“It’s late,” said the old man’s wife.
“Every night is late, at 11:00 pm, midnight, 3:00 am, and 4:30 am,” the old man said.
At nights now, the street outside his window was noisy, so he’d read until he got tired, wait for it to calm down, and when he felt that moment, he’d lie on the bed, he’d feel the difference. , falling into sleep. The neighbors, the new neighbors, the owner of the store selling beer – without a license to do so – strangers, all sitting in the little corner store, outside on chairs by the tables, leaning against the cars, drinking beer, singing songs , making noise, at all hours. the night. But he was woken, always woken up, by drunks, car horns, and loud music from car radios. They would wake him up numerous times throughout the night, in addition to having to relieve himself; and then there was the chubby lady with five dogs next to her, she had to take them out three times a night and they would run across the park across the street to her garden.
“Last week the old man tried to commit suicide,” said one of the two drunks sitting on the edge of the curb across the street from the old man’s house.
“Why?” asked his partner.
“I could not sleep”.
“Why not?”
“Without reason.”
“How do you know there wasn’t a reason? How do you know he even tried?”
The two drunks sat on the curb, on the curb, drinking two bottles of beer, looking across the street at the old man’s house, at the second-story window, where he slept. There were two other drunks sleeping under a tree in the park, near the corner, by the bike shop, the lady next to the old man’s house, took her five dogs out of her apartment to do her duty, to do your needs. And they went directly to the old man’s garden, where the dim light from the arch illuminated them.
“His wife takes care of him,” said one of the drunks.
“What does it matter, if you complain about all the noise on this block, you can go back to America,” said the second drunk.
“We better move before he looks out his window, thinking we’re burglars, and shoots us with his revolver.”
The old man is now looking through a hole he made in his curtains.
“Passing dear?” asked his wife.
“These drunks again, from the store.”
“You’ll be tired in the morning if you stay up all night.”
“I can never sleep until you wake up anyway, it seems nowadays.”
The old man moved his fingers in the shape of a pistol, to the drunks, they didn’t see him, “a little more and I’ll go back to bed,” he told his wife.
“What are you doing now?” asked his wife.
“More drunks and the crazy lady next door is letting her dogs use our garden as a bathroom again.”
“Come to bed, please.”
“They think I wanted to commit suicide, Angel, the day the security guard told me, what nonsense, can you believe that? I wanted to kill them, not me!”
“How will they know?”
“The lady with the dogs, she gossips, she makes things up, I suppose to get attention.”
“Oh…ool,” his wife said, her voice fading.
“No fear for his soul, no respect, no blood on his face.”
“I’m tired dear, come to bed, you get upset over nothing.”
“They say I have a lot of money, and they wish I would go back to the United States, and they think I stay up all night for no reason.”
“I guess so, but they don’t have wives, you do.”
A wife would not be good for drunkards.
“You can’t tell them that.”
“I know. I’m happy to be old. An old man is a rare thing.”
“Not always, he can be a nasty thing too.”
“I wish everything would be calm again.”
The old man looked at the park and the church across the street from his window, he had drawn the curtains, then he looked to the left, towards the store, where there were four drunks, all drinking beer, leaning against the cars.
“When are they going to finish?” remarked the old man, waiting for his wife to say something, to answer him, and looked towards the bed, she had gone back to sleep. Then he looked at the clock, it was 3:00 am he would go to bed in another hour, and be quiet for a moment, and be exhausted and fall asleep, he knew, “I guess.” he said in a whisper, as if he was speaking to his second self, “It’s all about getting old.”
4-17-2009 / dedicated to my neighbors in San Juan Miraflores, Lima Peru
Spanish version
Feel a Quiet Moment
“It’s late,” said the old man’s wife.
“Every night is late, at 11:00 am at night, at midnight, at 3:00 in the morning and at 4:30 in the morning,” said the old man.
Outside his window, now at night, the street was noisy and that’s why he would read until he was tired, hoping that it would become calm and when he felt that memory, he would throw himself on the bed; he felt the difference and then fell asleep. The neighbors, the new neighbors, the owner of the store selling beer-without a license-to strangers, all sitting outside on chairs by the tables in the little corner of the store, leaning on the cars, drinking beer, singing songs, making noise. , all hours of the night. That’s why he would wake up, he would always wake up, because of the drunks, the car horns, the loud music from the car radios. He would wake up hanging many times at night, for these reasons, apart from having to go to the bathroom; and then there was a little fat lady from the house next door with five dogs, she would have to take them outside her house three times at night and they would run to her garden, which was across the street in the park.
“Last week the old man tried to commit suicide,” said one of the two drunks sitting on the edge of the curb that was across the street in front of the old man’s house.
“Why?” asked his partner.
“He couldn’t sleep”
“Why not?”
“There is no reason”
“How do you know there’s no reason?” “How do you know he ever tried?”
The two drunks sat on the edge of the sidewalk, on top of the curb, drank two bottles of beer, looking at the old man’s house across the street, looking at the second-story window, where he slept. There were two other drunks sleeping under a tree in the park, near the corner, by the bike shop; The lady of the house next to the old man took the five dogs out of her to relieve herself, and they went directly to the old man’s garden, where the arch lights were dim.
“His wife takes care of him,” said one of the drunks.
“What does it matter if he complains about all that noise on his block, he can go back to America” said the other drunk.
“We better go before he looks out his window and shoots us with his revolver, thinking we are thieves.”
The old man was now looking through the hole he had made in his curtains.
“What is this dear?” asked his wife.
“These drunks again, the ones from the store.”
“You’ll be tired tomorrow if you’re up all night.”
“I never get to sleep until you’re up anyway, it seems so these days.”
The old man waved his pistol-shaped fingers at the drunks, they didn’t see him, “a little more and I’ll go back to bed” he told his wife.
“What are you doing now?” asked his wife.
“More drunks and the lady, that crazy one from the house next door, is letting her dogs use our garden as if it were her bathroom again.”
“Come to bed, please.”
“They think I wanted to commit suicide, Angel, the day watchman told me, what fools, can you believe it? I want to kill them, not me!”
“How would they know?”
“The lady with the dogs, she gossips, invents things, to attract attention I imagine.”
“Ah…ah…” his wife said in a muffled voice.
“They have no fear for their souls, no respect, no blood on their faces.”
“I’m tired dear, come to bed, you worry a lot about nothing.”
“They say I have a lot of money and they want me to go back to America, and they think I’m up all night for no reason.”
“I guess so, but they don’t have wives, you do.”
“A wife would not be good for a drunk.”
“You can’t say that to them”
“I know. I’m happy to be an old man. An old man is a rare thing.”
“Not always, it can be an ugly thing too.”
“I wish it was quiet again.”
The old man looked from his window at the park and the church in front of his house, he had drawn the curtains, then he looked to the left, down towards the store where the four drunks were, all drinking beer, leaning on the cars.
“When are they going to finish?” stressed the old man, waiting for his wife to say something, respond to him and then looked at the bed, she had fallen asleep. He then looked at the clock, it was 3:00 in the morning. He’d be in bed in an hour, outside he’d be quiet for a memory and he’d be so exhausted he’d fall asleep, he knew this, “I guess…” he said in a whisper, as if talking to himself , “…which is all about getting old.”
April 17, 2009 / dedicated to putting neighbors in San Juan Miraflores, Lima Peru
