Chapter 5

The door bell of the large house at the end of the alley was linked to and put in operation by a thick, velvet, woven chord of tattered scarlet which Nina had already pulled once and then had proceeded to stand in front of the oak-wood entrance door that was decorated laboriously with swirls and twists of deep carvings and bronze. Someone was apparently going out of his or her way to impress passers by and in the most obviously eye-catching manner at that.

The chord pulling had produced, for the duration of the two minutes of Nina’s blending in with the front-door, absolutely no results. She eyed the door-knocker perched in the middle of the wooden expanse in front of her suspiciously. It was a rusted, bronze appendage, fashioned after the image of a peacock’s tail that was hanging heavily amongst all the ornamental accessories and carvings, elevating the decorative effect to beyond obnoxious. Nina stroked the grooves on the bronze ornament.  The metal had oxidized to an icy green the color of old Copenhagen rooftops and pistachio ice-cream.

Here goes nothing, she said to herself knocking abruptly a few times. The metal banging against the wood reverberated within the house majestically. Immediately a key turned inside the door lock and then once more followed by a sharp, uneventful pull jamming the metallic wedge of the lock’s mechanism menacingly against the side of the wall-fissure where it slid into upon locking. Nina heard some muffled swearing, a small kick on the lower part of the entrance-door, another turn of the key and finally there was the swooping retreat of the wooden facade hastily and with much disturbance of dirt and dust.

The lithe figure of a pale, blond man appeared behind the door surrounded by an aura of floating particles which gave him a dusty, backlit halo accompanied by the well-suited scent of mustiness and old furniture. Nina immediately thought that the man emanated the aroma of a library which predisposed her positively towards him, a premature optimism she would later somewhat regret. Apart from the emitting smell the man was also very impressive, in fact memorable to look at, though not in a manner which would be characteristic of subtlety or good taste. He was wearing an all-velvet outfit of green, red and yellow with stretchy, bell-bottomed trousers clutching tightly at his spindly legs and spilling expansively onto the floor, his shirt unbuttoned all the way down to his belly-button with the last button marking the spot exactly. Around his long neck a scarf had been wrapped with precision, containing all the colors of his outfit in eye-catching coordination. Nina’s eyes were most definitely caught and beginning to hurt as well.

Two watery eyeballs perused Nina’s frame resting on her face for a second and then turning to gaze in the distance with the man’s whole body assuming a tense position of pain and melodramatic endurance. “Oh good, you are finally here”, he asserted, rolling his eyes with dismay and clutching at his forehead passionately. His voice was deep and sounded forced, a little strained even. The words came out of his mouth in a string of speech without pauses or specific fluctuation of attention or meaning whilst continuously retaining a sense of importance and urgency despite the context. “You’ll need to start with your duties straight away. My last maid left without as much as a notice of resignation or stocking up the fridge so I am in desperate”-the desperate part expressed with severe eye and tongue rolling- “need for someone to practice my lines with and help me pick out my outfit for tonight. Also, the bed needs to be made, there are cockroaches in the attic and I am starving so you must prepare lunch immediately.”

Nina clenched her fists. Her initial warm feelings brought on by books and libraries were beginning to dissipate rapidly. “I am not the maid”, she spitted out trembling slightly. She was running out of patience at a very fast pace which was admittedly, incredibly unusual for her. Nina had always been a picture of calmness, understanding and serene collectedness which were qualities she had noticed others as sometimes taking advantage of, though without it ever resulting in a change of heart on her part.  Nina had spent her life opposing injustice and rudeness in quiet meditation and hope of something better coming along. Nevertheless, she was drastically experiencing a peculiar emotional upheaval. She was fed up with insensitivity. At that moment she felt like she had had enough; quite enough of people pushing her around, getting on one-sidedly with their problems, blabbing on about whatever was on their mind with her getting swept along and knocked about with verbal abuse and the crazy assumptions they habitually made about her. She was putting her foot down starting with the thespian fellow right in front of her.

