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are going to cost a lot this year,” one of the younger old
men jokes loud enough for me to hear. It is growing dark. I
go home. The lady never came.
It has been three days that the lady has not appeared. She
does not come out to the balcony in the morning. I wait till
one in the afternoon – nothing. I go to work. There were
people at her house yesterday. The light is on in the
evenings. I quickly return. My sister has arrived with her
children. We exchange a few rare words. The children take
my box of pens and mess about with my papers. I’m
irritated. My sister washes my blue carpet and keeps
looking at my face, she can’t stop herself. “Step away from
the window, I’ve come to chat with you. Let’s go, you’ll get
the chance to sit at your window again later.” This irritates
me. I say – step out and go home. In order to avoid
offending them too much, I walk them out.
I haven’t been going to work for a week. Because of my
tardiness and absent-mindedness, they asked me to write a
resignation letter. It came out looking like a poem. I hugged
and kissed everyone, it was difficult to leave the building. I
stepped into a shop on the way back, where I had once seen
a pretty dress with a blend of different colors worthy of
Parajanov. I bought it. It has been a week that I’ve sat in
front of the window as I eat, read, going to the bathroom
and returning quickly to sit and wait for my old lady. No
sign of her for a week. Some people occasionally appear at