp off." Bobby flapped his wings and disappeared over the horizon.
Squit turned to Pesto. "What's up with him?"
"Pheeew! Your breath prolly drove him off! Here, lesse if we can't dig you up an after- dinner mint somewheres..." Squit followed obediently.
~~~
Bobby muttered to himself as he flew over the city. "Bah...don't even bother saving me any food! That's gratitude...how often have I gotten them nicer meals than their
squabbled brains could even imagine? Well, I’ll show 'em...I'll get a whole pizza, with everything on it, and I'll eat it all by myself! And then I'll get beakin' sick! Sicker than either of those two ingrates could ever dream of getting!" His stomach growled happily. He closed his eyes happily, in anticipation of the feast awaiting him.
Not so happily, he missed the window he was aiming for by half a foot, and smacked into a wall. As he plummeted, he successfully regained his composure. He then turned his attention to the task of regaining his airbornness, and realized that if he had it to do over again, this would have been at the top of his priority list. But we can't live our lives twice, so the next sound he heard was a rather unpleasant little SPLAT, all the more unpleasant in that it involved him.
Picking himself up and dusting himself off, he flew again into the air and swooped into the window, which happened to lead into a nice-looking Italian joint down below, called Manfredi's. He landed on a table in the comer.
"Oh, lookit this! They got red-and-white checkered tables over here! Now *THIS* is eatin' in style! I hope I'm not underdressed..."
A waitress wandered casually up, and delivered a monotone dialogue that by this point came second-nature to her. "Hey there. My name's Angelina, and I'll be your waitress tonight. In your place, You will find a large folded booklet labeled 'MENU.' It contains descriptive names that should give you an adequate idea of what our various dishes consist of. Once you have made a selection, you are to tell me or another designated employee of the restaurant, and you should receive a plate of food within a satisfactory amount of time. We have found this to be a very effective system of serving our patrons. The menu is *NOT* for consumption purposes. Do not attempt to ingest it. Thank you."
"?!?" questioned Bobby.
The proprietor of the place, an overweight, stereotypical Italian, marched up furiously.
"Mama mia! Another pigeon, eh? This place, she's-a goin' to the birds! Well, we never turn away a customer yet... But if you gotta do-a you' business, at least try to do it on one-a the white checkers, eh?"
"Sweet Momma Leone!" Bobby exclaimed. "What kinda guy do you think I am?! I thought this was a classy joint! The very implication...rigatone!" He flew back out the window as fast as his wings would carry him.
"Aaah...now we lose another customer! What am I a-doin' wrong?"
"Maybe you should take the edge off," Angelina advised. "Be a bit more pleasant to the customers! They come here to have a good time, now to have a big, grumpy Italian guy screaming at them."
"Oooh...but it gives me a feeling of inflated superiority, and adds fun and flavor to my otherwise dull workaday existence...it's-a no fair."
~~~
Bobby opened his eyes. His head was throbbing. Glancing casually down, he noted that it was resting on solid granite. He decided he didn't like the sensation this produced, and so attempted to persuade the granite to move away from his head. When it staunchly refused, he began the surprisingly difficult task of relocating his own head.
He raised it slowly, and glanced around at his surroundings through bleary eyes. He was sitting on a stool, one of many, each elaborately connected to the top of a small, dingy- looking birdbath. He groggily looked in front of him, and was startled by the face of a hardened-looking old bird with a scar across his beak staring him down. Bobby started. He then promptly finished, at the realization that sudden movements didn't do much to improve his headache.
The old bird was Joe, the bartender. He stood on the inside of the birdbath, leaning over the granite rim to stare at Bobby. "How ya doin' there, Killer?" he said, as he returned to wiping the grimy stone surface with his barcloth.
"Stupendous. How da heck ya think I'm doin'?!" Bobby slurred. "Gimme anudder."
"I give you anymore, you won't be able to stay on that stool. And it's a long way down!"
