The Man Next Door. Chapter 28.

ONE  DAY.

Daughter (looking very serious): Today I got a note from my sculptor friend.

Remember you met him at his exhibition opening.

He's upset about what he said a mutual friend had told him you had written about him, about him having bloodshot eyes, and looking drunk.

He prides himself on drinking very little, and not getting drunk, so he's very upset, and he wants to know exactly what you wrote.
 

Mother: Oh dear! That sounds bad!

I really liked your sculptor friend, and I loved his sculptures.

And that's not what I wrote about him anyway.

I thought I wrote nice things about him, but I did say something about his eyes, about how surprised I was by them.

I didn't expect anyone other than friends and family to read what I wrote.

It just shows how careful you need to be when writing about what you observe, in case you interpret things wrongly.

If you like, I'll write to him to let him know how apologetic I am.

And I'll send him a copy of the exact text that I wrote, and hopefully he won't mind it.


Daughter: He's been a very good friend of mine, and he's always been very kind to me, so I'd be very upset if what you wrote destroys my friendship with him.
 
And what will you do, if the man next door finds out what you've written about him?


Mother: That would be dreadful!

Although I've only written about what I've observed, no one wants some things about their life to be scrutinised.

You know, over time I've grown to appreciate and respect the man next door a lot more.

Who is the hero here?

Certainly not me!

I've come to think that it's the man next door.

He has guts to keep on doing all that hard work on his house, perservering month after month, year after year, in trying conditions, in spite of all the work that's still to be done, and the lack of money, ....in the cold,...and through fire, when his water was turned off,.... visited by rats and cats, and maybe even malevolent ghosts.

He must be sustained by the vision he has of how the house will be in the end, and by the support of his girlfriend, and the friends who appreciate him.

No short cuts for him!

He's doing a very thorough job, no matter how long, and how much work and hardship it takes.

I have faith in him, and I wish him well.

He can't help being someone out of the ordinary!


Daughter: That won't stop him being upset, if he ever finds out what you've written about him.



ONE EVENING.

Singing is heard from the apartments behind the house. 


Mother: I hate the way that woman sings.

Sometimes I feel like singing out to tell her to shut up.


Daughter: She certainly takes herself very seriously.


Mother: Her voice is so monotonous. It's as if she only sings on one or two notes.


Daughter: I think she's making up the music as she sings, and going over and over things, trying to get them right.

You could always get out your violin, and play it in competition with her.


Mother: I wouldn't want to make the neighbours suffer even more.


Daughter: I don't think she would sound as bad if she was singing with a band.



JUST THEN THERE IS A VERY LOUD BANG.

Daughter: that sounded bad, like a gunshot blast.


Mother: She's stopped singing. Maybe she got frustrated, and shot herself.


Daughter: Maybe someone shot her.


Mother (feeling slightly guilty, in case her negative attitude had caused something bad to happen):

She's not singing any more!

Let me know if you hear her singing again.



SOME WEEKS LATER.

Mother. I'm pleased that I haven't had to put up with any more of that woman's singing!

I wonder what happened to her?



ANOTHER DAY.

When I passed the house next door last night there were lights on inside, and the front door was open, so I could see the man next door inside, in the front room, standing on the bare earth, saw in hand, as he worked on putting in place timber joists that will support the new timber floor. He had company. A friend was working with him, and they were talking. In the background music was playing.


Daughter: I heard them working till late.



ANOTHER NIGHT. (Lights on in the house next door.)

Mother: It must be really cold in there, with the glass still missing from the upstairs windows, and the back door open!


A visitor: Surely no one lives there!


Mother: The man next door stays there quite often.



SOON AFTER, ON AN EVEN COLDER NIGHT.

The man next door could be heard chopping firewood.



ANOTHER DAY, AFTER MOTHER RETURNED HOME.

Daughter:  The man next door spoke to me today.

He's found out about your Blog, and he's very angry.


Mother: Shit!

I'll have to move!.


A KNOCK AT THE FRONT DOOR.

Mother: Who's that?

Oh no!  .....Oh no!


Daughter: Yes. It's the man next door!



LATER.


Mother: Although you were only pulling my leg when you said that the man next door was angry, and that he had found out about my Blog, ......and you were pulling my leg again when you said that it was him at the door, ....I've learnt my lesson.

I mustn't keep on writing about him, in case he does find out, and he is upset.


