Jane raises her eyes and studies the spot I pointed at perplexed, still pondering and tapping her finger on her lips.
“Ernest is out of the question, he would never agree to set foot in here until the last speck of dust is gone, and from what I see, it’ll be eons before you manage that. Sam is still wandering the world and only God knows when he’ll be back. And Margherita’s health is poor, she can’t put up with physical effort. The only one left is Jared: we’ll ask him if he’d be so nice as to help you finish cleaning up,” she determinedly concludes, looking me straight in the eye.
“Jared?” I ask in amazement. “Who’s Jared?”
“The second floor tenant, my dear. He’s a vigorous young man, I’m sure he won’t object to giving you a hand this afternoon.” Little does she know… I’m afraid he’ll have plenty of objections to endorsing my noisy refurbishing.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” I let slip without realizing it. I never change. Think before you speak, when will I remember?
“What do you mean, Gillian?” Jane’s probing tone tells me she won’t let what she just heard go. She’s more of a hound than an old lady.
“Oh, nothing, Jane. I was just thinking that probably this Jared person will have a lot to do… I mean, if you don’t see him around much, he probably has a lot to do, right?” I try to save myself. Luckily Jane seems to consider this possibility.
“You may be right, dear, but I don’t see why we shouldn’t ask him.” Because we already know the answer. Jared is more of a serial saboteur than a savior of damsels in distress, though Jane doesn’t see it.
“Because I don’t have much time and it would take me more to explain what he has to do than to do it on my own. Really, Jane, there’s no need to disturb anyone.” She shrugs imperceptibly and a sigh slips out of her pursed lips.
“Ok, have it your way. But let me know as soon as you’ve got rid of the dust: Ernest and I will come give you a hand and keep you company,” she warns me with her usual kindly expression. If only she knew I have no way of getting rid of the damn dust any time soon.
“I will, Jane, I promise,” I reassure her before she has a chance to change her mind. One problem at a time, that’s how it’s done, right?
“Well, then I’ll leave you to your work, but don’t tire yourself out too much, ok? I promised your father I’d keep an eye on you, and that’s what I intend to do,” she concludes before she leaves the room, rather too exuberantly for her age.
I pause to study the layout of the sockets in case I find a way of fixing the vacuum cleaner. I won’t be able to avoid sanding down the walls by hand, but breathing air rather than dust would be a big improvement. Besides, I need to take a break every now and then without wasting time, otherwise my arms will fall off. So, there’s one here, close to the bathroom door and far from the entrance that might just work for me: it’s hard to reach it without crossing the entire room, it would be impossible for me not to notice it.
I take the bag with the change of clothes I brought from Grandma Natalie’s house this morning and I quickly put them on in the bathroom. Luckily the kerchief did its job protecting my hair, so I wash my hands and face and am ready to go. I can’t be late on my first day at work.
Stepping into ‘Same as it Never Was Antiques’ once again brings an existential question to mind: what made me do this? How could I, even for a second, consider this a suitable job for a human being without superpowers? Of course, I find no answer, but I’ve done plenty of reckless things in my life, like when I destroyed my only bicycle hoping to obtain the materials necessary to build one of those one-seater space ships… what a foolish idea, going to the moon, right? If they had told me that when I was six, now I would probably know how to ride a bike.
“Is anybody there? Ernest, are you here?” I had best figure out from where to begin. The grating of the old chair lets me know there is life in here, and in fact here he comes, Ernest, always impeccable in his cream colored sweater and brown corduroy pants, out of his lair… ahem, I mean the back room.
“Gillian, welcome back. So, Jane told me you’ve begun working on the shop, how is it going?” he inquires with his impeccable manners.
“Oh… well, I’d say.”
“You hesitate, is something wrong?” Ernest is a shrewd man, or maybe I couldn’t hide anything even if I wanted to.
“Nothing serious, I just had a small misunderstanding with the unpleasant second floor tenant that cost me a vacuum cleaner, that’s all,” I try to play it down, leaving out the part where I need a way to get around this hitch, otherwise I’ll suffocate before I’m finished. “And to think that usually people like me, but that ill-tempered man was impossible. I don’t mean to judge without knowing him, but the first impression wasn’t very encouraging.”
