The mystery of the parakeets
If you saw me at the time I arrive in the square every morning, you'd probably think, "Hey, here comes the woman mad about parakeets". While my dog sniffs the lamppost for news of her canine friends, I greet my parakeets friends perched on the high-voltage wire high up next to the transformer. This is part of our daily routine. As soon as they spot us from across the street, we are greeted by their welcoming squawks. Especially on sunny days. But for the last two days, the silence in the street has been sepulchral.
The cyclone that passed over our heads two nights ago wreaked havoc on the city. The electricity supply, water supply and traffic on the streets have still not been normalized. Since then, the shopping center in my neighborhood has become a refuge for a legion of cyclone victims, who have set up everywhere there are power outlets, especially in the bookstore. People seem to have suddenly discovered a new love of reading. While recharging their cell phone batteries at the nearest outlet, they leaf through the latest publishing releases.
This latest storm was frightening: the rain accompanied by 120 km/h winds formed a mass of water that moved horizontally, completely obscuring the view of those who came to the window to watch the display of the forces of nature. Most of the neighbors prefer not to go near their windows anymore, as the force of the winds occasionally shatters the glass into a thousand pieces. In addition to the rain and wind, this time there was also hail, which made a fearsome noise, arousing a primal fear in almost everyone. In the streets, several trees and poles fell.
The nests of the parakeets, which had been built next to the nearby electricity transformers, providing an imposing and warm home during the rigors of winter, were unable to withstand the wind. All that was left was a withered pile of sticks, devoid of life. Not a single green head has appeared at the door of the nest to watch the people pass by, or to come and welcome us, over the last two days.
Where have my friends gone? They used to fly from one side to the other, flocks of loud and noisy parakeets, especially at dusk, when they went out to eat insects. Much of the neighborhood's charm has gone with them, now that the skies are silent. All that remains are the other bird species, with their shy calls and brown colors.
I'm sure of the esteem and interest these birds have for me. There's one of them at my cousin's house, who was raised in captivity and now doesn't know how to live any other way. One day it turned up starving, half plucked. She had escaped from her cage at her previous owner's house and discovered the hard way that she didn't know how to live free in the wild. My cousin, a sort of Dona Palmira, took in the runaway parakeets and installed it in the cage of her old cockatiel. In no time at all, she was able to sing throw-the-bird-at-the-cat, speak the most common everyday phrases and imitate my cousin's laughter. As for me, it was love at second sight.
At first she didn't care about me. She only had eyes for the people in the house. But as I liked to sing to her, she soon took a liking to me. Now, every time she sees me, she calls me. If I don't listen, she starts dancing, a clear sign that she expects me to sing to her. If that doesn't work either, she applies her masterstroke: she imitates my dog. This move is infallible. Clever, sociable and manipulative, she knows the weaknesses in my heart!
As I write this, the sudden cawing of one of them cheers my heart. Could it be that life is returning to normal?
Voltar