Daughter: That's probably a good idea.


Mother: So that's the end of that!

No more Blog about the man next door!
.
Now my readers will never know what becomes of him.

And they'll never find out whether or not he finishes all the work on his house, and whether or not it evolves into something wonderful.

What can I write about now?

The Man Next Door. Chapter 27.

Mother: I went for a walk today, to Broadway Shopping Centre, but it was a wild goose chase because the shopping centre was closed for Easter.  I had expected that at least a supermarket would be open.

But who did I see when I was nearly home? .... the man next door, wheeling a bike towards his front door.


Daughter: It's nice that he now rides a bike.



Mother: When I reached the front of his house he was just standing briefly ouside his front door, looking broad shouldered and relaxed, so I took the opportunity to be friendly, and said "Hello".

He turned and smiled, and then I wondered what to say, so I asked how his house is going.


The Man Next Door, (indicating the inside of his house) : There have been changes in plans!

I've now taken up all the front floor, and the joists and bearers, and I'm replacing them all, and putting in new foundations.  (He pointed at shaped pieces of concrete that were going to be used.)


(Mother could see that right across the front of the house, including where the hallway used to be, floor level is now the ground itself, and chairs and other furniture, and a jumble of other things, now sit on bare earth.)


The Man Next Door: Some people have suggested that I should make a new concrete floor at the level of the ground, but I don't like the idea of being lower down than street level, and having to look up at people when I open the front door.

Excuse the smell of cats. Cats come in through my high windows, and now they go to the toilet in the dirt floor.

Haven't you heard the cats on the roof?


Mother: Yes, I've heard them rushing around on the roof, chasing birds, scratching as they hang on with their claws, but I haven't got to the window in time to see any cats.

One day my daughter heard the same noise, and saw birds chasing a big brushtail possom on the roof, till it climbed your chimney, and disappeared down inside.


The Man Next Door: Really!

Yesterday a cat came in my open upstairs window and walked straight towards me.

It carried itself in such an aggressive, macho way, that I thought...

"Is this cat going to attack me?"..... "It's only a cat!"

Then it walked straight past me, and down the stairs, and it went to the toilet in the earth front floor.


(The man next door began pushing his bike over the door step, so mother quickly took the remaining opportunity to comment that he had missed Daughter's exhibition.)


The Man Next Door: Yes,....I've been away.

I came back once, planning to see the exhibition, but it was raining at the only time I could go, and my girlfriend didn't want to go out on bikes in the rain. So we didn't go.

My mate from across the road is a great fan of your daughter's paintings.

I believe he drove the van bringing paintings back to your house.



A COUPLE  OF WEEKS LATER.

Mother: It's been very quiet in next door lately.

Some nights I notice the upstairs bedroom light on, and when I crossed the road on my way home tonight I heard talking, coming from inside the man next door's open front door.

I could hear the voice of a woman who sounded drunk, and the man next door was talking gently to her.



ANOTHER DAY.
Mother: Thanks for hanging out my washing.

It wasn't finished when I left this morning and I forgot to ask you to hang it out.


Daughter: Did you put your washing in with Alex's, or did he put his washing in with yours?


Mother: Oh!  ....I saw some washing in the machine and I emptied the dry washing out of the clothes basket so I could put the finished washing in there.

In my haste I must have forgotten to take the finished washing out, before putting my washing in.


Daughter: When I looked in the washing machine I wondered whose washing was in there.

I saw your tops and funny fluffy blue and white sox, but I also saw Alex's jeans and tops, and his undies and your's all mixed up together, so I just pulled everything out in one go because Alex's jeans, and everything else, were all tied up in your pairs of panty hose, as if there was an octopus in there too, with it's legs entwined around everything.

Goodness knows what Alex thought, when he went to hang out his clothes!


(Alex is the young Chilean student who moved into the house, when Pierre left, to return to Germany.)

The Man Next Door Chapter 26.

Mother: I wonder what's going on next door?

I saw a young woman all dressed up in a cocktail dress and high heels
come out of the man next door's house.

I could hear people inside the front door giving her instructions, then she appeared to be hurrying to the pub on a mission, maybe to fetch home the man next door.

Maybe he was being given a surprise birthday party.


Daughter: Yes, I saw the man next door's girlfriend arrive at the house a while ago.

