Tania Aparecida watched her husband Batista leave with a mixed feeling of longing and relief—longing because Batista was the epitome of Brazilian good looks and charm, and relief because he would not be around for a while to follow her every movement with a tenacious and jealous eye. She could go out with her friends, take in a movie, visit her sister in another town, drink and laugh with abandon, enjoy the looks and stares of other men without having to justify anything to Batista. If they wanted to look, if they liked looking, what was it to her? If she were an ugly witch, then who would look? Surely not Batista. Why did he have to make such a big deal about every little thing, as if she were some sort of prostitute lifting her skirts so that anyone could see? She was a respectably married woman. Was it her fault if she was also attractive? She didn’t go around making a scene whenever some silly woman came along and made eyes at her Batista. She didn’t blame Batista even though he smiled too. She just gave the other woman a cold look that cut her off. What was the point of making a scene, of blaming Batista if he were handsome? And he was so handsome, her Batista. Tania Aparecida sighed. She missed Batista, but she was not going to let his absence spoil her vacation from him.
In the meantime, Batista was on the road with Chico Paco. Sometimes he drove ahead and waited for Chico Paco to catch up. Sometimes he stayed behind, biding his time with a bottle of beer in some corner bar, feeding and watering his birds, exchanging small talk with the locals who also dabbled in pigeons.
After a while, Batista preferred to be ahead or behind Chico Paco, who always brought crowds and tumult to the sleepy towns and hamlets. People who never left the shade of their front porches or the fabricated world of their nightly soap operas were bound to come out to see the walking angel, the keeper of promises. They showered him with gifts of food and drink, and there was no lack of sheltered places to lay his sleepy golden head. The “Praise the Lord” radio station faithfully followed him from town to town. They got into every story, every miracle, every blessing that a town could produce. All along Chico Paco’s route, people listened for his coming and told stories of his passing.
And along the same route, every few hundred miles or so, Batista released a pigeon with a message, carefully noting its name and time and place of release. Tania Aparecida and her mother had strict instructions to watch for these birds, to note their time of arrival and their condition after flight. It was all very scientific. Batista did not want to miss a thing. These flights were historic in nature. Everything must be carefully documented.
Tania Aparecida left these details up to her mother Dona Gloria, whose affection and pigeon-mothering was beyond reproach. Despite whatever Batista might have thought of his mother-in-law in the past, he could never have found a more caring pigeon keeper. Dona Gloria knew all of the pigeons by name. She knew their histories and parentage, remembered their birthdays and had her favorites. Some pigeon could always be found nestled in her hair or on her shoulders, or if she were reclined, snuggled warmly in her bosom. She carried the young ones in her apron pockets, took the sick ones to her home, and talked what Tania Aparecida called “pigeon talk” all day long.
While Dona Gloria tended the pigeons, Tania Aparecida kept the records, haggled over the price of feed, and did the bookkeeping. It was Tania Aparecida who set up a breeding program to sell a line of potential prize-winners. It was Tania Aparecida who set the fees for mating prizewinners. It was Tania Aparecida who set up the concession stands on the street on weekends to sell pigeon cages and Batista’s special feed, which brought in a nice profit. It was Tania Aparecida who furnished the information for the Pigeon Messenger—a weekly pamphlet that listed the famous pigeon messages, their possible meanings, and the people who benefited from them—in return for free advertising and a small consulting fee. And it was Tania Aparecida who put their winnings from pigeon flights into the poupança—a money market that pays interest while promising to keep up with inflation.
In the beginning, of course, there was not a great deal of money, but it was enough that Batista no longer had to work as a dispatcher. Tania Aparecida discovered that she liked to haggle over prices, to make deals and even to watch the inflation index. Compared to washing clothing, cooking, and sewing, this was so much better.
It was Tania Aparecida’s idea, therefore, that great money was to be had in the pigeon business. Unlike Batista, who was really an enthusiast and sportsman, Tania began to see pigeons as a profitable source of income. With Batista away, Tania Aparecida’s mind began to wander to new ideas. She toyed with a bar of sweet-smelling soap that had the impression of a dove pressed into its oval shape. Within the week, Tania had put on her very best dress and shoes and matching purse and was knocking at the door of the Pomba Soap Company.
When an enormous truck filled with more pigeons—the words “Djapan Pigeons Incorporated” and “Pomba for Lovely Clean Skin” painted across it—drove up behind Batista, he was already approaching the Matacão. Chico Paco was about a week behind, walking in the rain, and Batista just wanted to get his remaining batch of pigeons to the Matacão and into some dry place. He had hoped that the timing would be better and that he would be able to release his pigeons upon arrival at the Matacão. But if the rain did not stop, he would have to wait. He thought he would wait at least until Chico Paco made it to the Matacão. He had an idea that it would be a special event to send the pigeons off just as Chico Paco arrived. God willing, it would be a sunny day.
Batista squinted through the rain at the truck in wonder, unable to acknowledge his own name painted across its side. Two men got out and sauntered up to Batista importantly. “Seu Batista?” they asked.
Batista nodded.
“Dona Tania sent us.”
“Tania Cidinha? Has she gone out of her mind?” Batista surveyed the truck full of pigeons. “Where did she get all these birds?” he cried.
“We did our best, Seu Batista,” one of the men assured Batista. “Not a one of them is dead. Dona Tania said you’d confirm it.”
“We’ve been giving it the gas, and if it weren’t for this rain, we would’ve caught up sooner.”
Batista scratched his head in confusion. “What do I need with another truckload of pigeons?” he asked.
“Well, sir,” said one of the men. “The way Dona Tania explained it to me, it’s what they call a joint venture. See now, look at this.” He went to the cab of the truck and pulled out a handful of tiny pigeon-carrier tubes from a large box.
Batista took a tube from the handful, opened and unwound the tiny message. He read, “Pomba for Lovely Clean Skin?”
“They all say that,” said the other man.
“Pigeon advertising,” nodded the other. “Dona Tania invented it.”
Batista read Tania Aparecida’s letter that came with the shipment of pigeons: “Batista, honey, how I miss you. Mother and I have been very busy. You can check your release times but Gugu came in at 2:30 PM on Tuesday the 4th, and Kaka came in at 6:00 AM the next day. Well, to get to the point, I met Sr. Carlos Rodrigues, who owns the Pomba Soap Company. What a cute old man!” (Batista cringed.) “Well, he really liked the idea. I mean, really, it’s very brilliant. He is sure to sell more soap than anybody else. Imagine people all over Brazil will get the message about Pomba Soap. We got a very nice commission, you know, and a year’s worth of Pomba soap. What do you think? Kisses and hugs, your Tania Cidinha.” (Batista pulled at his hair. What was that woman doing anyway? You just don’t go and make a deal with one of the largest soap companies in the country!) “P.S.: Good news! Gigeta’s Pizzas and Hiro’s Karaoke want an account with us. Anyone who finds a pigeon with a message gets a free pizza or a night at Hiro’s! More later.”