I dare say the tragedy is fairly self-evident, so why is Ernest chuckling? Am I the only one who can’t see the funny side of the affair?
“Oh, Gil, a man once said that only superficial people don’t judge based on appearances. He maintained that the true mystery of the world lies in the visible, not in the invisible, and believe me, most of the time I agree with that man, but not in Jared’s case. There is no doubt he is not what you would call easy going, but he’s not a bad person. You’ll see that things will settle down soon, don’t you fear. It is important for you not to cave at the first sign of difficulty. As for the vacuum cleaner, in most cases the problem is the filter. If you find one that fits, you can take it. Begin with that today,” he orders, pointing vaguely at a spot in a corner of the shop. I have no idea how to even get there without stepping on something.
“But where should I put things?” I ask in alarm. ‘Cause if the aim is to tidy up, there should be a place where I can put things, but here there is only chaos.
“Be creative, Gil,” he dismisses me, disappearing whence he came five minutes ago.
Good. His suggestion isn’t very helpful, but if he wants me to take the initiative, I’m happy to oblige. First of all, I will have to clear an area, so I look around and try to make a mental inventory of the enormous amount of stuff piled haphazardly all over the place. Then I will have to figure out where to put it, and only then will I be able to begin working seriously. I walk around the counter and grab the block of post-its Ernest hides back there. The sooner I begin, the sooner I will be able to see the light.
After nearly an hour and a half, I have miraculously managed to clear an area behind the main door of the shop. The variety and amount of stuff you can pile into such an apparently small corner is amazing. So I’ve only had half an hour to tidy up. The good news is that in the spot vaguely indicated by Ernest I did find a couple of filters that might work – I’ll know for sure when I try them – the bad news is that I haven’t tidied up much and time is going too fast for my taste. I’ll have to make up for it tomorrow, I want Ernest to be satisfied with my work.
“I’m going back to my shop, Ernest,” I call from the counter. I don’t dare to venture into the backroom, I’m not sure I’d be able to find my way out.
“Go ahead, Gillian, I’ll see you the same time tomorrow,” he calls back without making an appearance. I hope Jane doesn’t force him to come help me to the detriment of his health. I suspect she would be capable of it, but Ernest is so nice he really doesn’t deserve it.
I leave the shop with the precious filters in my purse and I quickly reach the bus stop. The air is biting and fairly humid, but at least it isn’t raining, though the sky is grey. Luckily the streets aren’t very crowded, so I manage to reach my destination swiftly. I step back into the shop, don my work clothes again, and try to ignore my fatigue. I hadn’t expected to get so tired on the first day, but as I consider the facts, I see that I probably should have expected it. I kneel near the vacuum cleaner and begin to fiddle around to disassemble it. I’ve seen father do it a few times, it shouldn’t be difficult, it just takes a bit of strength. And in fact, there it goes, the top comes off, showering me in dust. I cough, waving a hand in front of my f
ace to try to make some of it disperse and, as soon as I recover, I change the filter with the first of the two I brought back from Ernest’s shop. The first attempt is unsuccessful, it seems it doesn’t fit, I can’t screw it on – better try the second. I cross my fingers and… drum roll… the second one is a perfect fit, like the glass slipper on Cinderella’s foot. Luckily. I sigh in relief and smile with satisfaction.
Now I’d best get to work, so I slip on my mask and my kerchief, and I attach the vacuum cleaner to the extension cord, which this time I plug into the socket near the bathroom. There’s dust everywhere, it makes no difference from where I begin sucking it up. I can’t wait to be done with this part of the job, I don’t like dust. Painting the walls is going to be much more restful.
“Come on, Gil, you can do it,” I whisper to myself as I flip the switch turning on the vacuum cleaner.
It takes me about an hour to get rid of most of the dust, but I can still hear the whirring in my head once I’ve turned it off and climbed back up the ladder to resume sanding the wall. I’m going to have to get a pair of protective earmuffs to block the sound out.