Bobby grabbed him by the neck. "I don't plan to stop until I can't tell which was *IS* down! Ya got me?"
"Sure," Joe muttered, yanking himself away, and filling up a glass with water from the bath. He slid it Bobby's way. "Incidentally, how were you planning to pay for all this?"
"Start up a tab."
The barkeep glanced at a collection of drinks sitting in a special compartment on the far side of the bath. "Sorry, we got no Tab. Maybe you'd like a Pepsi One?"
Bobby winced, and took a chug from the glass. Joe went back to scrubbing the bartop. This had no apparent effect, beyond wearing the rag down to nothing. He smiled a faint little smile and glanced up at Bobby.
"I suppose you've got a long, sad story to tell me, huh? Well, I'm here all night...may as well get started..."
"Nah, I got nothin'. Why don't you tell me a story?"
Suddenly, Joe's eyes became host to a light the likes of which they hadn't seen in years. "Really? You want to hear...*MY* story?"
"Meh. Sher," Bobby intoned.
Joe hauled a huge, wet photo album up from the bottom of the birdbath. He dried it a bit with his rag, and then threw the piece of cloth to his feet disdainfully. He then proceeded to open to the first page, on which were some shots of a cute baby bird, doing baby
things.
"I was a very happy baby. My mother always told me that I'd become something
wonderful someday...I look back at those days as the happiest time of my life. She was always there to comfort me when I had nightmares, and play with me, and throw up worms into my mouth when I was hungry. But when she died, my father remarried to an exotic Asian bird who belonged to some rich humans in the upper part of town. She thought I was just a little twerp, and used to make me scrub the cage all day. She eventually threw me out, and her owners sold me to the coal mines, which is where I started to make my way in the world..."
~~~
Bobby's head sagged. He shook himself to stay awake, and looked up at Joe. He was by now about halfway through the huge album, and his eyes were moist.
"...the wedding was supposed to be in August. The anniversary would've been twenty-five years tomorrow. There she is, look..." He pointed at a photo of a pretty- looking girl perched with him in an amusement park. Her bright gold feathers and deep blue eyes would have struck Bobby if he weren't so woozy, and if the picture had been in color. "Dear, sweet Florence, the only person who ever cared about me since my mother kicked it...and I was gonna be with her for the rest of my life! I look back on it as the
third happiest time of my life...or are we up to the fourth now? I forget...anyhow, what happens? The night before the wedding...twenty-five years tonight..."
"Last night," Bobby corrected, staring at the rising sun in the distance.
"... she leaves me! Says she can't see me again...never again. She disappeared the next day...her nest deserted, not a trace of her left anywhere. I did a lot of traveling after that...it was in Maui in 1983 that my life started to pick up again. There, I met up with some birds who had found a map to the city of Atlantis. It felt wonderful to have a purpose again...I look back on my time with them as--"
"Listen, if it's all the same to you, I really should be--"
"--one of the happiest times of my life! Definitely on the top ten list. But just a week before we were supposed to start our mission, the whole gang was on board the
submarine doing some final checks. And what happens?"
"Look, I really have to be going...sorry if I'm a bit short on cash at the moment, but--"
"IT EXPLODES! The whole thing, sky high...everyone dead but me! Ooooh God, why? Whyyyy?"
Bobby shrugged and flapped off. Behind him, he could hear Joe obliviously babbling, "It wasn't long after that I became manager of the Cleveland Indians for a short period of time, through an interesting series of events..."
~~~
"As far back as I can remember, the Godpigeon had been the boss, the big cheese, head honcho, top banana in our little organization. Whenever any of us had a problem, we
went right to him. We were like his family, and he always--"
"Squit! What in the name of Vincent Pastore are you doing?!"
Bobby soared down and landed at the foot of the Scorsese statue, to find Squit having a monologue with a rather disinterested-looking chipmunk. The rodent seized this opportunity to grab his nut and make a run for it. Squit turned to Bobby.
