In late June, the first rays of sunlight filtered through the glass roof of the Gare du Nord, casting piano keys of light and shadow over the platforms whence its trains would issue forth into the north of the country. Birds circled over the great hall; the trains were silent on their platforms and the station empty. The birds raced back and forth, beating their wings furiously in search of breadcrumbs. It took them some time to cross the great hall of the Gare du Nord, yet still the birds circled in the air, feeling imprisoned and craving the feel of the open sky. They flapped around in the furthest corners of the vast station. What might they find? On the train cars, nothing at all. The roof began to warm under the sunlight, and this heat they found unbearable. Between the rails they found nothing but endless cigarette butts. With nothing to sustain them, they would have to wait until the passengers began to arrive, and so they gathered in corners, on beams of the roof or on statue pedestals, and they cooed. They knew that trains began leaving the Gare du Nord early in the morning. The station was itself very visible to a bird’s eye, standing at thirty-five metres high and seventy-two metres wide. The Gare du Nord was steeped in history; it had come into being a hundred years before, under the rule of Napoleon III, and bore on its facade twenty-three statues representing the northern cities served by its trains. Ever since then, the birds had been gifted a temple in which to gather, and beams from which to observe the comings and goings of the passengers.
A few hours later, a deafening, haunting din permeated the great hall. The birds observed the vast crowds climbing on and off the cars. They heard children crying or chasing each other around the kiosks, the agents blowing their whistles or announcing departures, and luggage being rolled across the floors. The Gare du Nord seemed like a great dumping ground, and the travellers were all eager to leave this chaos behind. The birds watched closely. Sometimes they would be tempted by a cigarette thrown onto a platform; just so, a turtledove flew down to inspect one, but quickly turned back to settle on a statue. Then it was the turn of a pigeon to venture out, having spotted a ham sandwich left unattended. The others observed; if he did not return to the roof, that meant he had found something. And lo, there he was, filling his belly. There was not a moment to lose; all the other pigeons had seen him too, and now they would battle for what remained. One of the controllers startled them with a kick, seeking to ensure the passengers were not bothered. The birds scattered instantly, seeing they could not eat here in peace. They had to act fast, and indulge where fewer unfriendly eyes could see.
In a few hours, the Gare du Nord had filled with pigeons and turtle doves. They were everywhere, watching every nook and cranny of the immense hall. Then, as the day faded and the trains became fewer, the passengers thinned out too. The lights went off, and the moon cast its halo over the glass roof. They would have to wait until tomorrow, when their campaign would begin anew.
Alan Alfredo Geday