She was all dressed up too, and carrying a big plate of food.



ANOTHER DAY, AFTER THE EXHIBITION OPENING.

Mother: It's a pity the man next door didn't come to your exhibition.

I really thought he would come. He seemed so keen to see it,.... but I think he's away.


Daughter: His friend Phil, from across the road, didn't come either.


Mother: It's good that so many people did come to the opening.

It was all very pleasant, wasn't it, and the paintings and drawings looked great.

It's a lovely gallery.


Phillip, (an old friend from Darkwood) : When I saw the painting of two little girls on one bike, riding away from a military tank emerging from the bush, I thought ... "How cool is that!"

I'd heard you talking about sleeping in the tank room, but I hadn't realised that you actually slept in a tank!


Daughter: No, we didn't sleep in a tank! The tank was just something ominous I dreamt about.

The tank room where we slept was just a big room built under two high water tanks.


Andy (Owner of the Gallery): As usual Joe was at the opening, mostly hanging around the door.

He usually turns up at openings, for the free wine.


Daughter: Yes, we know Joe. He once sold Alpha a stolen bike.

Mum once wrote about him in her blog.


Andy: Joe is really very bright, yet he seems to be a real mess. I think he's schizophrenic.

What's your mother's blog called?


Daughter: I'd better not tell you that.

Anyway, after Joe left I saw him poking around in a little garden bed outside on the footpath, and I heard the clinking of bottles.

Maybe he was retreiving some bottles of wine he stole earlier, and hid there.


Mother: It was wonderful to see all the Key's there, all the way from Kalang and Bellingen, and lots of other friends of ours that we haven't seen for years, particularly Liz, Nickie and Jackie Thompson. It's a pity Dick couldn't come too.


Daughter: Even the lovely family that lives the other side of us came.


Mother: It was so good that Leo came along with Libby and Branco. He's now 6'4", and last time I saw him he was only 4 years old.

There were so many interesting people there, but I'm disappointed that I didn't notice Rex Irwin.
I would love to have spoken to him again.

Andre kept his word and brought along lots of  very nice, intelligent, exotic looking people, mostly from Salsa Cafe.
It was really great when Peter arrived, then Genevieve and Godwin.

A man I once used to dance with introduced himself, and he stayed quite a while and talked to lots of people.

I've no idea who some of the people at the opening were, but you seemed to know a lot of them.


Daughter: Yes, there were lots of people I know, but who was that weird, eccentric looking guy wearing a shoulder bag, white jacket and pink scarf ?  He looked like some artist, and I thought that maybe I should go and talk to him in case he was someone important.


Mother: I saw you, and other family members, talking to a middle aged man who I didn't recognise.

So I asked him if I knew him, and he said "No".

He turned out to be your rich Buddhist inventor friend Tom, who collects paintings.

I reminded him of the occasion you told me about, when you first met him, at another exhibition.

He had introduced you to the friend he was with, and then they had pointed out to you the paintings they had just bought.

You thought they were just joking, so when they asked you which painting you had bought you pointed to the best, and most expensive painting in the exhibition, and said ..."That one."

Then it turned out that Tom's friend had in fact bought the second best painting in that exhibition, after missing out on the one you said you had bought.

He began trying to persuade you to swap paintings, and when you owned up that you hadn't really bought the one he really wanted he was so disgusted that he walked out, whereas Tom wanted to get to know you better.

Now, at your exhibition, Tom told me that he hadn't actually bought a painting that night, either.


Daughter: He told me one day that he would buy one of my paintings, but so far he hasn't.



ANOTHER DAY.
Daughter: I was talking to Andy today, and he asked me again about your blog.

I didn't want to tell him, but he got it out of me, and later he said that he had read it.

He doesn't think that he looks like the man next door, and he said that if the man next door finds out about your blog you will have to disappear from this house!

Mother: That's scarey!



ONE EVENING, ABOUT A WEEK LATER, speaking to Andy at the gallery.

Mother: I guess you had a quiet day today.


Andy: No, it was quite busy. Lots of people came through the gallery, including P.J. and his wife, who live in the lane named after your daughter's grandfather. They were here for quite a while.

Do you know who "P.J." would be?


Mother: Yes, it must have been Peter James, with his wife Lynne.


Andy: I read your blog and I thought it was good, and quite funny.

But I don't think I look like the man next door.


