It was a world record akin to the eighteenth-century record of 7,000 miles to the West African coast in 55 days. The Djapan pigeon had flown 1,500 miles from the Matacão to São Paulo in 5 days, averaging 300 miles per day and 20 miles per hour. Congratulations came from every corner of the pigeon world. Photographs of the famous Djapan pigeon, Azulzinha, reunited with its pigeon mate and brood on the Djapan back porch, were on all the front pages of the major newspapers. Batista read the newspaper articles with a mixture of pride and jealousy. Tania Aparecida was in most of the photographs, her hair cut and waved in some new style. Batista stared at her features, trying to find the woman he loved within the black-and-white newsprint. He looked at the pigeon Azulzinha; she was the culmination of months of hard work, study and training. Batista and Tania Aparecida were the proud parents of a world-record-winning champion. He and Tania Aparecida should be there together basking in this glory, cooing lovingly at their brood of pigeons and at each other in a honeymoon of bliss. He slumped back in depression but continued to read.
Of the pigeons sent from the Matacão, one had arrived in record time, and two days later, two more birds straggled in with likewise respectable times. Three birds were discovered in varied stages of their trip, for the most part on target. And Rubens’s bird, to the boy’s joy, straggled in, not a record-winner but certainly a survivor. Five of the Djapan birds were never accounted for, probably lost, killed or waylaid somewhere in the great expanse of Brazil.
Finally, long after the commotion of the world record had subsided, one bird arrived in New York at the revolving doors of GGG Enterprises, carrying one of Batista’s cryptic notes, which simply read, “Feather.”
J.B. Tweep called Batista at his pigeon farm to tell him the news. “I can’t tell you what a sensation your pigeon has caused,” he spoke excitedly. “It means more to GGG than anything our publicity people could devise. We’ve got lines of people filling the New York lobby to see your bird. How did you plan this? I mean, it was a stroke of genius to put in that note.”
Batista listened to J.B. in confusion. “Seems she went the wrong way.” He scratched his head. “That’s my bird all right. You say the ring on her leg reads DJAPAN?”
“We’re trying to make the most of this. The publicity people will be contacting you to do a short interview,” said J.B.
Sure enough, as old Mané Pena knew all too well, the GGG publicity people came through with their cameras and questions. After an hour of questions and another hour of wandering around the pigeon farm, they produced a five-minute piece that was interspersed with material on the Matacão and GGG’s inroads into the science and development of the feather.
Batista’s New York pigeon caused a commotion in the business world, those repercussions eventually reaching Wall Street, sending GGG stocks shooting upward. Not only people who had an inside track on the market, but also those without an iota of business acumen were throwing their money “on the feather”—GGG Enterprises.
Overnight, the fame of the Djapan pigeons had spread around the globe, and Batista was suddenly accosted by business proposals, pigeon enthusiasts, and reporters from all over the world. A market astrologer from New York, anxious to propose regular pigeon flights carrying Batista’s messages direct to his Wall Street office, called daily, trying to develop a proposal that would appeal to Batista. “Just start something up for me. Anything,” the market astrologer pleaded on the phone. “I’ve heard all about your prophetic messages. About that Japanese and his ball. Well, what he did is peanuts compared to what we can do together. This is Wall Street! You name your deal!”
Another odd fellow from Las Vegas came around in a pinstripe suit. He said he was the friend of a Brazilian dancer who did a follies show on the strip. He showed Batista pictures of the Brazilian dancer in an enormous headdress with rhinestones and feathers. “Come to Las Vegas,” he nudged Batista. “I can show you a good time.” Batista looked at the pictures of a tall shapely mulata, but he was not impressed. Tania Aparecida was several times more beautiful, he thought. What if this fellow were to meet Tania Aparecida and she in turn were to see this stuff, all this glamour and what-not? Batista fumed. He waved off the foreigners and their foreign proposals. He had enough work from Tania Aparecida’s crazy ideas. There was bird feed to negotiate, cages to build, water troughs to clean, pigeon dung to cart away. He had nearly a dozen full-time workers, expensive incubating machines, barns, silos, and trucks. The pigeon votive and advertising business alone was work for another dozen people. He was already plagued by deadlines in several cities to raise substantial broods. He didn’t like to leave it to an assistant. He wanted to be there to let the birds out with their advertising messages. He didn’t have time for any nonsense.
