The House of the Palms

2
When I came to the fifth floor, to the last steps of the spinning narrow stairs, the heavy paper bag broke. Afraid that it could happen, I had already held it with my both hands. All the time while I was walking, it drizzled and I didn’t want to open my umbrella. Besides, it was more practical to carry the heavy bag first in one hand, and then in the other. I was already wet, and the filled bag was softer and softer, so I continued to carry it with my both hands.
And now the bottom broke! A brief bang! Followed by rolling, the bread rolls down the stairs, eggs fall on the sugar and tea. The plastic yoghurt pot burst and its contents poured over the vegetables and fruit. The oil bottle almost broke. I managed to reach it with my left foot. It fell on it with its full weight. It hurts, but at least it is whole. But the vinegar bottle broke into smithereens and the sour smell is everywhere.
I look ridiculous, I stand here and I still hold the bag, light as a feather now, with my both hands. I hug softened paper pieces! While I stare in the groceries that are everywhere, I angrily curse the rain, the spinning stairs and the grocery bag. I start collecting them, one by one, and I carry them to the upper stair rest. With a light step, taking two steps at a time, she approached me with a smile. She holds a tin that must have rolled down in her hand. It contains cat food. She rushes to help me collect the remains. When I touch her warm hand by mistake, the silver bracelets on her writs clink. Quite suddenly, I am taken by a feeling of closeness. The clinking of the bracelets brings in a dim memory of a place. “Thank you, thank you very much.” I say.
“You’re welcome. You have a cat?”
“Yes.”
“What’s her name?”
“Hakiema.”
“Hakiema. Sounds lovely, but what does that mean?”
“It means ‘wise one’.”
“Is she white?”
“No, she’d not white, she’s wise.”
“How old is she?”
“Around five years, I think.”
“Is she from the animal shelter?”
“No.”
“After a short indecisiveness, I say: “It’s a long story.”
I take in my hands as much as I can carry and I approach my apartment door. The woman follows me carrying some of my staff. She is probably curious because of the cat. When I open the door, Hakiema meets me with the usual, long mewing, which I always interpret as a greeting, and the others consider it a complaint. She – I still don’t know her name – kneels and pats Hakiema on her back, and she immediately starts to purr. The view is wonderful, I wish I were a sculptor or a painter to be able to preserve this moment forever. Although her hair is carefully combed, it easily drops around her beautiful face.
Hakiema knows to meet visitors. She rubs around our visitor’s feet and mews loudly while our visitor falls into a trance. I leave her playing with the cat and I take an empty plastic bag to collect the other staff from the stairs. Then I go out to the hall once again with a broom and a scoop and I collect the glass pieces of the broken vinegar bottle. She still kneels here, one step to the open apartment door. Now she sits on the floor, then she is up on her feet again, she kneels, bends, raises again, spins on one foot, and then on both of them. She moves graciously, like a ballet dancer. Hakiema goes around her, once from the left and once from the right.
I invite the young woman to enter, and she accepts shyly. Her eyes are wide open, like a surprised child’s. She glances at the room. I ask her politely using the form I’ve learnt in this country. “Do you live here?”
“No. My brother and his wife live here. I come to take care of their baby.”
“I think I see you here for the first time.”
“I’ve been coming here for two years each Friday. Have you lived here for a long time?”
“Yes, four years, two months and five days already.”
“Since you know so precisely, you must be unhappy here?”
“No, I can’t say that. I’m just afraid of time.”
“Afraid of time?”
“Yes. Afraid of false time. I’ve lived through many times; each of them lasted for several months. And after each phase my life completely changed, without any warnings.”