I’ve barely had the chance to press the sandpaper against the wall, when a shadow enters my line of vision. I know perfectly well who it is, as I know exactly what he intends to do. Without thinking, I turn and try to rush down the ladder, but in my haste I miscalculate the distance between the rungs and I trip. It’s a moment, a very brief moment that seems to go by in slow motion, so slow that it becomes an eternity. My foot is stuck between two rungs and I fall, pulling the ladder after me.
A scream of pure terror escapes my lips as I close my eyes in a fit of panic. I can already see a pair of displaced fractures in different parts of my body, which I absolutely can’t afford.
I’m about to surrender to the impact that is bound to come, when an arm wraps itself around my waist breaking my fall, followed by a thud a few inches from me and the dragging sound of the feet of the ladder against the floor. When I open my eyes again, I find myself sprawled across Jared, who is sitting on the ground and holding me with one arm. The other arm is stretched out, holding up the ladder by one of the upper rungs to prevent it from falling on top of me. The palm of his hand is bleeding.
“Are you crazy?” he suddenly attacks me, his eyes wide, his pupils so dilated that the green irises are almost hidden, while his breathing struggles to return to normal. Mine is in sync with his, and I imagine I am wearing the same terrified expression.
“You could have hurt yourself seriously!” he exclaims, shaking me a little with his good hand, while he tries to use the other to move the ladder away from above my head and set it on the floor beside us. That’s enough to make me recover a bit.
“Sorry…” is all I can say. He’s right. If he hadn’t been there, the ladder would probably have fallen on top of me and now I would have more than a few bruises. I shift my gaze to the other arm, the one that isn’t holding me. Bright red blood stands out on one side of his hand flowing from a series of cuts I hope aren’t too deep. He must have scratched himself on one of the steel hinges locking the two parts of the ladder.
“You’re hurt,” I point out, standing hurriedly to retrieve a towel from my bag. I return as fast as I can and wrap it around his hand.
“It’s just a scratch,” he says quickly, suddenly at a loss. He even tries to pull his arm away, but I don’t let him. He hurt himself because of me and the least I can do now is to make sure the wound is properly cared for.
“I’m sorry, I don’t have a first aid kit here. Do you have some disinfectant at home?” I ask him, looking him straight in the eye. I want him to understand I have no intention of letting this go, so it’s perfectly useless for him to lie to get rid of me. He returns my firm gaze for a moment, but the next minute he seems torn, looks down, and sighs.
“Yes,” he grudgingly admits in the end.
“Good, can you stand up?”
“It’s not like I hurt my leg! I’m fine, it’s just a scratch,” he points out, mildly irritated, getting up by himself. I’m still holding his wounded hand with the towel.
“Your first statement is totally true, but the second not at all. It could get infected. We need to clean and bandage it.” Before he can object, I slip my kerchief off, let it fall to the ground, and force Jared, who may well be unpleasant but saved me from a not so glorious demise, to follow me out of the shop and up the stairs. He huffs, but at least he doesn’t make me drag him. Once we are in front of his apartment, I let him pass ahead of me and open the door.
The apartment is in total darkness, the curtains are drawn, and only a faint sliver of light filters in around their edges. Jared turns on the light revealing a small living room full of boxes piled along the walls or against the furniture, and a fair sized kitchen, which instead is very tidy, as if it has never been used, except for a corner where there are a pair of closed bags of trash and an open one with a pizza box and a flattened can sticking out. A sofa covered with a crumpled sheet is the only piece of furniture in the entire room that betrays the fact that someone lives here, along with the turned on laptop computer on the low table in front of it, nearly buried in a pile of crumpled and disorderly pieces of paper. Hanging from the back of the sofa there are a pillow and a fleece blanket. For a moment I am dumbfounded by the state of this apartment and he takes advantage of this to break free from my grip and reach the only door into the living room, aside from the one through which we entered, with long strides. A few seconds later he returns holding a bottle of disinfectant, some gauze, a packet of bandages, and a roll of tape.