(As mother looked at Andy he seemed to be growing taller before her eyes, and it became apparent to her that he is much taller than the man next door. And his face appeared to be quite different too. It seemed that just the striking blue eyes were similar.)


Andy: I used to socialise with the man next door, and the others who drink with him in the courtyard at the pub, but I found that some of them get too argumentative and nasty when they're drunk.

So I don't go there any more, and now I seldom see "the man next door".

The Man Next Door. Chapter 25.

ONE DAY.

Daughter: I forgot to tell you. The other day the man next door visited us, for the very first time.

He was rather pissed, and he came to show me something.

He came inside carrying a long frame with drawings in it.

"An artist friend of mine did these." he said. They're good aren't they."

"Maybe you could do something similar"

In the frame was a series of pencil drawings of jazz musicians, side by side, playing trumpet, saxaphone, drums or piano.

Alpha had let the man next door in, because I was busy painting, and I kept on working. 

He didn't take any notice of any of my paintings, apart for one, my portrait of you.

When he looked up and noticed it on the wall, he exclaimed "That's your mother!"

"You've really captured the way she looks!"   "She's so beautiful!"

"I love your mum, ..... she's such a lovely person!"


Daughter: Maybe because I didn't stop painting, or go out of my way to be friendly, he suddenly began to look uncomfortable, as though things hadn't gone as well as expected, and next thing he retreated out the front door.


Another thing about the man next door, he's had a hair cut, and it makes him look quite different.

He looks younger, and more fit and energetic.


ANOTHER DAY.

Alpha rushed inside, dropped off his bike off, and hurried out again.
When he returned he explained why.

Alpha: I was on my way home, passing the house a few doors up that is being renovated, when I saw the man next door standing in the doorway.

He called out to me because he was looking out for another strong man to help.

He and another man had already been recruited from the pub by the owner of the house, to help lift a heavy beam up into position. 

It was very heavy, and we had to climb up onto a platform with it, before raising it into position above an opening in a wall, but with the four of us, we soon got the job done.


LATER.

Daughter: Its good the way Alpha and I now feel as though we are accepted, and part of this street.

Now there are lots of people I talk to. And there are others I recognise, and smile at.


ONE MORNING.

Mother: Last night and this morning there have been drilling noises, and banging, in next door.

And there seems to be a man there helping the man next door.

Just now, when I walked past, I could see inside his front door, and it seems to be very dark and cavernous inside. There's still a big hole the length of the hallway, and floorboards have also been removed in at least part of the front room.


Alpha: Yes, the floorboards have been removed so holes can be dug in the ground underneath for concrete piers.

And floorboards have been removed from the upstairs rooms too, making one big space of all of the four main rooms of the house.

Now the man next door, and his girlfriend, sleep on a mattress on the floor in the back section of the big downstairs room, and you can see his motorbike there too.



THE FOLLOWING MORNING.

Daughter: There were people in next door last night, talking and laughing.

At first there was banging and drilling going on too, then they settled down to party.

There wasn't any music, but what was worse than loud music was the voice I could hear.

A voice I recognise. The voice of a friend of the man next door.

I hate this man's voice. It jangles my nerves just to even think of it.

It's so loud, and on top of that he shouts, and says stupid, annoying things


Alpha: After the party next door ended at about three am, the people moved out to the front of the house, and I heard an argument start, between the man next door and another builder.

The man next door was accusing him of making a mistake in another house, and making it unsafe, and charging too much.

The argument developed into a fight, and there was shouting, and threatening, and maybe violence, which ended when the police arrived.

The Man Next Door. Chapter 24.

ONE EVENING, AFTER A VERY HOT DAY.

Alpha: People are sitting out in the street trying to get cool, and the man next door has a mattress out on the footpath in front of his house.

He and his girlfriend are sitting out there cooking tea, with a frying pan on a little gas stove.


Mother: His life seems to be much less drama-filled these days, and it's always quiet in next door when his girlfriend is there.


Daughter: But a few days ago Alpha saw him stumbling around out in the street, very drunk.


Mother: At least he's been managing to get a bit of work done on his house lately.


Alpha: Even if it takes him 10 years to finish doing up the house he will be ahead.

He bought it very cheap, because of the state it was in, and it must be appreciating in value each year.

So there's no real rush for him to finish.


