Noises can be heard on the stairs, and voices, including an unknown woman's voice.
Mother looks down over the bannisters and sees a young woman, grasping a long dagger shaped knife.
Quickly Mother pulls her head back, so she is out of sight.
Then a man's voice is heard, and, relieved, Mother recognises the voice of Pierre, the new German university student housemate.
LATER.
Mother: Did you see what was going on upstairs a while ago?
Daughter: No. I've been busy here in the kitchen.
Mother: I discovered that Pierre and another student were working on a university assignment, photographing key scenes in a little drama.
The first thing I saw was a jealous femme fatale, poised on the stairs, holding a long dagger shaped knife in her hand.
Pierre was there photographing her.
Next thing the girl was leaning over the balcony, supposedly watching Pierre sneak out of the house to go and meet another woman.
Later the girl watched, and photographed, as Pierre met up with the other woman in a pub.
Finally photographs were taken of Pierre lying dying in the street after the jealous femme fatale stabbed him in the chest.
ANOTHER DAY.
(After Pierre returned to the house, with his bike.)
Daughter: Did you have a good day?
Pierre: Yes, ....that was until I saw the zombie-like woman you told me about, who lives up the street.
I got such a fright at the sight of her, so skinny in her summer dress, and looking so weird, with her very long curled fingernails and neglected hair, that I nearly fell off my bike.
ANOTHER DAY.
Daughter: Pierre is so pleasant and intelligent, and he fits in so well here, it will be a pity if he has to leave eventually.
If that happens I think we should try to get another international student to take his place.
ANOTHER DAY.
Daughter: You know, it's very strange the way there are sometimes vans or cars parked out the front of our house for hours on end, with people sitting inside.
When Alpha or I look out the window at them, or when we go out the front door, they drive off.
Mother: That's strange. Maybe they're spying on you.
I sometimes saw a strange van with tinted windows parked for odd periods of time out the front of the flats where I used to live.
There was something sinister about the look of it, and it was so tall that I imagined people standing up inside at the back, maybe using listening devices.
I wondered who they could've been listening to. Maybe someone in the flats.
Alpha: I found out that someone died at those flats recently.
Mother: Maybe it was someone I knew.
Do you know which flat they died in?
Alpha: Maybe the one that's now advertised for rent.
Daughter: Oh that reminds me. A few weeks ago I saw a lady get out of a car and walk past our house carrying a forensic kit and wearing a navy blue jumpsuit with "Police Forensic" written on the back.
I wondered if someone around here had been murdered.
Then today, as I walked up Cleveland Street I saw a trail of blood on the footpath, beside the long stretch of marble and glass wall near the Seymour Centre. The trail ended in a big pool of blood.
Forensic powder had been dusted along the wall, and police tape stopped people going up a flight of steps into the building.
LATER.
Mother: Have you ever seen the man next door?
Pierre: Yes, I've met him.
He came over to talk to me when I was out the front one day. He seemed very friendly.
I forget what he said his name is.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
The Man Next Door. Chapter 18.
Daughter: You must have seen the dark skinned, homeless- looking man, with long hair dangling in front of his face, who sits huddled on the footpath, talking to himself.
Yesterday he was sitting out the front of our house, talking to Alpha's bike.
And there was someone else I saw yesterday. Remember Joe,...who sold Alpha a stolen bike.
Mother: Yes, but I only got a brief glimpse of him, when I looked down the stairs one evening.
First I noticed that the front door was open, and outside I could see Joe pacing back and forth.
He was apparently trying to sell the bike to Alpha. It was a surprise to find out later that the bike had been stolen.
Daughter: Yes, I was shocked when I opened the front door a day or so later and saw three policemen standing outside.
They were looking at Alpha's bike, and told me that one like that had been reported stolen.
The worst thing was the way passers- by and neighbours were out in the street watching, fascinated.
Mother: I'm so glad I wasn't here.
Daughter: I could see the expressions on the faces of the people out watching.
The young Chinese couple across the road looked curious, as they peeped around their garden fence.
Some neighbours looked stunned. Others had excited looks on their faces, and some even looked very satisfied.
Passers by took notice, and no doubt when they pass our house again they wonder what happened.
