The apartment downstairs was empty for nearly two months after the tilers left town. Things were blessedly quiet for the North End Girls, as Jeff like to call Emily, Jessica and me, in our little efficiencies facing the dumpster and the oak tree. But silence in the city rarely lasts.
***
“You will be getting a new neighbor next week,” Della told me when I dropped off my rent.
“His name is Chris. He’s deaf.” Another deaf guy. There were two deaf guys in the building beyond Jeff’s place. One was friendly and very pleasant. The other was aloof. He didn’t look at you, he looked through you as though not hearing you meant not seeing you as well. He was spooky, another of the Social Services placements that our landlord liked because their monthly disability payments meant their rents were always guaranteed to be paid as Jeff succinctly put it.
“We usually try to keep the deaf renters in the same building because they can be loud but there are no apartments vacant where Tom is,” she said. Tom was the friendly neighbor. “Chris is mentally challenged but his social worker says he’s quite high functioning so I hope he won’t be any trouble.”
“Me, too,” I replied.
***
Chris was a big guy, in his early thirties perhaps. It was hard to tell how old he was. He was living alone. He rode his bike to a job training center several times a week. He could read lips. Sometimes he would ask you a question by writing it down on a piece of paper; other times he would converse in a combination of sign language and animated gibberish, always ending by giving you two thumbs up or the sign for “I love you.” He interacted with everyone he saw. And there was always noise when he was on his own, a continual conversation with himself that outside of his head amounted to squeals and grunts and shouts.
Family came to see him occasionally, sometimes a woman who was also hearing impaired but who could speak fairly clearly. She would bring a young boy with her and they would spend the night or the weekend. The boy would run up and down the stairs and beat the dumpster with broken branches. The woman would yell at him in her rounded speech and Chris would begin to whoop and the boy would yell back in clear English that he didn’t want to come in as he and a friend jumped up and down on an old mattress someone had dumped by the high fence by the dumpster.
Church ladies would come some Sunday mornings to collect him, greeting him in sign language. Eventually a signing contingent of Jehovah’s Witnesses found him as well and there they would all be on the curb, signing and smiling while tracts slipped out of their grasps and skittered down the parking lot in the breeze.
***
The television started getting loud when the black guy moved in. He had a kind face and would smile at me and nod his head hello. He had a car and at first he would just stop by to visit. He and Chris would go to KFC, bring the chicken and some beer back to the apartment and watch television. At times I could barely hear the tv, only their occasional laughter or excitement over something but some nights the volume would shoot up and I would have to turn on my air conditioner to drown out the noise. Chris had a special doorbell that flashed a light in the apartment if it was pushed but how could I explain to two drunk deaf guys that they were being too loud?
The visits became daily and soon the green car was in the parking lot every night and every morning. The car had a security alarm that would go off at the slightest provocation, day or night. I would find myself cursing at three a.m. as the alarm repeated its litany of sounds over and over like some demented, robotic mockingbird until it wore itself out. A car alarm for a deaf man. It was the ultimate irony and I prayed nightly someone would actually steal the little sedan and drive away.
***
“He’s not supposed to be living there,” Della said when I asked who Chris’s roommate was.
“He’s not on the lease or paying any rent. Chris is so sweet and lonely and this guy has just insinuated himself in his life. Chris’s social worker is really worried about him. We’ve told Chris that Ken cannot live there with him. I’ve tried stopping by when the green car is there but Chris won’t answer the door when he sees it’s me. We’re going to have to call the cops on this guy. I’m afraid he is really taking advantage of Chris.”
The green car and its driver disappeared for a while.
***
Her name was Glenda. She was tall and rail thin with white blonde hair. She just appeared in the parking lot one day. She was another deaf person and she bristled when you walked past her. She moved herself in with Tom and together they would walk to Chris’s apartment. I could hear them partying, sometimes late into the night. Glenda seemed to be everywhere all the time, always there at the corner of your eye. One day she and the aloof deaf guy walked together to Chris’s apartment. She smiled at me as I was getting into my car.
***
“She’s been arrested,” Della said, referring to Glenda as she wrote out my payment receipt.
“She moved in with Tom and started terrorizing him. She has a boyfriend in prison who is supposedly being released soon and she threatened Tom that if he didn’t let her stay there, the boyfriend would come after him.”
“Why did she get arrested?”
