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.