Even the extremely fat moon-faced man a few doors up was outside, leaning on his fence and facing up the street, watching proceedings.
Mother: Whenever he can get someone to listen to him he enjoys talking about anything interesting that's happened lately.
It would be interesting to hear his version of the incident.
Daughter: The worst thing was when a policeman told Alpha....
"You are under arrest!"
Mother: It's just as well Alpha knew Joe's name, and where he lived, so he could take the police around there.
Daughter: Yes. Otherwise Alpha would have been charged with possession.
It was bad enough the way they took him away in the police car, first to Joe's place, to identify Joe, then to the Police Station to make a statement.
Mother: The house next door looks particularly forlorn these days, with the man next door away most of the time.
While he must make slight progress on the house with the work he does during his brief visits, in other ways the house must be continuing to deteriorate.
It worries me when it rains heavily, the way water from the high roof rushes down onto the lower roof, on the back section of the house, then straight over the guttering, cascading on down the wall in the corner, where green moss has started to grow. On its way down, the rainwater must splash inside through the two glassless windows adjacent to the corner, now that the sisalation covering them has fallen down.
Daughter: These days I haven't seen much through the kitchen window, apart from a jumble of rubber gloves and a can of baked beans.
Mother: And on the front verandah, where I've noticed that the wall is probably still coated in its original paint, which has now faded to a mottled non-descript green, with areas of the original grey cement render showing underneath, the only change I've noticed recently, amongst all the junk, is the absence of the old Triumph motorbike that seemed to have been standing there, unused, for years.
Yesterday he was sitting out the front of our house, talking to Alpha's bike.
And there was someone else I saw yesterday. Remember Joe,...who sold Alpha a stolen bike.
Mother: Yes, but I only got a brief glimpse of him, when I looked down the stairs one evening.
First I noticed that the front door was open, and outside I could see Joe pacing back and forth.
He was apparently trying to sell the bike to Alpha. It was a surprise to find out later that the bike had been stolen.
Daughter: Yes, I was shocked when I opened the front door a day or so later and saw three policemen standing outside.
They were looking at Alpha's bike, and told me that one like that had been reported stolen.
The worst thing was the way passers- by and neighbours were out in the street watching, fascinated.
Mother: I'm so glad I wasn't here.
Daughter: I could see the expressions on the faces of the people out watching.
The young Chinese couple across the road looked curious, as they peeped around their garden fence.
Some neighbours looked stunned. Others had excited looks on their faces, and some even looked very satisfied.
Passers by took notice, and no doubt when they pass our house again they wonder what happened.
Even the extremely fat moon-faced man a few doors up was outside, leaning on his fence and facing up the street, watching proceedings.
Mother: Whenever he can get someone to listen to him he enjoys talking about anything interesting that's happened lately.
It would be interesting to hear his version of the incident.
Daughter: The worst thing was when a policeman told Alpha....
"You are under arrest!"
Mother: It's just as well Alpha knew Joe's name, and where he lived, so he could take the police around there.
Daughter: Yes. Otherwise Alpha would have been charged with possession.
It was bad enough the way they took him away in the police car, first to Joe's place, to identify Joe, then to the Police Station to make a statement.
Mother: The house next door looks particularly forlorn these days, with the man next door away most of the time.
While he must make slight progress on the house with the work he does during his brief visits, in other ways the house must be continuing to deteriorate.
It worries me when it rains heavily, the way water from the high roof rushes down onto the lower roof, on the back section of the house, then straight over the guttering, cascading on down the wall in the corner, where green moss has started to grow. On its way down, the rainwater must splash inside through the two glassless windows adjacent to the corner, now that the sisalation covering them has fallen down.
Daughter: These days I haven't seen much through the kitchen window, apart from a jumble of rubber gloves and a can of baked beans.
Mother: And on the front verandah, where I've noticed that the wall is probably still coated in its original paint, which has now faded to a mottled non-descript green, with areas of the original grey cement render showing underneath, the only change I've noticed recently, amongst all the junk, is the absence of the old Triumph motorbike that seemed to have been standing there, unused, for years.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The Man Next Door. Chapter 17.