But as Batista suspected, Tania Aparecida would not have brushed off the man in the pinstripe suit so easily. It was not because of the rhinestones or the headdress on the mulata or because of any gifts of gold watches and diamond earrings, but because Las Vegas would have sounded like a nice place to visit. Tania Aparecida looked at the map to see where the Djapan pigeons were flying, and she compared this with so many other exotic places in the world. Brazil was a big country, and their pigeons were flying everywhere. It would not take much more to get them to fly even farther. After all, one had reached New York. New York, thought Tania Aparecida. Somehow, she would find a way to get to New York.
It was thus that Tania Aparecida got the idea to provide special services for special occasions, a sort of greeting-pigeon business. Her marketing approach was to sell pigeons as monogamous, familial, dependable and loving creatures, the perfect messenger to send one’s love, best wishes, or condolences. She set up an experimental pigeon route between São Paulo and the nearby city of Campinas. Special homing posts were created where customers could write their messages and direct them to and from São Paulo and Campinas via pigeon. It was an immediate success. Grandparents sent happy birthday pigeon notes to their grandchildren in São Paulo, while lovers sent discreet messages from Campinas to São Paulo and so forth. In no time at all, Tania Aparecida was opening new homing posts in towns everywhere. The entire state of São Paulo was soon crisscrossed with Djapan Greeting Pigeon routes, and other states were eager not to be left behind in this trend. Tania Aparecida could hardly get to the next town fast enough to establish another homing post. Soon she found herself as far from her home as Rio Grande do Sul, thousands of miles away at the very southern tip of Brazil. From there, it was a short hop to Buenos Aires in Argentina. Djapan Pigeon Communications went international.
“Where are you?” Batista shouted into the phone. “Who is watching things in São Paulo?”
“You needn’t shout, darling,” Tania Aparecida talked calmly into the phone. “Mother has everything under control. We had to move out of the tenement, you know. It was much too crowded. I got her a nice place in Suzano, you know where all the Japanese live. Thirty acres. It should be enough, don’t you think? I’ll give you Mother’s new number . . .”
Batista scribbled the number on a scrap of paper. “What about the champions?” he asked. “Did they go to Suzano too?”
“Of course,” Tania Aparecida assured him. “Oh, I almost forgot,” she said. “There’s a publisher that wants to put all of your messages in a book.”
“Messages?” Batista had not relinquished his own weekly pigeon-message flights, which now flew into the Matacão and were announced on Radio Chico. People still followed with sustained ardor Batista’s famous weekly pigeon messages, which continued to provide surprising strokes of luck for some and profound wisdom for others.
“They are going to call you. I’ve got to go, but I’m sending you a surprise. I miss you terribly.” She hung up.
The surprise was that instead of communicating by telephone, he could now communicate with Tania Aparecida via their pigeon communication service. “The airways are ours,” she exclaimed. “And it’s completely free!”
Batista’s jealousy still attempted to spread its clinging web through the communication system. “Tania Aparecida: Where were you when I called at 2:00 AM yesterday? What were you doing at such an hour?”
“Darling, 2:00 AM your time is 10:00 AM here. I was in important negotiations,” Tania Aparecida returned.
“Do you know how long it’s been?”
“It’s only temporary. Look how far we’ve come!”
“It’s going to be a year!”
“How time flies!”
Batista raged impotently as Tania Aparecida wove the Djapan Pigeon Communications network farther and farther over the globe and, as she had always wished and dreamed of, traveled abroad for the company to New York, London, Paris, and Las Vegas.