"Ah, Pesto said I have to finish this mint before I can perch on the statue." He opened his beak to reveal a ridiculously large breath mint." I've been nursing it all night...I was just trying to pass the time talking to the local wildlife."
"What was that gibberish about the Godpigeon?"
"Oh, just that we received this note earlier. I can't make heads or tails of it, but it looks like it's in his hand."
Bobby grabbed the piece of paper and scanned it. To the untrained eye, it seemed to be just a bunch of incoherent scribbles, but Bobby could immediately translate it from the Godpigeon's hand. "'Hey, Bobby, '" he read. "'I'm currently being kidnapped. How are you? I apologize for the spotty penmanship...this lunkhead keeps grabbing at my arm. Can't he see I'm trying to write? People today have no courtesy. At any rate, I just thought I'd let you know who my captor is. You may take three guesses first, if you like. No, no...you'll never get it! Well, I shall tell you. The identity of my discourteous kidnapper is none other than: ............. oh, shoot, got to go! Hope all is well with you and the boys. With love, your Godpigeon.' Rigatone..."
"Wait! There's more on the back!"
Bobby flipped it over. "'P.S. Well, the fellow here appears to be having a bit of trouble with the string he'd planned to use to tie me up, so I seem to have a few more minutes. In case I don't see you again, here's the lyrics to that song you were always bugging me
about. "Well, the shark has pretty teeth, dear / And he shows 'em..."' Et cetera, et
cetera...ah-ha! 'P.P.S. The kidnapper is O.J.'" Bobby's jaw dropped. "Riiiiigaaaaatone."
"Who's O.J.?"
"Oooh, that s a long story. I ain't gonna tell it twice, so you better wake Pesto up so he can hear it, too."
Squit got a bit squeamish at this suggestion. "Um...couldn't you maybe just wait 'til he
gets up to tell it...perhaps...?"
"Oh, no, this is one of those where you gotta be in the mood. I've got my whole 'in the mood to tell the story of my past' thing goin' here. Gotta get it out before I lose that."
"So..."
"So go wake Pesto."
"What if I just--?"
"Squit?"
"Yeah?"
"I hit a lot harder than Pesto."
"And...?"
"Go wake Pesto."
Squit gulped. "'k."
He flew up to the top of the statue, and gently shook Pesto. "Pesto," he whispered faintly.
"Pessstooooo... Pesto." He shook him a bit harder. Finally, he decided it was inevitable, so he took a deep breath and yelled, "PEEEEEEEEESTOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!"
Pesto jolted up. "Did I place a wake-up call?"
"Well, Bobby said--"
"Did I place a wake-up call?"
"Nossir."
"Then you have a death wish."
"No, I--"
"Yes, You are suicidal. You are intent on departing the land of the living."
"Pesto..."
"Well, I am feeling surprisingly eager to please this morning... "
"Yo! Pesto!" Bobby shouted from below.
"Be with ya in a second, Bobby! I'm just helpin' Squit make his dreams come true!"
Pesto grumbled a bit. "Yes, sir." He turned on Squit. "Later...you're goin' down." He jumped off the statue and flapped down to Bobby. Squit reluctantly followed.
Bobby started darkly. "Our tale begins many years ago, back in the old country..."
"Norway?" suggested Pesto cheerfully.
"No," Bobby angrily responded. "Not Norway."
"Well, I was just tryin' to specify," Pesto whispered to Squit. "Norway is an old country, you know."
Bobby cleared his throat. "Our tale begins many years ago, back in the old country. I never had any real parents. I was just a precocious little squab running 'round the streets until the Godpigeon took me under his wing..."
~~~
Venice, 1969.