Daughter: Sometimes when I'm out walking I hear very loud heavy metal music approaching, and I expect a souped-up car, driven by some young man, to appear.
But sometimes it's a man sitting in a gopher who appears, and it's hard to believe that he's responsible for the blast of loud music I'm hearing. As he gets closer it's obvious that the music's coming from the large 80's type speaker, sitting in the front basket of his gopher.
Mother: He obviously wants to make his presence felt. What does he look like?
Daughter: He looks lively enough, and younger than I expected, with beady eyes and longish hair. When you're close enough to see the expression on his face he looks preoccupied, as if in a world of his own, with no interest in how people are reacting to him, as he bops along, jerking his neck forward to the music, as though he's maybe trying to make his gopher go faster.
And he doesn't just enjoy playing loud music out in the street. I've recognised him as the man using a walking frame who I once saw in Cleveland Street, repeatedly crossing the road back and forth, against the traffic, without looking, enjoying making the traffic stop for him.
Mother: I wonder if he still does that?
What other interesting people have you seen lately?
Daughter: It's not only interesting people that I see out in the street, and on some occasions its not loud music that preludes an appearance, its the trail of little pellets I'm following, and around the corner what I come across is a white goat, happily walking along with its owner.
Mother: Yes, that goat seems quite at home out in the street. And I've noticed how it waits at intersections until its owner tells it to cross.
Daughter: Have you seen it lately?
It's grown so big, and now it has a very long, very impressive beard.
Mother: What surprised me one day was the sight of a ferret out walking in the street, on a lead.
The owner needed a lot of patience because the ferret insisted on scuttling along close enough to the base of each fence to sniff every inch. When the lady had to dodge around a garbage bin or other obstacle on the footpath, pulling the ferret with her, the ferret would then insist on running back to sniff the section of fence it had missed.
Talking about pets, remember when the man next door had a dog.
The first I knew about it was when you told me about hearing him shouting out at the dog one night, after he discovered that it had been shitting in his house.
Daughter: Yes, he was shouting out ...."Shit everywhere!"......"Why don't you go outside?"......"Why do you stay inside?"........."Who do you think you are......a prince?".
"You can stay outside now!"......."And why don't you mix with local dogs?"
"Who do you think you are?"
Mother: Did I tell you about the conversation about the dog I had with the man next door one night, on my way home from Salsa?
Daughter: No.
Mother: Actually, I saw him sitting outside the pub as I passed it on my way to Salsa, and I didn't recognise him until he said "Hello," and got up. I got the impression he wanted to talk, but I was in a hurry, and didn't stop.
It was on my return from Salsa that we had the conversation.
Just as I walked past his house he came outside, calling out to his dog, which was out the front.
"So you've got a dog now", I remarked.
"It looks very nice,".... (but I noticed that it also looked very confused.)
Then the conversation went like this:
The Man Next Door: Yes, it's a nice dog, but it's behaving strangely. It won't drink any water.
It's not my dog. I'm just looking after it for a friend.
You may know her, or you may have seen her around....... A woman with lots of tattoos, and a purple mohawk hairdo.
I first met her soon after she bought a house in this street, and I spent four days in bed with her before I realised that I'd made a mistake about her.
She's still a friend, and I'm looking after her dog while she and her partner travel to Las Vegas to get married.
I see a lot of them at the pub.
How come you're not a pub girl?
Mother: I don't enjoy pubs.
The Man Next Door: I haven't seen your boyfriend arriving lately.
Mother: No. He hurt his back at work, and now he's changed jobs, and moved to the Far South Coast.
It's too difficult to keep on seeing him.
A TRUCK DRIVES BY.
The Man Next Door: The driver of that truck is a wonderful singer. Have you heard him.
Mother: No.
The Man Next Door: He often sings at the pub. Do you like music?
(Mother was a bit slow in replying, as she thought about what kinds of music she liked, in case he asked her.)
Mother: "I like many kinds of music."
The Man Next Door: It's just as well you like music. I was afraid you were going to say that you don't like music, and if you'd said that I would've grabbed my dog, and gone inside, to get away from you!
Mother: I'd better go now anyway.
(As Mother moved away she was very surprised when the man next door rushed over and gave her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek, before she reached home.)
