The loud argument glued everyone to their upstairs windows. These were the spots in every house that offered a perfect view of the courtyard paved with terracotta-colored tiles. From there, you could see who was lounging on the sunbeds around the large pool, who was dangling their legs in the small pool, and even who was hanging laundry on their terrace. This was also the window from which you could marvel at the sun rising above the sprawling banana plantation behind the residential complex. It was still early, barely past ten o’clock. The residents of the apartment building at 22 Calle la Rosa were not used to arguments. Yet with such a colorful mix of people living in the community, there could have been plenty of reasons for disputes.
The problem began when Ted purchased one of the two-story houses. The hot-tempered man of half-English, half-Romanian descent didn’t hesitate to speak up whenever something displeased him. He voiced his concerns immediately. This time, he was fuming about a few branches of the hedge bordering the courtyard that were hanging too far over, potentially causing injuries. He passionately explained to the janitor that he wasn’t paying the expensive maintenance fees so that the responsible party could do a sloppy job. The janitor, Pablo, a native of the Canary Islands, didn’t speak English, and Ted refused to utter a single word in Spanish. However, Ted’s tugging at the offending branches and his international gesture of rubbing his thumb and forefinger together made it clear to everyone what the issue was. Pablo, who had dealt with all sorts of foreigners by the time he was fifty, watched in amazement as Ted tore off his Coke bottle glasses and scratched his balding head with all five fingers in frustration. The janitor glanced cautiously at the upstairs windows, suspecting that most of the residents were standing there watching the spectacle. He also hoped that while his work might not have been perfect, everyone could see that the newcomer, Ted, was far from normal.
When Ted finished his business, he briskly crossed the courtyard and sat on his terrace. He knew perfectly well that while the walls on either side of him shielded him from the direct gaze of his closest neighbors during breakfast, they didn’t stop the nosy German old lady from staring at him whenever she pleased. Ted himself often observed others from there. What’s more, the terraces were visible from the courtyard, and even the living rooms could be seen through the French doors. Ted’s anger turned into a satisfying sense of contentment. His chest swelled with pride. Look at that – he’d barely moved in, and he had already shown everyone that they needed to tread carefully around him. No one could mess with Ted, and the residents of the community would do well to keep their heads down.
Pablo started walking leisurely toward the exit of the building.
“Hey,” Ted shouted, now in Spanish, “fix the hedge first!”
“It’ll be the first thing I do tomorrow,” Pablo replied. “Stupid jerk,” he muttered under his breath.
“When will you come?” Ted demanded.
“I said, tomorrow.”
“What time?”
But there was no answer. Pablo buried his fingers in his neatly trimmed beard and pressed his thumb against his face to suppress the curses threatening to escape.
In moments, the courtyard was filled with the laughter of splashing children. The onlookers left their observation posts and returned to their daily routines.
On this February Sunday in the Canary Islands, the sun was blazing. Some had already settled by the pool after breakfast. Soon, the sound of children’s laughter was joined by adults chatting. English, German, French, and Slovak words swirled together in the courtyard of 22 Calle la Rosa, surrounded by freshly plastered, bright orange houses.