Our separate ways

The cries did not seem to bother the householders in the flat on the lower level. But how could that be? Was the child left alone in the house? The thought shook us to the core. The lights being switched on and off every now and then confirmed someone was surely around to attend.

The moans continued unabated for over six hours and we couldn’t sleep the whole night. Nor could we summon up courage enough to enquire about the whole affair considering that citydwellers have their own ways of sharing, or not sharing, emotions.

At about five in the morning an uneasy calm disturbed us. A little while later a car engine revved in the compound below. I looked out of the half-closed window. Through the thick fog I saw a man and two women seating themselves in the vehicle with the baby wrapped in heavy clothes.

Thankfully, the child cried out once more. Yes, thankfully. Because we had thought of the worst a moment ago. After the car had moved out of the compound, we dropped on to the bed like stones and slept.

Ready for office at around 9, I couldn’t hold myself. On my way to the garage, I climbed down to our neighbour’s flat. I gave a soft knock on the door. The sleepy eyed woman who opened it was expressionless.

I told her I lived in the flat just above theirs and that we were worried since we heard the wails of the child all through the night. “I am sorry!” she apologised and explained, “My sister’s one-year-old baby boy has a hole in his tiny heart and needs to go under the knife. They stayed with us for the night. We are extremely sorry you were disturbed.” I took leave, praying for an uneventful surgery.

The domestic help who works for us as well as for those neighbours, told my wife during the day that the lady of the house below disapproved of my “complaining to her” in the morning.

“Did I ever mean to do that” I ask myself. City life undoubtedly has more shocks to offer us in the coming years. But having become wiser, now I try and mind my own business.