So I went out quietly at lunchtime, around 1.30 pm, patting with my hands my chest, sides and legs for keys, cards and money. I had the letter between my lips meanwhile. She was not there then.
I went out of the back door, through the garden, and then down the alleyway between the houses and so I would have seen her. Front doors are for coffins. That is what the older people say around here. All of the houses are terraced and have an alleyway to the back. The front door leads you straight into the first living room. So mostly you go out through the back. I blipped open the car to get my glasses. I don’t need to wear them but I believe I look better in them. They are by Vogue. I posted the car keys back through the front door because there was no point taking them. I had to pull my hand away quickly because of the snap of the gold-metal-coloured letter box spring. It is new. I enjoyed the newness. With the letter now in my hands I smoothed with my thumb, the curling new stamp and I was off, walking quite quickly and aware of my posture as I always am now when I begin a journey on foot. People say to me that, for a young man, I stoop.
I was back by half past four, so its possible she was there for a maximum of three hours before I discovered her. That’s the worst case scenario in terms of time. When I came back I walked in through the front door this time and so I did not discover her straight away. I estimate that I spent around ten minutes with;
- taking my boots off; and
- some on-the-spur tidying; and
- making coffee; and
- washing my hands and getting them super-dry so that I could roll easily a cigarette; and
- stopping to hold the letter in my left hand whilst flicking it with the fingers of my right - because I was considering whether to go back out and post it.
So, three hours ten minutes max. Or maybe three hours and fifteen at the absolute worst.
It was because of the cigarette that I found her. I always smoke outside now. Or in the door way at least, if it is raining. It’s a new rule. Partly it is health related. It’s a hassle having to go to the back door and so, if for example you are watching the TV or glazing your face at the PC, then you are less likely to want to go. So you smoke less. The other part is about discipline. Small disciplinary victories which demonstrate my self control. That’s been going on for about a month now.
And so with a coffee in one hand I leaned to light the cigarette with the other and when I looked up through the smoke I saw her. She was draped over her washing line, amongst the clothes, with her arms hooked over. It was holding her up but the line was bowed with the weight of her and the washing. She was looking with blank eyes at the path. I followed her eyes down to the line pole that was lying at her feet.
It seemed to me that she was gently swaying in the breeze. But the breeze was gentle and the physics would not have allowed for the sway of her in these conditions. So she must have been making the movement herself. The washing looked dry.
Of course I knew her. I knew that she had finished her job through ill health. But that was a physical thing – nothing like this. She gets a pension from her last job and because she is incapable of all work that could be expected of her, she gets an Incapacity Pension from the state also. She is 56. She likes to garden. She had son who died from kidney failure. She is from Russia originally and she came here after the Second World War. That was what I knew.
I have to admit that my first thought was that I was going to have to put this cigarette out.
“Mrs Kuprin?” I called but she didn’t answer and so I went up to the fence and stood immediately opposite to her. I called her again and this time I added “What is wrong Mrs Kuprin?”
James Bullion - first published in Spiked Magazine.
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