House Number Seven
The very first thing Carlos, the elderly Canarian man, bought for his new house was a grill. And not just any grill—it cost a small fortune and might have seemed over the top due to its size. It took up an entire half of the terrace. Since he lived alone, he didn’t mind that there was no longer room for a clothesline. Anyway, he preferred hanging his laundry on the smaller terrace upstairs. After all, he didn’t want Ted peeking at his clothes from his bedroom window.
Carlos loved cooking under the open sky. In the evenings, Günter would sniff the air enviously, practically eaten up by curiosity about what the old man was grilling—and for whom. Günter could hardly wait for the neighbors to get to know each other better and finally have shared dinners with a few of the families. Carlos didn’t wait. Sometimes he invited Noud and Bernard over to chat and nibble on snacks; other times, he welcomed the family from house number eight. His favorite guest, however, was María José, whose entertaining company always brightened his evenings. On those occasions, her dog Perla would also get to enjoy a few delicious scraps.
Carlos had noticed that Ted was paying him far too much attention, observing him with every sense. He felt sorry for the young man with his Coke bottle glasses, stuck with nothing better to do than spy on others. But he also found it odd. Sometimes, when he caught Ted lurking near the shared fence between his property and Noud and Bernard’s, Carlos was tempted to call out to the awkwardly concealed man. But he never did.
If María José was visiting and Carlos noticed Ted’s upstairs window opening, he would launch into loud stories about secret missions from his younger days and how many people had ended up in jail because of him. The elderly woman was a perfect partner for such tales. She would clap her hands in amazement or exclaim excitedly, “Carlos, what a dangerous man you are!”
Carlos had hoped to get to know Ludmilla’s husband, Israel, as well, but the retired man was hardly ever home and never set foot in the yard. So, he asked María José to take on the mission of befriending him.
“Sure, and then that sharp-eyed German woman will cut my throat in my sleep!”
“Don’t be ridiculous, María. Perla wouldn’t allow it.”
“Perla? You’re right, Carlos. With this bloodthirsty beast around, I’m sure she’d handle Ludmilla.”
Their laughter woke Ted.
One Monday evening, Carlos hosted his two young male neighbors and María José in his living room. They were debating whether grilled corn tasted better with butter or honey when Carlos nearly had a heart attack from fright. Ted was standing in the terrace doorway, looking visibly furious. The room fell silent in an instant.
“Is there a problem, Ted?” María asked with forced cheerfulness. “Are you hungry?”
“Come on, Ted, join us,” Noud offered.
From the neighboring room, the static of a two-way radio filtered through the air.
“Requesting two patrol units to 22 Calle la Rosa,” Carlos’s voice whispered.
Noud and Bernard exchanged a glance, a peculiar smile flitting across both their faces.
“I can’t work with all this noise,” Ted hissed from behind his glasses.
“Come on, neighbor—” Noud began, but the agitated man cut him off with an impatient wave.
“No!”
Carlos sejtelmes arccal jelent meg ismét a nappaliban.
Carlos reappeared in the living room with a mysterious expression. “Ted, you’d better go home. It’s not even 8 o’clock yet. We’re not even in the yard; we’re inside the house. Of all of us, you know the house rules best. Let me know if we’re violating any of them.”
Half an hour later, Ted was on his upstairs terrace, keeping watch on the street. His instincts didn’t fail him. Carlos slipped out the gate, approached a seemingly civilian man passing by, and whispered something in his ear. Ted, with his thick glasses, was convinced that Carlos had just sent off the person he’d called earlier on the radio. Looks like the old man was someone to be careful around.