This Night’s Foul Work

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BY FIXING HIS CURTAIN TO ONE SIDE WITH A CLOTHES-PEG, LUCIO COULD better observe the new neighbour at his leisure. The newcomer, who was small and dark, had stripped to the waist despite the chilly March breeze and was building a wall of breeze-blocks without using a plumb line. After an hour’s watching, Lucio shook his head abruptly, like a lizard emerging from its motionless siesta. He removed his unlit cigarette from his mouth.

‘That one,’ he said, pronouncing his final diagnosis, ‘has no more ballast in his head than in his hands. He’s going his own sweet way without the rule book. Pleasing himself.’

‘Let him get on with it, then,’ said his daughter, without conviction.

‘I know what I have to do, Maria.’

‘You just enjoy upsetting other people, don’t you, with your old wives’ tales?’

Her father clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

‘You wouldn’t talk like that if you had trouble sleeping. The other night I saw her, clear as I see you.’

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