It was one of those wet, woeful days of autumn, when the rain is frigid and the raging wind is even hoarser than usual, especially in the palid early hours of the day. The jollyness of the approaching winter holidays wasn’t quite near enough yet for the townsfolk to put out their various old-fashioned decorations, all the fruit shaped Christmas tree ornaments and little flickering lights, hanging from one street light to the other. It was during one of these peticularly numb mornings I decided to make my way to my late grandmother’s apartament building for a routine visit since I promised that I’d look after its elderly inhabitans after she passed. The streets in that part of town, at the very outskirts of the city, were still dull and dark, with streams of muddy water slithering through the cracks in the old crumbly sidewalk. Nowadays only elders or financially disabled people lived in this neighbourhood, you could tell by the myriad of second hand shops, pawn-shops, drugstores and low cost kiosks with foreign cigarettes, imported from the neighbouring countries where tobacco is stronger and cheaper, but most importantly by the various posters glued on the back wall of every other building with offers for ‘interested buyers’ who were looking to either buy or rent a flat in the area. Truth was, no one wanted to move there, no such ‘buyers’ existed, it was only a reminiscent of the desire everyone living there shared: to leave, to move and die away from the poverty that encompassed them in life. It was only a dream of course, a bad coping mechanism if you will, deep down they knew they won’t ever escape their condition, especially the older residents.
My grandma lived in one of those concrete-paneled communist apartment blocks which populated most of our cities since the 60s and 70s. Hers was uncommonly tall, having seven stores instead or the usual three or five, and the outside façade was of a pale orange plaster, fissured to the full extent of the word, the bricks behind peeking through. As I stumbled to the entrance, the owner of the pawn-shop on the invecinated flat’s ground floor saluted me, but I didn’t want him to see me there so I just swiftly turned and nodded before entering the staircase. Most of the stairs were missing pieces and you could see the metal frame inside of them. The entirety of the hallway was humid, rancid almost, you could smell that whatever people it still held were left there to rot away with the building, like a purposely forgotten memory.
The lady I was visiting knew my grandma well and she welcomed me with opened arms in her small loft on the top floor, which reeked of superannuated parfume and nicotine from the cigars she swore she stopped smoking after her husband died of lung cancer. The last few years took a turn on her well-being, of the body as well as the mind, so her frantic behaviour didn’t startle me too much, but this time she was different. She was wearing all her jewellery, every necklace, ring or bracelet she ever owned all at once, with a rather fancy, expensive looking pearl necklet topping off the others, which was strange, even for her. We talked a little about what’s been going on with me, about my grand plans of having my boyfriend propose the following day at the Opera and other personal things that I usually shared during my visits. I knew these people could keep my secrets better than anyone else, not because they wanted to, but because they had no one to tell. But then, her smile faded as she got up from her chair and put a teapot on her burning gas powered stove.
“You know dear, I much appreciate your company, your grandmama would be so proud… I love hearing you talk your youthful talks, but… I wanted to tell you about something more serious…yes, serious, that’s the word for it…” she stuttered while her gnarled hand started shaking on the hot teapot. She looked like a toddler freshly awoken from a childish nightmare waiting to tell the parents about whatever terror envisioned while asleep, so I stood up and took the kettle out of her hand, assuring her that my tea is almost as masterful as my grandma’s and she should just sit down and tell me what unsettled her so deeply.
“Well, I know you will probably think it’s just paranoia, it’s pretty common for us old folks, isn’t it? But I swear I’m not making it up, it’s all real and true and dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” I queried. “Are you in danger? If so let’s call for help now, let’s call the police or your family or the social workers or-“
“No! Don’t call, please!” she interrupted me almost violently, although I could hear the fright in her voice. “He’ll know if you call, he’ll get upset and come to me next if they come”
“He? Who’s he, why would he come?”
“A theif, a vicious theif! I can hear him, I can feel him walking up and down the stairs, sometimes his foot slips and the metal inside them clinks….sometimes he waits in the hallway for the staircase to be free of other people so he can run fast through it, like a spirit, or a ghost…”
“A theif? What kind of theif? What does he steal? Is it money?”
“Not only money, he sweeps the last of their possesions, even cheap household items or old radios and televisions but he’s especially fond of jewellery, that’s why I’m keeping mine close. And then….he steals their life”
“Their life? Do you think your neighbours are being purposely killed? We should call the police right now then.”
“No, he doesn’t murder them, but soon after the robbery they get sick out of nowhere or have a heart attack and if that doesn’t kill them the hospital bills will drain them of every penny they have left and eventually they’d die even poorer than they were in life. He sells their stuff at the pawn-shop and takes the little money they offer for it.”
“Hmmm…”
I wanted to believe her but I didn’t know how to act in front of the seemingly insane things she was saying. She didn’t want to call the police which was bizarre, so I didn’t insist on calling them anymore either. I poured the hot water in the big red ceramic mugs and added two small bags of tea, an exotic, expensive kind, very hard to come by. I brought it there myself as a treat of some sort. I added milk and a pinch of sugar, brown sugar that I brought myself also since her late husband was diabetic and there wasn’t any sugar in the house. I then offered my host the cup and a small metal spoon, a little rusty at the edges but still shiny and silvery.
“How do you know he’s pawning the stolen objects? Doesn’t anyone notice?”
“No, for little money the seller as well as the clients can turn a blind eye to almost anything, nobody cares enough. My children and grandchildren are all away in wealthier countries, they visit me half the times you do, I’d probably take days before they even recive notice that I’m gone.”
She chuckled. The thought of her estranged family sparked a memory of better times hidden in back of her mind. She knows they made a life, a rather good one, without her. They didn’t need her now. She wasn’t so afraid anymore, which was good since I hated to see the alert eyes and shivering hands. I encouraged her to drink her tea quicker because it was getting cold and she immediately obliged. She liked having someone to take care of her.
“Why do you think he goes after people who call for help?”
“I don’t think, I know he does. He doesn’t like the extra attention, he prefers to creep in and out of the building without being noticed. And he knows who the one calling is, always. From up here I can hear him place the phone back and rummage around the apartment to collect his prizes. Didn’t you hear him too? One theft occured just a little after your last visit.”
“I see…” I tried saying that in a somber tone, but I just couldn’t hold my smile for a moment longer. “I can’t help but ask though, how do you know it’s a he?”
She looked me in pure confusion for a moment, then she looked down at my cup, at my hands, and there she noticed a stunning emerald ring. She knew it well because it used to belong to her downstairs neighbour. And as her mind enlightened and the sudden realisation hit her harder than anything before, her body numbed and her sight got heavly blurred. She really did finish the entire cup of my very special tea.
I must say, my fiancée loved my new pearl necklace the following day at the Opera, so “classy” and “antiquated” as he called it, they don’t even sell this model anymore. But I had to make an early departure because I received a sudden call from the hospital. Apparently one of my elderly friends was in critical condition and they don’t know what sudden misfortune befell her. To everyone’s but my surprise, the thief stroke again.