You know the big house up near the end of the street where extensive renovations have just been completed.... It had been vacant for many years when a man I know bought it, cheaply. Now, after he's done it up nicely, it's been sold again.


Mother: Yes, as I walked past the house this evening the lights were on, and it looked lovely and white and immaculate inside, sparkling under the chandeliers.


Alpha: When I was shown inside the house recently, I was impressed by how lovely and luxurious it is, with really large rooms, and great views upstairs.


Mother: But who would want to live there, knowing what happened in the house ten or twelve years ago?

And would all the renovations have completely wiped away all traces of the violent murders that took place there?

Do you know exactly what happened?


Alpha: First a woman was stabbed to death by her husband. Then the dead woman's father was killed in the fight that followed, while the murdering husband was badly injured. Finally the house was set on fire, killing the baby.


Daughter: No doubt bad things have happened in lots of houses in this street, since they are well over a hundred years old. Yet people are happy to live there anyway.


ANOTHER DAY.

Mother: Someone I haven't seen around for ages is the extremely fat man, and I haven't seen the extremely skinny woman with long claw-like fingernails either.

Maybe they've run off together!


Daughter: Maybe they're dead!

When I walked past the extremely fat man's house yesterday I noticed a strange smell.

I wasn't exactly like the smell of rotting flesh. It was more like the smell of rotting vegetation.


Mother: I'm trying to imagine what it could be.



ANOTHER EVENING.

The front door is open, and Alpha is talking to someone outside.


LATER, IN THE KITCHEN.

Alpha: I've just been talking to the man next door.


Daughter: What did he have to say?


Alpha: He asked how everybody was, and he was very impressed to hear that you're an artist, and that you're to have an exhibition soon.

He's very keen to get an invitation, and to see the exhibition. He would also like to get an invitation for his mate Phil, across the road.

He's finishing off lots of things in the house before an architect comes to design the exciting developments he plans for the house, including changes and extensions to the kitchen, and the aquarium-walled bathroom he plans for upstairs.

He expects to get a bank loan to pay for the work, and maybe his parents will help out a bit.

I saw them when they were visiting his house recently, having a very thorough look at everything

They were very well dressed, and they drove a very nice car.



ONE MORNING.

Alpha: Before daybreak this morning I heard something that made me laugh.

Someone in the house was snoring, and each exhaling burst of ...ugh...ugh...ugh..
was being answered by the more husky, growling, ...hhhgghhh...hhhgghhh...hhhgghhh...of a Brushtail possum outside.

The Man Next Door. Chapter 23.

Mother: Alpha's favourite bike has been stolen.

While he was feeling so sick with a cold yesterday he left it out the front and forgot to secure it with a lock.

It's a shame so many people will steal something if they find the opportunity.


Older Daughter: I think some study showed that say 80% of people would steal something if they were sure that they wouldn't be caught.

I've also heard of a saying, in another language, about how people should always try to win, at other people's expense ...(although in doing so life would become a constant battle, with no compromising.)

Another saying I've heard, also in another language, is about how the person who has something stolen from them should not be pitied. If they were foolish enough to allow something to be stolen they deserved it!


Mother: With such attitudes of selfishness and lack of empathy it's no wonder there is so much injustice, conflict and suffering in the world.


I was reminded of Alpha this morning as I travelled here on the train, watching with fascination the young man sitting opposite me.

He was holding a bike, a stylish bike somewhat similar to the one stolen from Alpha, and he was giving it lots of attention.

First he checked the tightness of various joints. Then he began polishing the bike, rubbing it down all over with wads of newspaper, going over and over each section, and even spitting on the bike seat before polishing it.

I wondered why he was giving the bike so much attention, and if he was planning to try to sell it.

When he was preparing to get off the train he put on a hoody jacket, which enhanced his acceptable features, and gave him an air of introverted mysteriousness.
.
As our eyes met I felt a connection, which he responded to by folding and handing to me an intact copy of the Daily Telegraph.

I didn't really want it, but I took it graciously anyway, hoping that somehow I would find something of significance somewhere in the paper. I will read through it carefully, just in case.



ANOTHER DAY.

Mother: I could see the man next door through his window, preparing food in his kitchen.

Just a glimpse, since he could see me, while I was noticing him.

He seems to have been working consistently on his house lately, banging wood around, sawing and  hammering, maybe continuing to secure the new upstairs ceiling.