A cool breeze blew over the bustling seaport. Humans double-checked the cargo on their ships before they went out. Nearby, some birds surveyed their own cargoes, which were being brought overseas in canisters strapped to the legs of professional transport birds, The rising sun glistened down gently on the shimmering sea. Two shadows fell on the sparkling, pristine water, as a couple of birds swooped over and landed on the dock behind one such bird-merchant. One of these two was Solly, Bobby's Godpigeon, looking much leaner, rather roguish, and resembling a pigeon-ized version of a young Marlon Brando, circa Streetcar Named Desire. His accompaniment was a much younger Bobby, about sixteen, looking thrilled to be playing a part in grown-up affairs.
"Antonio?" Bobby asked of the bird they had landed behind. He actually said it in Italian, but it winds up being the same in English, since he just said the guy's name.
"Yes?" replied Antonio, turning around. He actually said, "Sì?" in the original Italian, but for the sake of convenience, we'll just do the rest of the Italian dialogue in the English translation. Mostly because "sì" is about as far as the author's knowledge of Italian goes.
"Sig. Solly wishes to have words with you regarding your...payments."
"I'll tell Sig. Solly where he can shove his payments."
Solly muttered something incomprehensible.
"Sig. Solly wishes you to elucidate him. Where would you recommend that he shove his
payments?"
"Someplace...someplace where I don't have to pay them. If that's quite alright with him." Solly again muttered something.
"Sig. Solly says that it is not quite alright with him. However, he appreciates your consulting his preference, and thus, will hold no hard feelings if you will merely fork over the cash you owe now."
"Well, that shouldn't be difficult, considering that I don't owe him a cent. What does he think, he owns this port? By what right does he demand 50% profit from every merchant who sends out a few pounds of birdseed? Well, these other birds may be frightened into submission by your threats and your 'influences,' but I've had it. You're nothing but a cheap lousy dirty stinking mug, and you're not getting another cent of my money."
Solly muttered something else.
"And just what language does this guy speak, anyhow?!" Antonio demanded. Bobby ignored the question.
"Sig. Solly is very disappointed by your lack of respect toward him. However, he admires your character, and as such, has agreed to give you one more day to get your priorities in order. If the cash is not in his wing by sunrise tomorrow, he may be forced to do something drastic, which would bring great discomfort to both you, and, in a lesser, more indirect way, him. He wishes you a good day." The two turned and flew off.
A young girl ran up and hugged Antonio. Her golden feathers glistened beautifully in the sun. She was perfect in every way--innocent, trusting sweet. In fact, it she had any fault,
it was that she was too perfect. Yes, hers was a fatally flawed perfection.
Oh, yeah, she had deep blue eyes, too.
"Hello, Caprice."
"Who were you talking to, father?"
"Oh, that was Sig. Solly. He was just making his daily threat to my livelihood."
"Oh, no, there must be some mistake! Bobby would never let Sig. Solly bother you!"
"Oh? Why is that?"
"Because I asked him! I asked him not to let Sig. Solly bother you."
"Well, now, honey, I'm sure a handsome young scoundrel like Bobby has dozens of girls
making requests of him every day. If s understandable if he loses track of a few of them every now and then."
"Oh, Daddy, that's a horrible thing to say! I'd tell you that you were a wretched, unsympathetic father and you don't understand me at all, if I didn't love you so very very very much!" She collapsed into his arms. "You must be the greatest daddy in the whole world. And tonight I'll straighten everything out with Bobby, and everything will be perfect, like always!"
Antonio gave her a gentle squeeze. "Sure. Sounds wonderful, honey. Sounds...wonderful..."
~~~
Bobby and Caprice flew over the city of Venice. They soared in the window of a small bistro, and landed on a comer table. The proprietor of the place, an overweight, stereotypical Italian, marched up cheerfully.
"Hey, it's-a the love birds, come back! They musta like our little establishment, huh? Heya, Luigi! Make 'em some-a you' finest pasghetti, onna the house, eh? Here, while-a you wait, I serenade you!" He whipped out an accordion, and began to play (for lack of a better word) the accompaniment as he sung an aria from The Barber of Seville. "Laaaaargo al factotum della citt...lar-go! La ran la la ran la la ran laaaaaaaaaa!"