“She was breaking into Arthur’s apartment and Tom called the cops.”
“Who is Arthur?” I asked. I didn’t know the names of most of the people in our four buildings. As Jeff had said, I didn’t need to know most of them.
“He’s the tall deaf man who keeps to himself,” she replied, handing me my receipt.
“I’ve seen them together,” I said. “Going into Chris’s and partying.”
“Well evidently she’s been selling them all drugs, hanging out with them while they get high or pass out and then stealing any money they have left. She was breaking into Arthur’s while he was asleep to get his social security check. I guess Tom saw it as his opportunity to get out from under her. He called the cops and they caught her. She’ll be in jail for a while. We’re moving Tom to our other apartments north of here.” She shook her head in disbelief.
“I just don’t understand it. It must be hard enough being deaf but then to have one of your own preying on other deaf people. It’s really sad.”
“And whatever happened with that Ken guy?” I asked. Della rolled her eyes.
“You won’t believe this. He was involved in some sort of mail fraud. He had checks coming to Chris’s box. The police are after him. If you ever see him on the property again, call me immediately.”
***
I met Emily on the landing.
“Hey, are you having trouble with roaches?” I asked. “I’ve never had them before but now I see them on the cupboard doors and on the wall.” She nodded, finishing her coffee.
“Yes! I can hear them on the wall above my bed at night. I got a bunch of bait at HEB to put down. I’ll give you some. Oh I HATE them!”
***
It was dark when I got home from work. I had just stepped out of the car when I saw movement behind the dumpster. I froze as a shape appeared and went to Chris’s door. A moment later the door opened and the person went inside. From the light coming through the oak tree from the street light above I could see a bike locked to one of the iron fence posts.
Jamie, my soon-to-be fiancé who was here from England for a three month stay, was sitting at the computer by the window when I let myself in the apartment.
“I just had a scare,” I said, taking my coat off and giving him a kiss.
“What happened?”
“I was getting out of the car and a person appeared from behind the dumpster and went to Chris’s.”
“Oh they’ve been in and out all day,” he said. “There’s a skinny person that I think is a woman, and a guy. They both have bikes and chain them up at the fence. I could see them while I was working. I’m pretty sure they are both deaf.”
“Great,” I sighed. “What next?”
***
Chris was happier than ever. His two friends were around constantly. Most mornings at least one bike was chained to the fence. It was usually the woman who stayed over. I would see her emptying the trash, sometimes sweeping the raised walk in front of the apartment. They were constantly noisy; tv blaring; laughing; arguing. Jamie had returned to England to wait for our fiancé visa to be granted. If they are deaf, why do they need the tv turned up I wondered. I kept the fan on at night to lull me to sleep.
Arguing downstairs became the norm. The woman’s voice was high and shrill. Her words were not clear but it was obvious she was unhappy. The man was loud; defiant; unintelligible. Chris’s woop-woop remained constant. Then the banging began.
Perhaps the flashing door bell no longer worked. Perhaps the vibration of the pounding on the door was strong enough to announce company. It was strong enough to make the cups and roaches rattle in my cupboards.
The first few days, the pounding relented fairly quickly and the visitor was allowed entrance. Gradually, though, the pounding went on longer. The silence from below began to seem sinister. I knew Chris was home. The man started taking his bike into the apartment. The woman wailed outside. They didn’t answer the door. Eventually she would leave, pedaling off into the dark. I phoned Della. She promised she would speak with Chris and his social worker. She called me at my new job to give me an update.
“He knows he is not to have anyone living with him. I’ve stopped by his apartment and put a sign on the door saying there is to be ‘no pounding on the door. The door bell flasher is working, please use it. The police will be called if there is a disturbance.’ Sharon, it’s the best I can do for now. If you have any troubles, call the police. And you can call me any time, day or night. I need to be on top of this.”
I thanked her and hung up. When I arrived home, the note was on Chris’s door. I was having my dinner when I saw Chris ride into the parking lot on his bike. Shortly I could hear him fussing as he took the sign off his door. He slammed it shut behind him. Later that evening there was a knock at my door. I held my breath. Another knock. Silently, I walked across the door. Jeff had told me to put something over the peep hole, a piece of paper or some fabric so no light was visible from the outside. Then you could lift the cover, and with your face there to block the light, look outside without letting it be known you were there. I lifted the fabric. It was the woman. I backed away, not moving until I heard her move off down the stairs.
