Trafika Europe 4 - Armenian Rhapsody

ochre-coloured, four-storey houses had been built in the nineteen thirties and, in summer, wild ivy crept across the windows. Roses bloomed in the front yard where children were not allowed to play. Instead we were allowed to do whatever we wanted in the backyard, which was pockmarked with gravel and mangy blotches of grass. The doors of our building were made of solid heavy wood and the wide stairs creaked when our neighbours climbed up to their respective flats. Max taught me later to identify every individual’s steps, for example those of Mrs Blum from the third floor, whose court shoes barely touched the steps, so different from those of Mr Schwarz who slowly and heavily dragged himself up to the second floor. The easiest ones to recognise were the piano students who always dashed up to the flat directly above ours. They were late every day and tried to gain a few more seconds in the stairwell, loudly clattering up to the first floor. Shortly afterwards, when they’d shed their jackets and opened their music books, their playing began to sound over our heads. The five of us lived on the ground floor sharing a ninety- square-metre, four-bedroom apartment. Sometimes there were six of us if a guest stayed on, which could mean for months because we were very tolerant. The guests usually slept in the box room, which really didn’t really count as a room as it had just enough space for a narrow bunk and a bedside table. It could also happen that the guest had invited another guest who then also remained, without any vote being taken on the matter, for days or even weeks.

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