“You live here?” I can’t help but ask in a tone I realize is more flabbergasted than it should be. He sits on the couch, sets everything on the table except for the packet of bandages and, without looking at me, opens it with his teeth and pulls one out. I hurriedly take a seat, uninvited – a thing I notice because of his irritation when he sees I’ve sat next to him – and take the gauze, soak it in disinfectant, and begin swabbing the wound delicately.
“It doesn’t seem too serious, it should heal quickly,” I try to make small talk. He stares at me questioningly but lets me continue with my medication. “How come you moved here?” I ask out of curiosity.
“It’s none of your business,” he retorts. I suppose I should have expected as much. I shouldn’t forget the fact that he dislikes me; after all he had only come down to unplug my vacuum, not to say hi. But there’s something about him that arouses my curiosity. Ernest says he’s a good person and I’m sure Jane thinks the same, so he can’t really be so ill-tempered. There’s a reason why he dislikes me and I don’t know why, but I’m dying to find out what it is.
“Ok, it’s none of my business, you’re right,” I concede, taking another bandage from the packet and placing it on the wound. “Why did you come downstairs?” This is definitely my business, right? He opens his eyes wide in amazement – it seems like he wasn’t expecting this question.
“I expressly told you not to make racket with that contraption,” he reminds me flippantly.
“I know, but you can’t prevent me from fixing up the shop and it’s not like you left me much choice,” I point out, glaring at him steadily. He returns my gaze in a way that captivates me for a moment, then he sighs and passes his free hand through his dark hair.
“I’m willing to meet you halfway,” I remind him, fastening the bandage with the tape, “but you have to let me.”
“What do you mean?” his expression is suddenly one of interest.
“I mean that if noise in the morning bothers you, I will avoid doing noisy work in the morning, but you have to relinquish the afternoon. If it’s the other way around, so be it. There has to be a time when it doesn’t bother you.”
“And what if that’s not the case?” he asks in a challenging tone. I was hoping for more cooperation.
“What is the matter? I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve so much venom. You don’t even know my name, we don’t know
each other, what is your problem?” I ask, highly annoyed. There’s a limit to everything.
He is silent for what seems an eternity, so much that I feel my patience slipping through my fingers, and I am about to stand and go when his good hand grips my wrist.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be unpleasant. My question was serious: there may well not be a moment in which the noise doesn’t bother me, or rather, it might not always be the same,” he tries to explain, once again ill at ease. Well, he’s cryptic, but I appreciate the effort.
“Could you be clearer?”
“I’d rather not. You said so yourself: I don’t even know your name, we don’t know each other,” he reminds me with a fleeting smile that appears on his face like a mirage. The effect is startling. Basically, he took a small step towards me, and then took three steps back. I suspect it will be fairly difficult to reach an agreement with him, but I don’t abandon all hope.
“Ok, so what do you suggest?”
“I have no idea,” he says, amused. Really a big effort on his part!
“It means you’ll have to make the best of my idea,” I conclude, holding out my hand. “Nice to meet you, my name is Gillian, but my friends call me Gil.” His green eyes suddenly open wide and he blinks frantically two or three times. His hand mechanically lifts to meet mine and I squeeze it firmly. We’ll have to manage somehow, right?
He looks down at the clenched hands sealing our acquaintance, then he looks back at me.
“Jared,” he almost has a hard time saying. I don’t think he’ll recover easily… or possibly he’s still in shock from our recent accident?
3
Luckily this morning the pain has subsided a little, one of the miraculous effects of a good night’s sleep. When I got back to Grandma Natalie’s last night, saying I was shattered doesn’t even begin to describe it. Even she was shocked by my appearance when she saw me come in. How could I blame her? I was completely covered in dust, I was walking all hunched over, and my eyes were closing in exhaustion. I allowed myself a nice restorative shower and ate one of the splendid dinners that only Grandma Natalie knows how to make. I swear I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been so tired I didn’t even know what I was putting in my mouth. I’m sure it was delicious, though.
What a Girl Wants Page 4