Whistles sound, marking the moves

On a cold spring morning, before the zoo opens, I sit down by the entrance to listen to the multispecies soundscape.

Voices of playing daycare children mix with the chirrup of the tits and the caw of the crows. A group of high school students arrive peacefully, the teacher takes the roll call. Three cormorants fly quietly past the bright sun, a magpie chatters “chacker-chacker-chacker”. In the background, the continuous noise of the machines of the city.

At 10 o’clock, the iron gates of the zoo open with a creak, the teacher’s whistle blows, and instructions are given. Student groups begin to flow in through the gates. As the children’s voices draw away, the uninterrupted noise of the machines remains, as do the birds.

In cold weather the interiors are tempting, and I settle down with a cup of coffee into the snack area. It is very quiet. A family with children rustles their snack papers, teenagers chat quietly. The continuous humming of the air conditioner is clearly audible.

Behind the window opens a sight into the bear enclosure, like a silent film. A bear is lying idly in the spring sun, while the crows are fighting about a bone they have found. The crows’ bodies tell about cawing, the bear is obviously yawning. A tit pops over the top of a dead standing tree sticking up in the enclosure, a seagull glides past the stage. A pigeon is padding around on a ledge of a concrete wall, a jackdaw is searching something among the snow. From behind the glass, life manifests without sound.

At 12 o’clock, a loud whistle penetrates the glass. It is time for the bears to move to the interiors, while the birds continue their chores and the air conditioner keeps humming.