Some evenings I can hear loud sanding through the wall.


Daughter: One day he was doing some more noisy banging and demolition down stairs.

Then a few days ago he was loading up his truck outside, with the rubble of broken bricks, and a big, old leather lounge suite. The leather was so old and worn in places that the colour had changed from brown to red.


Mother: I wonder why the man next door's kitchen security door is off it's hinges, and just leaning against the door jamb.

Did it fall off, or did he have to force the door open one day, while it was locked with the chain that ran around some bars, then through two holes in the wooden back door?



A WEEK LATER.

Mother: Yesterday the day began with banging and sawing next door, but this soon ended.

The back door was open for a while, with the security door open, and leaning against the other side of the door jamb.

This morning the back door looked well locked up, with the security door "in place", held there by a piece of wood jambed in above it.

But this evening, after dark, with no lights visible in his house, I could hear the man next door moving around, and working, just through the fence.

It was only later that a light came on in his upstairs bedroom.



NEXT EVENING.

Mother: The man next door was outside at his truck when I walked past on the other side of the street.

Then when I was returning home I was able to glance inside through his open front door.

It was rather dark inside, because it was getting late, and a curtain hung roughly over the back window was reducing what light there was.

I could see that the front rooms and hallway now looked more opened up, and relatively empty, creating a pleasant-looking space.


Daughter: I'm starting to think that it won't be surprising if the man next door's house ends up being really lovely inside.

You can see through his kitchen door that he has even widened the doorway between the front rooms and the kitchen, so that all the downstairs rooms now flow together.



NEXT MORNING.

Daughter: I heard the usual racket on the roof this morning, with heavy galloping and the scratching of claws on roofing iron, and a fuss being made by excited Indian Mynas.

I managed to get to the window in time to see some of what was going on.

Instead of seeing a cat chasing birds on the roof, I saw a group of Indian Mynas harrassing a big Brushtail possum, snapping around it's head, as it ran heavily across the roof, struggling to get away from them.

It reached the man next door's kitchen chimney, and managed to climb up.

Then the possum's thick, bushy tail waved in the air as it disappeared down inside the chimney.


Mother: Alpha would make a good possum.

If you were a possum what would you do to the Indian Mynas?


Alpha: I'd grab one in my front paws, and pull it apart, tearing its head off.

Then I'd pull it's feathers out one at a time, until the bird was naked.


Mother (somewhat shocked at the savage expression Alpha was putting on his face): Is that the way you behaved when you were a soldier in Peru, fighting the Shining Path guerrillas?


Alpha: No! I treated everyone the same, man, woman or child.

Life as a soldier was very dangerous. Most soldiers in my unit ended up being killed.

You couldn't trust anyone, even the commander of your unit.

Everyone was afraid.

The Shining Path could be anywhere, behind any door, or hidden amongst the villagers.

It was worst for the villagers, who were afraid of both the soldiers and the guerrillas.


Mother: The guerrilla's actions seem to me to have been pointless, and unlikely to succeed.

It was just terrorism.


Daughter: They behaved the way they did because they were angry.

They just wanted to hurt people, to get back at the Government, and make their presence felt.


Alpha: Sometimes the guerrillas would even blow up important bridges and buildings.

Even police in Lima were targets.


Daughter: Police could be shot when they stepped out of their houses, or they would set out for work, and never return.


Mother: It was great when the Shining Path leader, Abimael Guzman, who had kept out of sight, was caught hiding in an apartment in Lima, and when he was shown to the public, even his followers could see how unimpressive and despicable he was, and that he didn't deserve to be followed.

There wasn't so much fighting after that.

But I guess the fighting will continue between the possum and the Indian Mynas.

The Man Next Door. Chapter 22.

ONE MORNING.

Alpha: Last night I heard the voice of a woman, who was talking in her sleep, and laughing.


Daughter: Who do you think it was ....Mum or me?


Alpha: It sounded like your mother.


Mother: Maybe you're just saying that.


Daughter: There was another thing that happened last night.

Did you hear all the banging going on in Pierre's room?


Mother: Yes. When I was in the kitchen I could hear quite a racket above me, with Pierre's loud footsteps, and non stop banging and creaking as he seemed to be frantically moving furniture and other things around.


Daughter: He was at it again after midnight, for what seemed like ages.


Mother: Pierre told me this morning what he was up to.

