Friday
She walks into the flat, the door is open. She says hello, looks into the bedroom and sees a shape on the floor. Next to the head is a dark red stain on the dirty grey rug. The mouth is open, the eyes of the man whose flat she cleans are staring. She prods his arm, it does nothing. She steps back and is most concerned for how will she remove the stains from the dirty grey rug. She sits down on the bed and looks at the body.
Monday
She puts down the duster on the cupboard. It is flustered, little pieces of dust, friends of the People’s Republic. She gathers the glasses, three of them, and rinses each and then places them on the drainer. The back of her neck aches. She looks at the window and sees her reflection. She takes the broom out of the tiny cupboard and begins to sweep, long brushstrokes from the two uncomfortable orange chairs to the window, where standing back, she can see craggy buildings, and of course they are grey. They are always grey. Her hair is also grey. The man whose flat she is cleaning, he is also grey. She sighs at such a prospect, and continues to sweep, the brush collecting lots of debris into neat piles. She used to listen to the radio, to the messages, the occasional music but about three years ago she stopped. She is tired now, and sits down, the broom propped by the chair. She looks at the magazines, pulls one out from the pile which has a yellow edge. Inside she sees enormous shops with shelves full of things, a man with white hair surrounded by many brightly coloured portraits, a beautiful city perched on cliffs by the sea, and then lots of writing that she doesn’t understand. But she feels sad, this world is so far away.
Tuesday
The cinema is 20 leke. She looks up at the sign, painted boards with the title of the film Vellezher dhe shoke. It is expensive. There is snow in the gutter. She has forgotten what she needs to buy. She walks along the street, and thinks about which shop to visit. There are only three shops. She decides to go to the second shop. This shop has a small bar attached to one side. Very warm in the winter. She doesn’t much like the men in the bar, they wear round hats and drink too much. Sometimes they make jokes about her, talk about her legs, never anything more intimate. She is relieved when she sees there is only one man in the bar and she remembers potatoes. She also buys a small can of oil and a piece of black meat. There is very little light in the shop. The shopkeeper laughs at the old man. She puts the groceries in her small green bag and leaves. She glances back and the old man is looking at her. He has nothing else to look at.
Wednesday
She goes to prayers, washes her hands. Inside, the light flickers, thick curtains advance and retreat and there is never enough room. A woman’s elbow jabs into her side and she glances, a pretty face, a mean face.
“Mind veten budalla e vjeter!”
She scowls, something she has been doing for decades. The decades since her husband died, the decades since there was a future for the country. Now she waits for nothing. They all leave slowly, there is hopefully no suspicion. Her husband was not religious, he never minded giving it all up. That morning when she said goodbye, she has replayed it so many times, all memories of the memories she has created.
Thursday
The second day she is still cleaning his flat, the flat of Mister Shehu. He is a good man, he helped her out. She cleans twice a week, Monday and Thursday. He is a little older than her, he has drunk too much, he is tired as well. He has very little in his apartment and she wonders why he must spend so long away. It is a very good apartment, for it has four bedrooms, two bathrooms and is always very clean. She pauses from dusting a sideboard, runs her finger along a crack and picks up several medals to dust underneath. The bright tatty ribbons excite her and she wonders why he doesn’t take more care of them. There are so many, he won’t miss one. As she slips the turquoise one into her pocket, it makes the day different.
Friday
She looks at the body, remembers the conversation she had yesterday. She didn’t talk to him much, her neighbour said he was a bad man, killed lots of people. It seemed unlikely to her, he was polite, only a small man. He asked her if she had ever been to the Adriatic coast. She said no, never, she had always stayed in the hills. She said she didn’t like the idea of the sea, so much water. He laughed at her and she felt embarrassed. She leaves the bedroom, and looks across to the pile of medals that she dusted so carefully. There is another pleasing one, black and yellow stripes. She carefully takes it and gives the tabletop another helpful dusting. She is about to go out and call for the police when she realises she has not dusted his bedroom. It would look bad if he is found in an untidy bedroom. She goes back in and sweeps in the corners by the window, turns over the cushions on the bed, straightens the rug as best she can, and dusts the dressing table and the door frame.
***
James Mansfield lives and works in London. He is currently writing a fictional encyclopaedia of the 1980s, based on everything that he can’t remember from the decade. He also enjoys painting and drawing. His website is www.jimlattin.com.
Photo by Kyknoord.
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