“Listen to me very carefully”, she said a bit louder than how she normally spoke staring into the man’s insipid, contorted face. “I am not your maid and neither do I want to be”. She paused for effect and continued. “I am simply in need of some information on how to get back home.”                                                                           

 “You are not the maid?” he asked in a tone that sounded a bit more conclusive than that of a question.

“No. Not the maid”, replied Nina in a very conclusive tone.

 “Well someone has to be the maid and it most certainly will not be me.” At that exclaim he rapidly took a paper bag out of his trouser-pocket to which he started breathing into rhythmically while clutching onto it for dear life. The paper expanded and collapsed in unison at the gasp and exhale of recycled air producing a toe-curling, nerve-racking cacophony. The man’s eyes were all that could be seen above the violently pulsating accumulation of paper, the wrinkled flesh around them allowing for only a slit-sized view of their grey. 

Nina bit her lips in frustration and closed her eyes trying to calm herself. Not again, she whined inside her head. Another one for the asylum…

To the musical sound of wheezing and paper-ruffling Nina made to leave by slowly starting to put distance between her and the cataract of velvet, trying to reach for the entrance steps and eventually the alleyway. As soon as she took a step backwards though, the hubbub ended abruptly. The thespian apparently had followed her train of thought. He tossed the paper bag at his feet arranging himself up straight and smiling casually, switching his manner immediately after Nina’s obvious retreat from his urgent request for a maid and ensuing breakdown.

“What if I make you a deal?” he asked in an artificially polite manner, blinking heavily. “What if I offer you the information and guidance you require in exchange for a few menial jobs about the house?”

Nina gazed miserably at the crumpled, brown bag lying dejectedly on the floor with a dark ring of saliva-infused paper adorning its edges. She tried to imagine herself scuttling about killing cockroaches with the aid of a velvet fly-swat while wearing a maid’s outfit made of similar fabric in perfect coordination with the curtains and resident of the house. Peculiarly, the thought cheered her up.

“You’ve got a deal”, she exclaimed, perhaps a bit more willingly than she actually felt. “I am not making your bed for you though. And I cannot cook. I only know how to make breakfast”, she said sternly at first and then feeling a bit more gracious added “How about eggs Benedict?” to which she presented her hand towards the man in formal greeting.  “I am Nina, by the way. Glad to be doing business with you.”                                                                                                            

“Harold”, he said giving her a limp, sweaty handshake. Nina’s gracious streak did not extend to casual conversation so she swiftly made her way past Harold and in search of the kitchen in order to get her first task over and done with as fast as she could.

The living-room of the house was, of course, expansive and furnished in the most obviously impressive approach possible. All the grandeur boxes had been ticked: Grand piano – check, marble floors – check, ancestor oil-paintings in gilded, hand-carved frames – check, heavy, hardbound books by famous writers never read by the owners – check. Nina rolled her eyes at the predictability of pretentiousness.

The kitchen was conveniently located to the right of the main entrance and looked like it had never been used before. There were thick cobwebs over the kitchen stove and inside the cabinets that Nina ransacked hastily in search of two pans and a bowl. She was fortunate in choosing to prepare eggs Benedict since bread, butter, eggs and bacon was all that existed in the fridge. Similarly, pepper and vinegar were the only condiments residing on the spice-shelf. She started boiling some water and pushed a slice of bread into a dusty, orange toaster after blowing a few mouthfuls of air at it in a weak attempt to somewhat clean it. Looking around she saw Harold leaning against the kitchen entrance, one leg crossed over the other, examining her movements with interest. On his hand a round, heavy crystal glass was now perched overflowing with a caramel-colored liquid. The smell of bourbon drifted over to her small nostrils, sickly sweet and heavy. Nina almost never drank alcohol and had very little tolerance for its smell as most teetotalers do.  The reason behind her refusing alcoholic beverages was that they gave her nightmares and with sleeping and dreaming being two of her favorite things to do she was unwilling to sacrifice their pleasures no matter how socially relevant an activity might render her.

Turning her back to the scowling image of Harold sipping his drink hungrily, she rolled up her sleeves and got to work with the eggs.

