The old man in my house - Target of interest (2.)

Derek

 

Our early days of getting to know the area were a bit... ridiculous.

 

Sure, there were some nice neighbors, young people who became friends with us pretty quickly. After all, when you move to a village, it doesn't take long for everyone to know everyone. And we attracted twice as much attention - we are foreigners and we work in the theatre. It seemed to me - and in fact, it still seems to me - that the theatre is shrouded in a kind of mystery for some people. It's as if everything around our work happens behind a curtain that no one can get behind - and people are both attracted and a bit scared by that. Maybe it's similar to the priestly ministry, am I right?

 

 

Maybe that's why this strange case stuck with us from the start.

I've noticed for some time now that he's been grinding around our house on his bicycle, eyeing my wife for dessert. But I really didn't think he'd ever get up the nerve to address her directly, in front of me.

We were just sitting on the patio talking when I heard a voice from behind the fence:

"Are you two having sex?"

"Excuse me?!" Monica said in disbelief.

I wasn't sure if she really understood the meaning of the word or if she was just asking because she misheard. However, we've lived here long enough for me to understand - and that's enough for now.

 

 

Despite my indignant look, the man repeated his question. There were no greetings, introductions, or pleasantries, and so did Monica's question.

I guess he realized he was talking to strangers and his expression changed. With the look of someone explaining something perfectly obvious to someone deaf, he changed his choice of words a little:

"I'm asking if there's an affair between you?"

"Well... we're married, " Monica replied, as impressed as I was by the guy's brash bluntness.

"Yeah married!" He elongated, raking us with a head-to-toe stare, whereupon he picked himself up and rode off on his bike into the woods at the end of our street.

Loud female laughter came from the next garden. Soon the woman in question could stand it no longer and her head emerged from behind the fence.

 

 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but I couldn't... Please don't make anything of him. He's a professional alcoholic, don't even bother."

That's how we met Jonah and Vanessa, who eventually became good friends.

The professional alcoholic, however, did deal with us, as evidenced by another incident we had with him.

It was that same summer, actually only about two weeks after this bizarre introduction.

I went to bed before Monica that night. Suddenly I heard the intense barking of our old dog Barty. I went to see what was going on and all I could see was my beloved wife, full of righteous indignation, pouring a bucket of cold water out the window on some figure in our garden... For a moment I thought I was dreaming! Then I found out exactly what had happened.

 

 

Monica was still awake, putting the dishes away in the kitchen when suddenly Barty started barking. She looked out of the window and saw the good man - again in a deep drunken stupor - stalking through our garden. How he managed to climb over the fence in that state is a mystery.

 

 

"Don't bark, " he admonished the dog. "I'm going to sleep here..."

This annoyed Monika and she tried to politely but uncompromisingly banish him, to which he was unable to respond. In fact, everything happened in a matter of minutes.

The guy sat down at the table, got sick and soon the contents of his stomach ended up right on the table. But that didn't stop him from making a bizarre, stained pillow out of our table. My wife obviously couldn't watch the whole situation any longer, and probably thought the icy shock would make the guy get up and go home. Of course, that didn't happen. The stream of cold water didn't move him.

I decided to intervene.

 

 

"Look," I began firmly. "I don't know your name, but either you pack up and get out, or I'm calling the police. Just because we're new here doesn't mean you can come and go as you please. This is private property!"

 

 

I don't know what exactly impressed him, but despite his condition, he obeyed. He bounced away from the table and in a few minutes was zigzagging down the street on his bike.

Monica was still shaking with annoyance.

"So I don't know whether to laugh or cry, " she admitted in an embarrassed voice.

 

 

We watched the drunk drive off into the summer night, questions swirling in our minds. Is this really a one-off episode of the local poor but otherwise harmless drunk, or is there something going on here that we'll have to keep a close eye on in the future?