I ask the R.V. owner about the ramshackle frame on wheels, the strategic cans chained to its parking meter.
“I’m the birdman,” he cackles. “Come take a look” and he knocks on the R.V. door. I’m not too enthusiastic about this proposed tour of his stately home but, before I can refuse, the door opens and a thinner version of my new friend – more hair, same threads, same cologne – appears. Behind him, I get a glimpse of the R.V.’s grim, dim interior, a large part of which seems to be taken up by a cage. Unspoken words pass between the two men and More Hair takes two cockatoos – or, anyway, bloody huge parrot-y birds – from the cage, materializing them on his hand like a conjuror.
With similar sleight of hand, the birds are transferred, one to my hand and one to my shoulder. The one of my shoulder takes an unhealthy interest in my ear and I’m very aware that one clack! of his or her nut-cracking beak and I’ll never wear earrings again.
Now, to my shame, I’m vaguely irritated to have been caught in a hustle but as quickly as it flares that irritation passes because I realize that this really isn’t a hustle. That these two partners are simply happy to show me their birds, placing them on the ramshackle wheeled frame and explaining that this is their life: cruising their world and sharing their birds with anyone who wants a photograph. A few bucks for a shot on Bourbon or Royal, or maybe in front of Brad and Angie’s place; the state house, Baton Rouge; to whatever destination the old R.V. will stumble. A picture to upload to social media. An image to tweet. Perhaps even to remember.
And through it all, keeping that generator going so the birds can live in air-conditioned comfort.
So many ways to pass through life. So many ways to scratch a living. Two men between middle age and social security, drifting – sometimes staggering – along a wilder shore; anomalies, unsuited to the ordered beaches of our aspirational, greyed, working world. Gentle rebels,
these Birdmen and I hope they’ll rebel for many years; inspire others to digress. I hope this because it’s these rebels, these eccentrics, that help us maintain our humanity and stave off a style of living that seems increasingly robotic and unfulfilling.