Three yellow, slimy orbs retreated and separated from their clear, coagulated containers and dropped into an empty bowl warmed by steaming, hot water bubbling underneath. The yolks said their goodbyes to the egg-whites and meshed together half-heartedly at the instructions of a violently rotating fork. Next to them a dollop of butter was liquefying and expanding to cover the whole surface of the small pan where it had been abandoned, sizzling uncontrollably in the process.

The kitchen was starting to come alive with purpose. Even the remainder of the cobwebs that Nina hadn’t the time to dispose of were starting to disappear to the warm, rising vapors. Harold though seemed thoroughly unimpressed by Nina’s efforts. “Make sure not to include any egg-shells in that mix you’re preparing. There is nothing worse than trying to enjoy your meal no matter how meager it might be”, he offered sarcastically in reference to Nina’s gastronomic efforts “and biting into a piece of egg-shell when you least expect it. It’s enough to ruin your day.”

Nina scooped a spoonful of boiling water and dropped it into the yolk-mix. Harold gulped down another a sip of his bourbon noisily and continued in stern disapproval. “Is that spoon clean? It did not look hygienic. Make sure to use only clean cutlery now, won’t you?” Nina repeated her boiling water and egg yolk mixing action another three times. Harold took an even noisier sip from his glass that was by now half-full. Or in Harold’s case, half-empty. “There is supposed to be all that unhealthy cholesterol in eggs… Your cooking is putting me in an early grave…” he moaned bitterly.

Nina added some vinegar along with the melted butter into the thinned egg yolk mix and removed from the heat of the almost completely evaporated boiling water. She hammered at it with the fork strongly, perhaps even a little more forcefully than necessary. The toasted bread in the toaster popped out of its confines with a rusty creak. Nina arrested it firmly and acquainted it with some of the butter.

Harold of course was having none of it. “The bread smells scorched…I hate burned toast”, he whimpered in between sips of what was left of his beverage. Nina refreshed the water in the pan for the final act of preparing a poached egg and fried a strip of bacon in the residue of the sizzling butter. The cooking smells had finally done their job of overpowering the odor of bourbon. The buttered bread was thrown on a plate the surface of which had not been inspected for hygienic correctness with the bacon and poached egg following along to be topped with the newly formed, sunflower-yellow Hollandaise sauce and sprinkled with freshly ground pepper. The specks of black pepper mingling in with the thick, golden sauce were very colorfully remindful of pollen and bees, perfectly in tune with early spring knocking outside the windows of the stuffy house and unsuccessfully trying to make its way inside. At least that’s what Nina was thinking of while staring at the dish, admiring its beauty for a few seconds before banging it onto the kitchen table and rushing out of the kitchen in search of the attic and the killing instruments with which to exterminate its infestation.

Harold followed closely, carrying his lunch. “Are you off to take care of the cockroaches then?” he asked facetiously. Nina offered him a quiet stare. “There is a bug spray up in the attic and some rubber gloves as well. I expect they’ll do” he continued pointing at the stairs that would lead to the upper floor. Together they ascended the stairs with Nina banging her feet distressingly on the steps and Harold taking calculated nibs from his eggs with the assistance of his thumb and a large spoon. Upon reaching the top-floor corridor, Harold, placing his lunch on the floor behind him pulled on a chord that was hanging from above, releasing a small rope-ladder which cascaded forcefully from the ceiling and crashed onto Nina’s feet.  

“After you…” Harold offered, giving a miniature curtsy.  Nina got herself to the attic carefully, holding onto the ropes of the stepladder with as much strength as she could, the ladder being in the habit of bobbing and shaking about with the slightest of movements. Harold followed with even larger exertion as well as vain attempts at appearing casual and graceful which resulted in an amazingly comical effort.

As Nina pulled her way upstairs, the stale, stuffy atmosphere of the room hit her eyes, throat and nostrils with an objectionable force. The whole space was jam-packed with cardboard boxes of all sizes, old furniture, new furniture, bicycles, paintings, broken lanterns and random machinery. On the opposite wall a long, aluminum coat-rack was bulking at the weight of innumerable theater- costumes hanging off of it wrapped securely in plastic or tissue paper. Everything around them was covered with several inches of dust that was completely undisturbed with all of the attic windows and window shutters firmly shut and the only light in the room coming from a naked light-bulb on the ceiling that Harold had switched on upon entering the room with a jagged, butter-coated finger.

