Saturday

 

My window looks out over the courtyard.  I leave the curtains open and enjoy the afternoon breeze as well as the voices rising up from the tables below.  They remind me that I never learned Italian.  Aromas from cooking dance through occasionally, giving even my place a homey feel.  

My electric typewriter hums quietly on the table, with a stack of unblemished paper next to it.  I have nothing to say today.  No stories to tell or correspondence to get out.  I have been having too many of these days.  Am I a writer or not?  I scoot my chair back a little and my dog lifts her head and wags her tail, thinking we might be going someplace.

A loud shot rings out from the courtyard.  Bessy jumps to her feet and lets out a single bark.  I want to walk to the window and look out, but my nerves are telling me to stay put.  Suddenly the hum from the typewriter seems much louder.  Immediately I noticed the scent of gunpowder has replaced that hint of garlic.

My mind races to my neighbor’s faces.  They don’t know me, they’ve only seen me now and then.  Many, I’m sure, don’t like me.  They never know what I’m saying or what I’m thinking.  I’m different from them, I’m the stranger.  But hey!  What have I got to feel guilty about?  I haven’t even left my room.  I shouldn’t need an alibi. 

I hear the voices in the courtyard again.  One of them is laughing.  Come to think of it, there was never any scream.  Maybe no one was shot.  Maybe it was just a gun going off and nothing more.  I cautiously walked to the window and looked out.  The usual umbrella tops were all I could see.  Cigarette smoke rising up from under one, but no bodies, no police tape.  I must be watching too many cop shows.

Bessy barks as she heads to my door.  Someone knocks and Bessy barks again.  I reach down and take hold of her collar.  “Let’s see what they want.”  As I reach to open the door, Bessy starts this deep growl, and I can feel her stiffen up.  Whoever it is, she’s already decided she doesn’t like them.  Now I’m thinking that maybe I should leave it closed and just talk through the wood.

 

“Can I help you?”

 

No response but another knock.

 

“Who is it?  What do you want?”

Again, no response, but then I hear them turn and walk back down the hall.  I let go of Bessy’s collar.  “They’re gone now.”  But my dog seems to still be on high alert.  She isn’t moving away from the door and is still growling.  Maybe they just pretended to walk away, hoping I’ll open the door.

 

to be continued