The Pacifist Falcon

Hands clasped behind his back and silhouetted by the setting sun, Fallon stood on the hill overlooking the bay and watched the incoming boats. I knew him by his floppy hat and walking stick, a staff really, he was rarely seen without it. The night was mild and the sky a pastel mix of pink and blue streaks woven through the clouds with a sweet, salty breeze drifting upward along with the shouts of the fishermen. It had been a good day at sea, the catch had been plentiful and the men were in fine spirits as they rounded the lighthouse and headed for the breakwater. Fallon waved and raised his staff as if blessing their safe return, then began rounding up his flock of goats and leading them home.

Fallon and his brother, Aldridge, lived high on the ridge above the bay, two confirmed bachelors, each independent as a wildfire and twice as dangerous, so Nana liked to say. They raised their goats, grew their own vegetables, kept mostly to themselves and expected their neighbors to do the same. Their reputation for being dangerous came from the simple but extraordinary fact that they bred and trained birds of prey, namely ospreys or what they liked to call sea hawks and the occasional falcon. The trouble started with the falcon, a handsome young female half the height of a man with a wingspan of over four feet - she was called Cleopatra and contrary to all the rules of her species and to nature, she refused to hunt. The brothers sent her forth and she soared on her magnificent wings, gliding across the tops of trees and diving with elegance and precision to fly over the bay until she was nearly out of sight. But she returned empty handed each time - no live quarry retrieved, no predatory instincts. Fallon and Aldridge were mystified by this highly non traditional bird of prey behavior. Cleopatra showed no interest in the field mice they captured and brought to her, she was indifferent to the rabbits and other small prey, she wouldn't even join the ospreys in fishing.

Ain't natural, Fallon remarked.

Ain't respectable, Aldridge agreed.

The falcon watched them with a sleepy, impassive look, shadowy and still. When Fallon slipped off her ankle bracelet and set her free, she remained on her perch. When Aldridge attempted to shoo her, she shifted her deadly talons and rustled her feathers a bit, but made no move to go.

I'll be damned! Fallon exclaimed.

Double damned! Aldridge cried.

What to do with a falcon that wouldn't hunt, they wondered. They fed her table scraps of meat and corn on the cob, birdseed and biscuits with gravy, venison in season, and pollock. She ate everything they offered with enthusiasm but still she wouldn't hunt. They tried not feeding her, hoping hunger might coax out her inner falcon and persuade her to swoop down upon some unsuspecting mouse or chicken - instead she gave them reproachful looks and still refused to hunt, scavenging in the vegetable garden at night and the berry fields by day. On the fourth day, she attacked the helpless scarecrow and scattered him and his second hand clothes to kingdom come, frightening the goats so badly that they rushed the gate and tore through in a panic. It took the remainder of the day for the brothers to retrieve them and rebuild the gate and by sunset, Cleopatra was serenely feeding on a slab of smoked bacon and looking well pleased with herself.

S'pose we could shoot her, Fallon suggested.

S'pose, Aldridge said mildly, But it don't seem right.

The next time I saw Fallon, he was again standing on the edge of the cliff overlooking the bay, staff in hand. His brother was by his side and they were both watching the incoming boats. The sky was a pastel blend of pink and blue and there was a sweet, salty breeze drifting up from the ocean. A falcon circled overhead, solitary, graceful and splendid in flight - it soared into the clouds and back again, gliding over the treetops with it's wings fully spread then dipping toward the boats and over the whitecaps. I couldn't remember having ever seen anything quite as beautiful as Cleopatra as she turned sharply and flew upwards, then glided in for a landing on Aldridge's gloved hand.

Good old girl! I heard Aldridge say.

Reckon so, Fallon agreed and they all turned for home.