House Number Five
The amount, which would have been more than sufficient for the comfortable livelihood of three families with two children each, was deposited into Ted’s account every second day of the month. On these occasions, when the man read the notification from the bank, a proud smile always played on his lips, as if to broadcast to the world: See, it can be done this way. Earning lots of money without a job.
No one could ever know what Ted did for a living. If he was in a relationship, he expected his partner not to pry into such matters. For the sake of appearances, he would divulge that it was a “family business.” But he refused to say more than that. In truth, women rarely stayed with him for long. Mostly because Ted wasn’t interested in sex. He himself wasn’t sure whether it was because he had never met a woman who truly excited him or because intimacy didn’t stir him in general.
He settled on the tiny terrace with a tall glass of fresh smoothie made from berries. Alongside the purple, frothy, strawberry-scented drink, he brought a small handful of leftover blueberries. He placed each berry in his mouth individually, pressing it against the roof of his mouth with his tongue before swallowing. He avoided chewing them, not wanting the dark skin fragments to stick to his teeth.
The most beautiful part of the day was the morning. At this time, the courtyard was still empty, and even the terraces remained vacant. Everyone was in their kitchens or living rooms having breakfast, instead of enjoying their coffee or muesli in the fragrant morning air. Only the Germans at the end of the row held big outdoor meals, but only on weekends and quite late. By then, Ted was already working on his notes.
Even the caretaker didn’t begin work before ten o’clock, which Ted took issue with. He had repeatedly sent written complaints to the residents’ association about this attitude, but no one paid attention. In fact, no one would have appreciated early hedge-trimming, coming and going, or clattering noises. Not even Viktoria, Günter’s wife, left the house before nine. Ted marveled again and again at how so many lazy people could have been swept into one place by the wind. For this reason, every name on the files he maintained was prefixed with “Lazy.”
Ted had a file for each resident, containing not only their personal information but also everything he had uncovered about them. The files were further complemented with photos, videos, and abandoned items (such as Heidi’s cigarette butts or Emily’s sock), alongside regular notes. Ted spent the entire day on high alert, photographing, eavesdropping, and observing. He even knew that Vanda had lost only two teeth so far.
Of course, his surveillance extended to Pablo as well. Although he didn’t live in the complex, Pablo was an active member of the 22 Calle la Rosa community. Ted couldn’t stand the caretaker. He considered him not just lazy but a parasite. Ted believed that for the money residents paid in communal fees, Pablo should have been doing far more and better work.
Pablo visited the property twice a day. In the morning, he tidied the courtyard, cleaned the pools if necessary, and handled repairs in any of the houses that needed them. In the afternoons, around four o’clock, he would return, but mostly just to pretend to work. Those with complaints would approach him at this time, explaining what needed fixing. Pablo would note down what tools to bring for the next morning’s tasks.
This routine drove Ted mad. Why didn’t he do the repairs immediately? Why wait until the next day? Why didn’t he always carry his tools? Was he secretly working elsewhere during the hours the community was paying him? And on top of that, was he using the tools meant to serve them, his paying clients, for his side jobs?