Jonathan and Jennifer Jones had been married only two years when Jonathan was promoted to junior trade councilor and posted to the South African High Commission in Whitehall, London.
It was his first foreign assignment in recognition of his two years of exemplary service in South Africa’s Department of Foreign Affairs. The first eighteen months of moving in diplomatic circles in one of the world’s finest cities was proving to be an amazing experience.
Jonathan enjoyed the English formality and way of life. He was comfortable in his pinstripe suit, bowler hat, and umbrella. He had become accustomed to taking his lunch box that his caring wife lovingly prepared for him every day to the park during his lunch break, together with a copy of The Times. He would find a solitary bench under a shady tree and catch up on the stories of the day while enjoying his sandwiches and sipping a cup of tea.
His wasn’t unusual behaviour in London in the 1980s and he was quite at home among many business and public sector staff who similarly sought the warm sunshine of the summer months in many of city’s famous parks, accompanied by a host of pigeons who took advantage of the scraps they could enjoy.
On one such lunch break in the middle of summer, Jonathan sat quietly in his favourite spot, reading the news and munching on a corned beef sandwich, when he heard someone greet him. He lowered his paper and looked around, but there was no one close enough to attract his attention. Shrugging his shoulders, he returned to his reading.
I say, old chap, came the voice. How are you?
Jonathan dropped his newspaper in his lap and looked up once again, and once again he saw no one. Puzzled at the encounter, Jonathan looked over his shoulders and all around until his eyes fell upon a pigeon walking close by.
Couldn’t be, Jonathan thought incredulously. Could it?
Raising his newspaper once again so as not to attract the attention of any inadvertent observer, Jonathan looked at the pigeon, then quietly and self-consciously asked, Were you talking to me?
To his utter amazement, the pigeon responded. Of course, dear boy, who else?
Of all the things that could have ever happened, this was the most freakish, and it took Jonathan some time to overcome his disbelief. His real concern was that someone would see him talking to a pigeon, not to mention the growing doubt that he could be losing his mind and that this event was some kind of figment of an over-stressed imagination.
But the pigeon persisted and eventually the two became involved in an interesting conversation on a number of issues of the day. Before he knew it, the lunch break was over, and Jonathan had to get back to the embassy.
My wife is simply never going to believe that we met and had a conversation, said Jonathan. Would you consider coming over to our apartment this evening for dinner? he enquired.
It would be an absolute pleasure, the pigeon replied, before the two of them went their respective ways.
As one can imagine, although the encounter occupied Jonathan’s thoughts for the rest of the afternoon, he kept it a secret from his colleagues because he had serious doubts about his state of mind, as much as he feared the consequences of outright ridicule. Still very much troubled, Jonathan made his way home.
You will never believe what happened to me, he announced to his wife as he hung up his coat and hat in the entrance hall. He proceeded to tell all. As the story unfolded, Jennifer started to laugh. But then, as it became evident that her husband was being serious, her shock and amazement turned to anxious trepidation at the prospect of him having developed some kind of psychological affliction. She decided to humour her husband in the interests of keeping him calm until she could work out how best go about finding help.
What time are you expecting him for dinner? she finally asked.
We arranged for seven o’clock, Jonathan replied confidently.
What on earth must I feed him? Jennifer asked.
I don’t know, he said, Do you have any birdseed perhaps?
The time seemed to drag by exceedingly slowly as they waited for seven o’clock. The clock struck the hour and the time passed. Jennifer had become increasing concerned, and as the minutes ticked away, she wondered how they were ever going to get through this. Don’t you want to rather sit up and eat? she asked compassionately. You must be hungry after such a tiring day.
He will be here, said Jonathan. He won’t let me down. He must come! But even he was becoming more and more agitated.
Five past seven came and went. Nothing. Ten past seven came and went. Nothing.
Then, just as the two of them were reaching the obvious conclusion that there was never going to be a pigeon coming to dinner, there was a sharp knock on the front door. Jonathan rushed to open the door, and there before him on the step stood the pigeon.
I’m terribly sorry I’m late, said the pigeon, but it was such a glorious evening that I decided to walk.