On A Day Like This

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Andreas loved the empty mornings when he would stand by the window with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other, and stare down at the small, tidy courtyard, and think about nothing except what was there in front of him: a small rectangular bed in the middle of the courtyard, planted with ivy with a tree in it, that put out a few thin branches, pruned to fit the small space that was available; the shiny green containers for glass, packing material, other rubbish; the even pattern of the cement paving blocks, some of which were a little lighter, having been replaced some years back for some unknown reason. The noise of the city was only faintly audible, reduced to an even roar, interspersed with distant birdcalls and the rather clearer noise of a window being opened and shut.

This unthinking state only lasted for a few minutes. Even before Andreas had finished his cigarette, he remembered last night. What did emptiness mean to him, Nadia had wanted to know. For her it meant lack of attention, lack of love, the absence of people she had lost, or who paid her insufficient attention. Emptiness was a space that had once been filled, or that she thought might be filled, the absence of something she couldn’t put her finger on. He didn’t know about that, Andreas had said, he wasn’t interested in abstract notions.

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