***
It was a beautiful morning. I sat at the table with my cup of coffee watching a pair of cardinals in the oak tree. Hearing the door open downstairs, I automatically looked out into the parking lot. It was Chris and Ken. They were laughing, signing rapidly to each other. I grabbed my phone and called Della. She didn’t answer. I left a message that Ken was here with Chris then picked up my camera and photographed the pair below. Standing back from the window, I watched Ken say good bye and walk up the street. He had parked at a neighboring apartment complex. I uploaded the photos and emailed them to Della’s work address. Nothing came of it.
***
The pounding downstairs woke me at 2 a.m. My dishes rattled in the sink. More pounding and yelling. It was the woman. She pounded on the door with heavy fists. Getting no response, she pounded on the side window, yelling Chris’s name in her garbled, swallowed tones. I was sure the window would break. It didn’t. She tried the kitchen window and the window by the door and then the door again. There was no response. One more round of pounding then it stopped. I hoped she had gotten on her bike and ridden away.
Downstairs in the apartment I could hear laughter now. Two voices. Chris and the man were both there. They must have wanted to know for sure if she was gone. I heard Chris’s dead bolt snap open and the familiar whine of the door opening.
If you have ever been in the woods at night and heard a bobcat scream then you have some idea of what came next. The woman had not left. She had stayed there, waiting out of sight where she could watch the door. The minute she saw it open she was on the men, screaming. The sound and fury coming out of her was not of this world. It was ancient and primal, stripped of words, stripped of everything but raw anger and it was terrifying. The men got the door shut before she could get in. She raged, slamming her body into the door. I called 911.
***
The police cruiser paused at the entrance to the familiar parking lot, the headlights illuminating Chris’s door. The officer didn’t get out. There was no woman in the lot. All was quiet. The cruiser slid slowly down the drive out of sight. I crawled into bed, clutching a stuffed toy.
***
Just before dawn there was pounding on the door again, though less forcefully it seemed. It continued on the windows and I could hear the woman calling Chris’s name. The deadbolt clicked downstairs. Chris was blubbering on the walkway. The woman was sobbing. They went inside and the door locked behind them.
***
I called Della in the morning.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’ll take care of this.”
The next day there was a letter tucked in my door from Della. Chris had been told he was being moved to a different location. Chris’s parents would come get him tomorrow and he would stay with them until his new place was sorted out. His social worker and family would have the apartment cleared out at the end of the week. I just had to get through one more night and then it would be over.
I was having supper when I heard people on the stairs. There was a soft knock on my door and then another. I looked out the peep hole. It was Chris and the woman. I ignored them and went back to my meal. One more time that evening and again early the next morning there was knocking on my door. Both times it was Chris.
***
The rented box truck filled most of the parking lot entrance. I managed to squeeze the car through and park. Two men were moving furniture out of Chris’s apartment. Then Chris was in the doorway. When he saw me, he started running towards me. One of the men stopped him.
“No, Chris. Remember, you are not to talk to anyone. We’re just here to move your stuff.” The man looked at me and nodded. I did the same. Chris looked at me, confused but smiling. He signed his familiar thumbs up and I Love You. I went upstairs and watched the men finish hauling things out of the apartment. As the truck left the lot. I let out the breath I had been holding for months.
***
The door to the downstairs apartment was wide open and I could hear Juan talking to himself as I approached.
“Hey, do you want to see something?” he asked, standing in the doorway. I peeked in and felt sick. The apartment was empty but destroyed. There were holes in the sheetrock, burn marks on the counter tops, sections of carpet ripped up. Worst of all, there were roaches everywhere, walking across the walls and windows and dead on the floor.
“You should have seen them a couple of hours ago before I sprayed in here. Man, it was bad. You’re probably going to see some in your place for a while.”
I shivered.
“They are already there. Oh my God this is gross.”
“I’ll come up tomorrow and spray for you. I’m going to spray here again tomorrow, too. That should take care of it really. If you have problems you let me know.”
We both looked at the wreck.
“What will happen here?” I asked.
“Gary’s going to have to put in a lot of work this time. You know he hates to spend money on this place. But he’s talking he’ll start putting in those fake wood floors. Some patch and paint. Fix the counter. Probably be ready by the end of the month. There’s a waiting list here right now so he won’t wait too long to fix it up.”
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