Bobby grabbed the guy's shirt, pulled him down to level, and gave him a smack in the kisser. "Ah, you cute kids wanta be alone, eh? 'Atsa fine, 'atsa fine!" He smiled to himself as he wandered off, alternately whistling the aria and muttering to no one in particular, "Wonderful kids, wonderful kids!"
Bobby threw a glance her way, and caught her staring at him dreamily. She turned away for a moment, embarrassed, then turned back. He smiled. She let out a happy sigh. Luigi brought the "pasghetti," and, figuring he shouldn't plan on a tip, turned and left in a huff.
Huffs weren't really his specialty, but he'd been practicing in front of a mirror every morning, and he felt he had it down pretty good, if he did say so himself, which he did, quite often.
Bobby and Caprice began to devour the pasghetti. As they reached the bottom of the dish, it became apparent that they were each sucking on opposite ends of the same strand. Unfortunately, Bobby had a lot more power than his delicate little sweet, and he wound
up overpowering her and nearly devouring her head. He spit her out just in time and brushed the feathers off his tongue.
"Yech...that worked a lot better in the movie!"
"Bobby?"
"Yo?"
"Why do you hang around with that awful Sig. Solly?"
"Ah, he's not a bad guy. He's like a father to me! He teaches me about life and personal
hygiene, and buys me gelato on hot summer days!"
"Well, he threatened my father today. And my father is like a father to me!"
"Capri...don't sweat it. He won't really do anything...he's all talk! Godpigeon loves to
talk...just to communicate with people. 'Good morning,' 'How's the wife,' 'I'm going to brutally murder you and your firstborn'...it's what he lives for! He doesn't mean nothin' by it..."
"Well--"
"Forget about Sig. Solly. Forget about your dad. They can do as they please...tonight, there's just you and me." She smiled. He slipped his wing around her and pulled her
closer. And for a brief moment, everything was impossibly simple and perfect.
The world stopped and took a took at these two, and thought to itself, "Hey! These people are living on me! But...they're happy! Myyy my my...I must not be making this hard enough." And he decided to rectify this problem immediately.
~~~
The sun was rising on the new day. A sneering little raven had just finished his job in the nest of a stranger. He flew quietly off into the distance, snickering. His boss had ordered him to give this deadbeat his comeuppance, and he had. And it had been fun, too. He
wondered why everyone didn't enjoy their work as much as he did, and snickered again.
In the nest, Antonio slept peacefully. The warm sun shone on his face, and he smiled. He pulled the beautiful silk handkerchief he and his wife used as a blanket up over his shoulder, and rolled over. Then he opened his eyes, and what he saw filled him with an unspeakable horror.
His wife's head lay next to his own, its eyes peacefully closed. Below it, the "blanket" was drenched with red. He jumped up and screamed.
"SOLLY! You crummy swine! I'll get you for this! I'LL GET YOU!"
His wife sat up. The covers slid off to reveal her body. "What are you yelling about?"
"That creep Solly sent one of his stooges over to drench our gorgeous hanky in tomato sauce!"
"So?"
"So?! Do you have any idea where I got this handkerchief?" He lifted the corner of the handkerchief and showed her the initials.
"'J.M.' ...oh no. You didn't."
"Yes. This handkerchief belongs to John Maridono."
"But he's the most ruthless creature in all of Venice! Why would you deal with him?"
"We need something to keep us warm int he winter! I couldn't afford the prices of the handkerchief wholesale retailers. Maridono loaned me this fine piece of material for a highly reasonable price."
"But now that it's ruined..."
"I'm on his bad side. Which means I'm as good as finished. But before I go down, I'm going to give Sig. Solly what he's had coming to him for years." He jumped off the nest and flew away.
His wife pushed the blanket aside, and shuddered.