Pigeons

‘Croo, coo; crooo... croo; croo, coo,’ wing-flap, ‘croo,’ a louder wing-flap. ‘Crooo, co; croo, croo, croo,’ and a series of wing-flaps that made Federico sit up on the bed. But he lay down again immediately, covering his head.

A hundred and thirty pounds a night and he had a family of pigeons living in the air ducts.

‘Coo, croo, coo.’

His meeting was at eight next morning, didn’t the pigeons know that? He lifted the covers to look at the digital clock on the night table: 3:57.

Bloody pigeons.

‘Crooo!’

Yes, you, blasted things.

Federico covered his face with his hands, groaning. Those pigeons hadn’t let him sleep at all during the whole night. Annoyed, he called reception and – forty minutes later – they sent someone to solve the issue. Needless to say that by six he had already exercised, showered and got ready, with his case packed and a coupon for a free night next time he visited the hotel.

Next time. Bah! As if he would go back there. Sure, he’d be back to use the coupon, but after that time, never!

Any problem, Federico?, asked his boss, who led the meeting. No, no, sir, carry on.

Oh, but he was so horribly tired.

After his continental breakfast, he’d left the hotel fuming, lethargically, and got into a cab. His boss had lodged at the hotel of the meeting, a five-star, while he had to do in the other one.

‘Croo!’

Federico startled.

Federico, whatever is the matter? Nothing, nothing, boss, I just thought I heard something strange, that’s all. Fine, Federico, pay attention now.

Poor Federico, though, the more he tried to concentrate, the more pigeons he heard.

‘Croo, coo; croo. Croo, croo; croo. Croo; croo.’

And wing-flapping.

By George, where could those bloody pigeons be now? Could it be that the air ducts were not working here either? Cautiously, he raised his hand, trying to feel whether there was any air flow in the room or not.

Yes, Federico, do you have a question? Er, yes boss, what’s your plan to raise the sales? Aren’t you listening, Federico? We’ve already changed the adverts. Oh, yes, boss, but I meant internally. Well, Federico, that’s a good question.

Phew, saved for now.

‘Croo.’

So be it, at least I’ll sleep on the plane.

Once at the airport, he and his boss went to get a cuppa while they waited for their flight.

Whatever is going on with you, Federico? Well, boss, the pigeons didn’t let me sleep all night. There was a bloody family of pigeons devoted to keep me awake. And they succeeded. Then I heard them again during the meeting. You heard pigeons during the meeting, Federico? Blimey...

‘Croo, croo.’

There they are, boss, you can’t hear them? No, Federico, I don’t hear them.

‘Coo, croo.’

There’s no way that they came all the way to the airport. They’re not here, Federico, I think they left your mind a bit wobbly. No, boss, I do hear them.

As they got on the plane, Federico relaxed. There wouldn’t be any pigeons here. He reclined his seat, closed his eyes and—

‘Croo!’

No! Pigeons? How could there be pigeons on the plane? And the wing-flapping.

He got off the plane shaking. He’d been unable to sleep once again. Because he only had his hand baggage with him, he rushed out of the airport, got on a cab and got home. He hurried into his room, took off his clothes and got into bed. No one and nothing would disturb him now. He putt he covers up to his head.

‘Croo...’

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Pigeons was shortlisted on the "Cada Loco con su Tema" competition in Mexico,2013, and was published in the anthology of the same name by Grupo Editorial BENMA.

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