Something wild happened to me today

Chapter 3

Wednesday, March 21st, 2007, 4:44 PM

Who would have told me

I didn’t finish the book. My head wouldn’t stop thinking about the last thirty-something hours of my life. Stephen King and his The Stand will have to wait. Right now I’m living my own stand.

When I reached the building where I live, I went straight to ring the first floor’s doorbell—there’s no mezzanine here and we’ve only got one door per floor--. I was more worried about finding out about something from yesterday than eating, even though it was already past two. It’s not like I was really hungry anyway. As they say, problems take away your appetite.

It looked like nobody was home, so I went up to the second floor, from which the smell of meat fried in garlic and parsley was coming. My mouth started watering and I discovered something important: problems don’t take away your appetite, they just play tricks on it. I rang the doorbell and heard a buzz inside, followed by a few slow footsteps approaching the door.

“Who is it?” an older woman’s voice asked.

Then it occurred to me that she might not open the door for me. Maybe she was afraid of me. Objectively thinking, I don’t know if I would want to talk with someone who had beat up the neighbor upstairs the day before. Besides, you couldn’t say that there’s much of a relationship between us neighbors. Since they were all rented apartments, people come and go often, and, at the most, when we run across each other on the stairs, we say a rushed “hi” or “bye”, and not much more. That whole thing of going to ask for sugar or milk from the next-door neighbor only happens in the movies.

“I’m the neighbor from the fifth floor,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

 A few seconds later, the door opened and a fifty-something woman stepped out with a pleasant smile on her face. I think I’ve run across her a few times during the two years I’ve been living here, and we didn’t go beyond the obligatory greeting on any of those occasions. Today was different: she held out her hand to shake mine and said,

“My name’s Magda. What you did yesterday was really brave. Congratulations. We need more people like you in this country.”

Her words astonished me, and when I finally understood what she had just told me, I flushed beet red.

She invited me to eat with her, and thinking of how scarce my food reserves were, I accepted with pleasure. Besides, it was the perfect excuse to chat calmly and find out, first-hand, what I didn’t remember from yesterday and what happened afterward.

Magda is a delightful lady, and not as run-down as she seemed to me at first; she’s actually sixty-two years old. It’s funny how, when you get to know someone, your perception of their physique can change; what seemed horrible or annoying can even manage to be pleasant.

Anyway, let’s stop the cheap philosophy and get back to the subject at hand: it turns out that yesterday, when I went into the neighbor’s apartment, I caused such an uproar that half of the neighbors couldn’t help but leave their houses to go see what was going on. I guess that the fuss I raised was intolerable even for the selfish comfort that human beings have grown accustomed to over the last century, and they unconsciously quit worrying about themselves. The weirdest thing is that no one called the police. According to what Magda told me, the two guys who live on the third floor went into the apartment while the rest of the neighbors met up on the landing, looking incredulously at the ripped-off door resting on the floor. The fight must have lasted a few seconds, since when they arrived, the shouts and smacks were already silenced, and they could only hear the woman’s cry and the abuser’s choppy breathing. A minute later, one of the guys asked from inside for someone to call an ambulance. Then, they took me, half-conscious and brought me to my apartment. Magda went in with two neighbor ladies and tried to calm the wounded woman down, looking in horror at her man, lying on the ground like a rag doll, covered in blood. The ambulance showed up half an hour later and took the two of them away. The police came as well, and took a statement from the neighbors. None of them mentioned my part in the whole thing, and, after talking amongst themselves, decided that they would defend me if any problems arose with the law.

“For once, someone did something truly good and we’re not going to leave you to fend for yourself, Daniel”, said Magda as I was leaving her apartment.

Her words made me feel good, and I almost forgot the pain that was still running through my body. I could think about doing things like that more often, like a comic book superhero.

The woman I helped was already back at her house, but not her husband—yes, they’re married--, he’s still at the Hospital de Sant Pau de Barcelona. I don’t know the details, but it doesn’t make me feel so good to know that I sent someone to the hospital. Even if that someone is a jerk.

For a moment, I thought about going up to see her and excuse myself for sticking my nose where it didn’t belong, but I decided it was best to go back to work; it gave me a bad feeling. Besides, everything is still really recent.

Perhaps tomorrow.