Nina looked around in pursuit of anything small, black and fidgety scurrying about, but the only thing in the attic currently making any noise or movement was Harold who was sitting on the floor gulping down the remnants of his lunch greedily. Nina remained vigilant in her position keeping a close eye at the nooks and crannies that the

crowded, stuffy attic had to offer abundantly to anything tiny and eerie that might be looking for a home.

Nothing happened. Nothing emerged from behind the cardboard boxes where she advanced towards trying to take a closer look, not a single miniature organism scurried about in fear as she lifted the lanterns and zero roaches made to take a stroll in curiosity at the disturbance as she waved some of the paintings about creating thick, ashen clouds of dust like a modern, pest-control-crazed Zephyrus.

“There are no cockroaches in here to speak of! In fact the only two living organisms in the place are the two of us and that condition, I’m betting, will not last long if we continue to breathe in all these mushroom clouds of dust you have been collecting around here”, she cried out angrily. The frustrating sensation had been creeping up inside of her that she was wasting her time with completing stupid chores for someone who probably had no help or information to offer her in return anyway. Harold looked up from his empty plate and scowled at her apprehensively.

“They were there this morning. You are probably not looking carefully enough”, he whimpered, banging his plate on the grimy floor in precise imitation of a pampered child throwing a well-rehearsed fit. Nina was not someone to be intimidated or rushed into action by such mannerisms though. In fact, despite her peaceful demeanor, unnecessary force applied by yelling or cursing as well as both broad –spectrum or specifically targeted pushy, stressful conduct had the exact opposite effect on her than the one intended. She had absolutely no tolerance for cosseted, spoiled behavior produced by standard or overgrown children alike. So, she marched towards the windows with steely determination and threw them open one by one disturbing the just-settled dust into new nebulous formations above the floor and furniture. “Maybe if we let some light and fresh air in, I’ll be able to see them better”, she yelled in pauses, out of breath.

“What …” was all Harold had the time to say before being engulfed by the dirt and grime that spilled his way forcing him to start coughing and rubbing his eyes uncontrollably. He sprung up from the floor like giant, velvet-attired jack-in-the-box, still rubbing his eyes that were watering uncontrollably releasing rivers of tears on his dusty cheeks and screamed out some profanities before noticing the newly air-freshened and light-bathed expanse of the attic with bewilderment.

“That looks much better”, he attested matter-of-factly. “It’s a good thing I told you to open the windows” he smirked still rubbing his grime-encrusted eyes. In the back of the attic large piles of the disturbed dust were beginning to settle down again while the fresh air coming in from the windows was attempting to create small whirlpools of particles that were languidly floating out of the room and spilling into the atmosphere.

Nina stood silently by one of the window-panes looking out to a view of an unfamiliar ocean of houses and trees, utterly surprised at not being surprised at the preposterous remark. She decided to completely change the subject.

“You certainly have a lot of first-rate furniture and paintings up here. Not to mention costumes. Do you ever use them?”

Harold looked around inquiringly as if he was seeing all these things for the first time.  “They are costumes and props from the old plays that my theater company has staged. The company is on a hiatus though due to problems with the other actors. They were all threatened by my genius, you see. Impossible to work with. It is very hard to find good supporting actors, or help, these days”, he answered pointing at her with his head on mentioning the word ‘help’.

 “I presume you were always the one directing and starring in all of the plays, then?” Nina asked mockingly, stifling a laugh.

“I was the only one financing the productions and that is enough for me to be the one starring in them or making the decisions, don’t you think?”

Nina refused to breach the subject by offering an answer, so she stared at him blankly.  

