Mrs Z

Mrs. Z’s door. They’re banging on it. They’re banging on Mrs. Z’s door. Why are they banging on Mrs. Z’s door? It’s not even seven yet, most people haven’t even left for work yet. Is that why they’re banging on Mrs. Z’s door so early? Who are they? There are three of them. Men. Three men, dressed in dark winter coats. Blue or black? I can’t tell, the hallway isn’t bright enough. Who are they? Three of them, like an unholy trinity. Their faces hidden in the shadows cast from their matching hats. And they keep banging on her door. Oh, why doesn’t she answer? The banging must stop, or I will go crazy, surely. They keep hitting the forever-remaining-closed door with their closed fists and their closed faces seem to stare at nothing in particular. Why Mrs Z? What has she done? She hasn’t done anything, she’s just a little old lady living alone. Living the life of a lonely little old lady. But they’re at her door, and it can’t be a mistake, because men like that don’t make mistakes.

So what is it? Am I the only witness to this scene? By now, the people who were sleeping must be up, because the banging must be echoing throughout the building, surely. I’m behind my door, in the safety and warmth of my apartment, looking at the three men through the peephole. They seem tall and twisted and Mrs. Z’s door is bigger than life. Why are they here? Why today? Why so early? Mrs. Z doesn’t work, surely they know that, so why not come later when there are less people? Who are they?

All I did was call.

And the banging continues, on and on, without a stop or an end or a break or a pause. Bang bang go their fists. Why don’t they talk? Usually, people like them say things like “open up!” or “we know you’re in there!” but not them, they stay silent, their mouths stay closed. And Mrs. Z? People in her situation usually say: “just a minute!” or “be right there!” or “I need to get dressed!” But not her, she is silent. Is she even home? If she is, how can she not go mad from the banging? It’s so loud! Won’t they ever stop?

Sometimes, Mrs. Z, she has guests. Strange guests. Guests that run into her apartment after looking left and right, as if afraid they were being followed.

And sometimes those guests are loud in their silences. They try to go unnoticed, but the shuffling and the door scratching at three in the morning wakes me up. Because I can’t sleep too well. Never could.

So, after a while, I just made the call because I thought that maybe Mrs. Z was in trouble, you understand.

And now here they are banging on her door and she doesn’t answer and they are louder than the silent guests.

Bang bang bang.

All I wanted to do was help, really. The noise wasn’t that bad, I couldn’t sleep anyway, but I was worried for poor Mrs. Z. Poor woman, living all alone in that big apartment of hers, looking out over the river and the forest and the blue sky, when the sky is blue. It’s not blue often, but sometimes it is, and it looks nice. And blue.

It’s been ten minutes now, they keep banging on her door; they will never stop – they are hypnotized by their banging and they’ve lost all concept of time. They must have.

Here’s the super of the building, running up to them, out of breath. Is he scared or did he run? He never runs. So he must be scared. Unless he’s out of breath because he’s not used to running. Probably a bit of both. Yes.

One of the men takes out his wallet from a side pocket, opens it and shows it to the super. Maybe it’s not a wallet, maybe it’s an ID. The super seems more scared and he whips out a keychain from his own pocket and opens Mrs. Z’s door. The banging has stopped.

Thank You Lord. If You exist, that is. They say you don’t, but I don’t know. In any case, thank You Whoever.

I stayed behind my door, in case I could be of any more assistance. They carried Mrs. Z’s body out of her bright apartment, the rope that killed her still around her neck. I think maybe it was an accident. The men left and the super left and I’m still looking at Mrs. Z’s  door, closed and silent.

And I wonder if I’ll be able to move in her bright apartment. From there, I would be able see the whole city and I wouldn’t have to hide behind a door anymore, I could stay behind the window, looking at the sky, when it is blue. And even when the sky isn’t blue. And I’ll make sure everything is going all right.

Just to do my part. Just to help. 

You understand, don't you?