But sometimes it's a man sitting in a gopher who appears, and it's hard to believe that he's responsible for the blast of loud music I'm hearing. As he gets closer it's obvious that the music's coming from the large 80's type speaker, sitting in the front basket of his gopher.
Mother: He obviously wants to make his presence felt. What does he look like?
Daughter: He looks lively enough, and younger than I expected, with beady eyes and longish hair. When you're close enough to see the expression on his face he looks preoccupied, as if in a world of his own, with no interest in how people are reacting to him, as he bops along, jerking his neck forward to the music, as though he's maybe trying to make his gopher go faster.
And he doesn't just enjoy playing loud music out in the street. I've recognised him as the man using a walking frame who I once saw in Cleveland Street, repeatedly crossing the road back and forth, against the traffic, without looking, enjoying making the traffic stop for him.
Mother: I wonder if he still does that?
What other interesting people have you seen lately?
Daughter: It's not only interesting people that I see out in the street, and on some occasions its not loud music that preludes an appearance, its the trail of little pellets I'm following, and around the corner what I come across is a white goat, happily walking along with its owner.
Mother: Yes, that goat seems quite at home out in the street. And I've noticed how it waits at intersections until its owner tells it to cross.
Daughter: Have you seen it lately?
It's grown so big, and now it has a very long, very impressive beard.
Mother: What surprised me one day was the sight of a ferret out walking in the street, on a lead.
The owner needed a lot of patience because the ferret insisted on scuttling along close enough to the base of each fence to sniff every inch. When the lady had to dodge around a garbage bin or other obstacle on the footpath, pulling the ferret with her, the ferret would then insist on running back to sniff the section of fence it had missed.
Talking about pets, remember when the man next door had a dog.
The first I knew about it was when you told me about hearing him shouting out at the dog one night, after he discovered that it had been shitting in his house.
Daughter: Yes, he was shouting out ...."Shit everywhere!"......"Why don't you go outside?"......"Why do you stay inside?"........."Who do you think you are......a prince?".
"You can stay outside now!"......."And why don't you mix with local dogs?"
"Who do you think you are?"
Mother: Did I tell you about the conversation about the dog I had with the man next door one night, on my way home from Salsa?
Daughter: No.
Mother: Actually, I saw him sitting outside the pub as I passed it on my way to Salsa, and I didn't recognise him until he said "Hello," and got up. I got the impression he wanted to talk, but I was in a hurry, and didn't stop.
It was on my return from Salsa that we had the conversation.
Just as I walked past his house he came outside, calling out to his dog, which was out the front.
"So you've got a dog now", I remarked.
"It looks very nice,".... (but I noticed that it also looked very confused.)
Then the conversation went like this:
The Man Next Door: Yes, it's a nice dog, but it's behaving strangely. It won't drink any water.
It's not my dog. I'm just looking after it for a friend.
You may know her, or you may have seen her around....... A woman with lots of tattoos, and a purple mohawk hairdo.
I first met her soon after she bought a house in this street, and I spent four days in bed with her before I realised that I'd made a mistake about her.
She's still a friend, and I'm looking after her dog while she and her partner travel to Las Vegas to get married.
I see a lot of them at the pub.
How come you're not a pub girl?
Mother: I don't enjoy pubs.
The Man Next Door: I haven't seen your boyfriend arriving lately.
Mother: No. He hurt his back at work, and now he's changed jobs, and moved to the Far South Coast.
It's too difficult to keep on seeing him.
A TRUCK DRIVES BY.
The Man Next Door: The driver of that truck is a wonderful singer. Have you heard him.
Mother: No.
The Man Next Door: He often sings at the pub. Do you like music?
(Mother was a bit slow in replying, as she thought about what kinds of music she liked, in case he asked her.)
Mother: "I like many kinds of music."
The Man Next Door: It's just as well you like music. I was afraid you were going to say that you don't like music, and if you'd said that I would've grabbed my dog, and gone inside, to get away from you!
Mother: I'd better go now anyway.
(As Mother moved away she was very surprised when the man next door rushed over and gave her a hug, and a kiss on the cheek, before she reached home.)
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