“Anyway, I am a very big deal in the theater world though you apparently don’t seem to recognize me. I wouldn’t expect you to anyway.  The sophisticated arts are not for everyone”, he remarked acerbically. “Young actors and aspiring, amateur directors approach me from time to time looking for help and guidance with their craft or asking to borrow some of my costumes and props for what they call ‘amateur productions’. I find it highly irritating. In fact it is enough to make me think of moving to a different house. All these idle freeloaders are the bane of my existence.”                 

 “They are just young people starting out in their lives and looking for some help from someone older and wiser, someone more successful. Helping them would be the civil thing to do, not to mention your duty. This is how the world works” Nina remarked vigilantly.                           

 “I am not following you.”                                                                                                        

“Just consider how hard it is for everyone at the beginning of their adult lives especially if you aspire to become good at something, something you probably love. It is all you can think about. It drives you crazy not knowing if you are going to make it even if you are giving it all you have got. And you strive towards it and you struggle and you look around you and everyone else seems to be better at it than you are. And then you try harder. And just about the time you start feeling useless and you are ready to give up, you realize that you have actually become somewhat good at it and now there is someone else at the rear feeling hopeless and looking up to you, wishing they were as good as you. It never ends of course. Perfection is unattainable. But that’s o.k. You should enjoy each step you take. And give a helping hand to whoever thinks they’re not going to make it.”                                                                                      

“Why should I help them? Nobody helped me when I needed it”, he groaned with disgust.

“Is that so? And I suppose the money for the theater productions were produced by you out of thin air? It’s not like you inherited it or anything like that…” Nina concluded in her best attempt at sarcasm and innuendo.

Harold feigned temporary loss of hearing by staring at the ceiling and stating that he was looking for spiders. Nina stiffened with determination and braved on with her ratiocination. She decided that straightforward analysis was not doing the job and settled on a candidly comprehensible example. “When I was a kid living in my parents’ house I couldn’t wait to get out of there”, she said looking at Harold intently.                                  

“They didn’t love you, did they?” he asked coldly, pretending to have spotted a web and advancing towards it for a closer look.

“I’m sure they felt that they did, but I don’t know if love is more about how you feel than what you do about it. Anyway, let’s just say, they were a little too preoccupied with themselves while I was growing up. So I used to make up stories in my head about how I would escape and have the life I had always wanted somewhere new. I even had a shoebox where I kept beautiful things in order to use them when I had moved out so I would be all set and ready, you know. These things I had been accumulating though always ended up going bad or losing their luster or use to the point where sometimes, I couldn’t even remember what I had saved them for in the first place.”                                                                   

“Kids always complain about their parents not loving them enough. What are you trying to say exactly?”                                                                                                                

“I could have shared these things, I could have used them. Instead of settling for being temporarily miserable I could have made the best of the situation and enjoyed what I had at the moment. That’s what I am trying to say. And thank you for the sensitivity.”

Harold moved closer to Nina and stood next to her, looking dreamily out of the window for a few seconds and then turning to gaze straight into her eyes. “What about God?” he asked imploringly, looking a little lost.

 “What about him?”             

“Do you believe he exists?” he requested guardedly.

“I really can’t be sure, Harold”, Nina replied apologetically.

“It’s tough without him” he whimpered in a low voice.

Nina didn’t know what to say to that. There are some things that turn more complicated when you try to analyze them. “Look”, she said. “Maybe life doesn’t owe you anything. Maybe no one is responsible for your happiness and no one is to blame if it goes wrong. Perhaps the pleasure that you get from life is by simply sharing yourself with others regardless of what happens. And maybe, just maybe, you are the one creating your own luck without the need of anyone’s permission. Perhaps if you want something positively enough and drive towards it with determination and sincerity then you’ll be able to get it.”                                                                                                                                           

“Perhaps you are right…though the whole idea seems quite far fetched to me… On second thought, no, I don’t see the logic behind what you’re suggesting. It sounds nihilistic”, he said spewing out the word ‘nihilistic’ with disgust.

“Well, I don’t need you to agree with me, I am simply sharing my thoughts with you. Though I wouldn’t pigeonhole my ideas under a category like you are trying to do.”                                 