He said that there had been a large cockroach in his room, and he couldn't get to sleep until he found and killed it.

He was afraid that it would walk on him as he slept.




SOME MONTHS LATER.

Mother: I heard hunting noises in your room last night.


Pierre:Yes, I saw a very big cockroach climbing up the wall above the head of my bed, and I was afraid it might fall on my face in the night.

I searched for it, but I didn't find it.

Those cockroaches aren't afraid of humans.

One evening, as I sat at my desk, one began to climb up my leg, it's sharp claws sticking into my skin.


Mother: I don't mind those big cockroaches. There's only the occasional one around, and then only one at a time.

And the best thing about them is that they seem to keep away the horrible little German cockroaches that can quickly breed up and overwhelm a house or flat.


Pierre: Aren't you being racist, calling the little cockroaches German.


Mother: No, that's their name.


Pierre: There are no cockroaches in Germany!



ONE EVENING.

Three things happened at once in the kitchen.

At the same moment Mother coughed, the microwave pinged and Daughter's knife slipped across the board on which she was cutting up fruit.


Mother: Have you noticed the smell in the kitchen?


Daughter: Yes. I wonder what it is. I can't find where it's coming from.


Mother: I've been checking things too, thinking that some food may have fallen or been carried somewhere, and gone off.

The smell doesn't come from behind or beside the fridge, or from one of the food cupboards.

It's a vague, wafting, elusive smell, but the one place where it seems strongest is on the outside of the freezer section of the fridge.

I wonder if it comes from inside the fridge, but I can't smell it when I open the doors.



A LITTLE LATER.

Pierre, (as he holds the plastic package he just got from the fridge): How long do you cook octopus for?


Mother and Daughter both think ...."So that's where the smell comes from."


Pierre: The octopus was on special at the supermarket.


Mother: It has a strong smell. Are you sure it's still OK.


Pierre: It should be.


Mother: I don't know how long you should cook it for. (She had an idea that octopus shouldn't be cooked for long, or it would get tough. Yet, at the same time, she thought it would be safer to cook it well.)


Pierre cooked, and ate the octopus, and survived.



NEXT EVENING.

Mother: It's strange, but the bad smell is still in the kitchen.


(Later, Mother carefully cleaned the outside of the fridge, and the rubber seals, and then the smell was gone.)


ONE MORNING, THE FOLLOWING WEEK.

Daughter: Something has been taking little bites out of my pears! You can see little tooth marks.


Pierre: I've been wondering what took bites out of the apple on my shelf.


Daughter: Maybe there's a mouse in the kitchen.



(That evening Alpha set the mouse traps that Mother had bought.)

The traps remained set for weeks, but no mice were caught, and no more fruit was nibbled.



ONE MORNING A FEW WEEKS LATER.

Early this morning I woke to see two little faces at my window. I had left one section open, because it was a warm night, and next moment the two little Ringtail Possums entered.

I got out of bed, and at least one possum scuttled back out through the window.

The other possum was lying low in the corner, until I closed the window.

Then it jumped up and I felt its little furry body brush past me, on it's way to jump into my bed.


Daughter: Oh! How nice!


Mother: Yes, they're sweet, gentle little things.

When I reopened the window, the possum jumped up, and scrambled out.

Then I remembered why I usually keep my window closed. The possums had visited me over six months ago, and one night I had woken to hear slurping as one daintily ate some of a nectarine.

When I sat up in bed they retreated through the window.

If they were to come inside regularly they could become dependant, or come to grief somehow.


Alpha: Maybe it was a Ringtail Possum that took bites out of the fruit in the kitchen.


Mother: Maybe it came in through the kitchen window.


Daughter: I normally shut the kitchen window at night.


ONE EVENING.

Mother: Before I reached home yesterday evening, when I was still across the road, I could hear the man next door, hard at work, banging away under his roof, and later I could hear a lot of hammering through my wall.


Daughter: Yes, he did a hard day's work on his house both yesterday and today, hammering, drilling, sanding or planing, sawing, banging, and breaking off pieces of wood which he dropped outside from the upstairs window.

He created a lot of dust, which annoyed me, as it billowed out from his upstairs window, and in through my window.


Mother: He was still working at 9pm tonight, carrying wood upstairs.

I wonder if he found time to go to the pub?


Daughter: I saw him going there yesterday afternoon, then he was soon back at work.