“That’s the problem with you people. You have no discipline, no structure, even if it is one completely bereft of common sense.”                                                                              

“I don’t know what people you are referring to but the remark doesn’t apply to me. There is value to discipline. I don’t consider structure to be mental slavery like some people might. In maintaining some strict rules you can find the free range in which to move. Inside the structure you can be free. No, I simply object in trying to name something unfamiliar with a familiar name in order to dismiss it and move on without properly considering it.”                                                                                      

 “Ha! Freedom… I hear that word all the time. Freedom doesn’t exist.”                      

“Maybe to you it doesn’t.”                                                                                                       

“Is that what you think, little Miss Know-it-all? Can I ever be free to do what I feel like whenever I feel like it? Free of all these acting students that keep coming over and pestering me for help with their performances asking me to lend them my property for their silly, little plays? Will I ever be free of all these things I have inherited from my parents, this huge house with all its furniture and paintings and books weighing on me like a heavy rock tied around my neck?”                                

“Harold, from the sound of it, it’s yourself you need to be free of.” Harold looked up with a puzzled, annoyed expression. “I mean, what use is it really to you having this big house when you are living all alone in it? From what I can tell in the brief time that I’ve known you it is fairly obvious that you are in desperate need of some attention yet you despise all those that actually give you some. You seem incapable of remaining within your own company, yet you are so obnoxious and confrontational that you make it impossible for anyone to be around you. People visit you asking to take all these things that are weighing you down and you resentfully refuse to let anyone make use of them. You are your own worse enemy. So don’t talk to me about god or freedom. You first need to solve the issues you have with yourself.”

As Nina, carrying her words with emotion finished her speech to the unimpressed sight of Harold brushing off an imaginary cobweb, she felt her determination finally buckle and snap noisily inside her head. This was a dead-end. Maybe there was hope still for this poor, miserable man though she had no intention of sticking around to find out.  In addition to the hopelessness of the situation, Harold’s bitterness and misanthropy was starting to rub off on Nina as well. In fact it was infectious, despite her naturally positive and loving nature and disposition. It was because of her temperament though that she immediately recognized the - imperceptible at first, slowly spreading with time – fear and inexcusable desperation that was starting to flood her pores and nerve-tissues like a viciously expanding virus. Her mouth released a bitter taste which made her squirm, jolting her into action and propelling her towards the stepladder and out of the stuffy attic.

“Where are you going?” Harold cried out in a frightened tone. She decided to lie despite the fact that she had always been very bad at it. Her face had the unfortunate tendency towards making spastic grimaces and twitches when she knowingly wasn’t telling the truth, a fact which made her look silly and utterly unreliable. In knowledge of that phenomenon she turned her face away from him and lied as best as she could while wobbling down the shaky ladder.

“I am just going to visit the bathroom and then I will get on with the rest of my chores”, she said trying to sound natural though the words came out forced and apologetic. Harold stared down at her disappearing into the dusty, attic floor with a blank expression.

“Hurry up. We haven’t got all day”, he shouted towards her icily.

As she lowered herself out of sight, Nina made a sudden realization that filled her with a strange exhilaration and yet rendered her a lot calmer than before. She realized that becoming wealthy, successful, even respected was not that hard after all. All one had to do is follow instructions and get with the program. Keeping yourself whole, finding happiness… that was the actual hard part.

To these thoughts, she jumped on the floor below her and scanned the space in search for the toilet. She paced down the corridor quickly opening all the doors that she encountered on her way, finding what she was looking for after a few tries and throwing herself inside the enclosure of the shiny, cold surface of the tiled lavatory, closing the door safely behind her.

 There was only one way out of the house undetected and that was immediately out of the window and onto the lush, grassy park stretching underneath. She grabbed the fastening latch, opened the heavy, double window and gazed down at the potential landing surface bracing herself for the possibility of upcoming pain. The bathroom was on the first floor so the endeavor was not really dangerous just never before attempted by her. Nina breathed in the gust of fresh, fragrant air that sped towards her and closed her eyes for a minute, psyching herself up for the fall. “There is a first time for everything”, she said with a week smile and climbed onto the opening.