STORYMOJA

“Damn that stupid gate of yours. Why did the top bar have to be made so low? My forehead is still throbbing from the collision. I think I’m developing a swelling there. And that’s bad news for my hat.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. You are the one with a tall frame. You should learn to stoop whenever you are passing foreign doors and gates. Especially at night.”

“Why would anybody want a top bar in such a gate anyway?”

“Dunno. It has never bothered me. And, as you know, I’m just a tenant here. I have no say on the designs of gates and such.”

“Yeah, not that you ever have a say on anything important.”

A slight pause, then:

“Thin ice, mister… very thin ice.”

“Sorry. I tend to say careless stuff when I bump my head…”

Martin froze. He knew that baritone! But it couldn’t be! The implications were just too outrageous! Why, this could be the greatest scandal in the neighborhood. If his suspicions were correct, then someone was seriously going about making legend just next door. And oh, what a legend this one would be! Martin settled deeper into his bed and listened further, his mind racing.

“Say,” said the baritone voice, “you sure that the neighbors aren’t around? I do have a fragile public image, you know.”

“Relax. The neighbors are away for the weekend, as I told you,” the soft feminine voice of Martin’s next door neighbor replied.

“I’m just concerned, you know. Too many things could go wrong if our little adventure somehow became public knowledge.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve been drumming much about the same message into me since we got out of the pub. It does get boring after sometime. So please, do shut up and get the fireworks rolling.”

“Yes madam. Right away, madam”

Martin’s pulse was racing. He was tittering with excitement and had to consciously hold back from literally jumping out of his bed. Why, this had to be the juiciest event ever, happening right next door. The continuing conversations there had confirmed his suspicions. He was not mistaken. That baritone could only belong to one person. And, as if to confirm this, the feminine voice called out:

“Hey chief, I’m getting a bit cold in here. Hurry up with those damned fatigues.”

“In a minute, love. And I really wish you didn’t use my official titles around here. It isn’t the least romantic and, well, walls do have ears…”

“Oh, come on, your paranoia is becoming chronic. There isn’t a conscious soul around. But the idea of there being such a soul is a bit exciting, don’t you think?”

Some moments of silence passed before the baritone voice spoke up again:

“That’s not even remotely funny.”

“Sorry,” responded the feminine voice. “Boy, aren’t we uptight today!”

“It goes with the territory, honey.”

Martin had to place a hand over his mouth to hold back a snicker. His suspicions were now fully confirmed. His next door neighbor was in bed with the local chief! It was incredible. That his next door neighbor, called Janet, could engage in such an activity wasn’t the incredible part. Janet wasn’t exactly the definition of morality. She regularly brought home male strangers at night- faceless voices that would vanish at dawn, before anyone else was awake. But the local chief! Why, this was news! For the local chief upheld the very picture of morals, both professionally and personally. Professionally, the chief was quite outspoken about his hatred for ‘individuals without virtues’ in the society. He would always met out the strictest punishments for anyone caught engaging in what he called ‘extra-marital nuptials’. Personally, the chief was known as a family man. He had a lively wife and three decent teenage kids. Theirs was a close knit family, built on the very foundations of moral values. All this was public knowledge. Everybody who knew the chief came to revere him as someone who lived what he preached. Martin hence had a hard time believing what he was hearing now from the neighboring room.

The rooms were relatively small- about twelve feet by ten each. The housing was semi permanent, with the rooms partitioned from each other by wooden walls. The tenants would paste wallpapers on those wooden walls to add to the illusion of privacy. But even then, sounds from one room still carried easily through the walls to the next. Hence few things were ever secret amongst the tenants. Now these rooms were arranged in a straight row, six in total, and parallel to the barbed fence of the small compound. Martin’s room was at the extreme corner from the gate. Janet’s room was next from his. Another rarely seen neighbor had rented the next room from Janet. The other three rooms were occupied by short- time tenants- individuals who usually moved out after only a few months. 

Martin was still on his back in his bed, staring into the darkness of midnight, straining his ears. Janet and her guest had stopped talking. However, in this marked silence, Martin’s attentive ears picked up another noise that almost made him chuckle around. A low, rhythmic creaking sound from an obviously overburdened bed. The sound gradually rose in intensity until even the walls of the house joined in sympathy- and the whole room became a partaker one of the most ancient of human activities. Through this noise Martin could hear small sighs and moans, interspersed by whispered commands to stay silent. In his bid to hear better, Martin half arose from his bed, supporting himself with his left elbow. This action made his own bed to creak loudly. Immediately, the sounds from the next room ceased. After a while, the feminine voice spoke up in a distinctly husky voice:

“Honey, what’s wrong? You were just…”

“Shush. I thought I heard something,” the chief whispered back.

Martin was frozen. He dared not move a muscle. After a while, he heard the chief speak again:

“Oh well, maybe it’s my imagination…”

“Your over- active imagination…”

The rhythmic creaks began again, this time more slowly, more controlled. Martin let out a slow sigh of relief and gently flopped back on his bed. Almost at once, he knew that trouble was brewing up for him. His movement had lodged something in his windpipe- probably an inhaled fluff. He suddenly had a strong impulse to cough. Desperately, he resisted the urge, swallowing rapidly to keep the building reflex at bay. He succeeded for only a short while before realizing that he was running short of breath- it’s impossible to breathe when swallowing. With his lungs screaming for air, he finally gave in and inhaled deeply. An instant later, an explosive cough escaped his lips, throwing him into an upright position and shaking his whole bed.

Everything came to a complete stand still for the whole of the next three seconds.

Then Martin heard a tumbling sound come from Janet’s room. Somebody had fallen from the bed in that room. The tumbling sound was followed by sounds of utensils and cooking pots as they were knocked about. Some moments later the chief roared:

“Give me the torch, damnit!”

“The batteries are dead,” Janet responded in a quavering voice.

“Damn!” A flow of curses followed. Martin’s eyebrows rose in the dark. He didn’t know that the chief knew so many curse words. Listening now, Martin could hear items of clothing being flung about in Janet’s room. After some moments the barefooted steps of the chief were replaced with the hard steps of his boots. The chief had finally managed to wear his shoes. With a loud snarl, the chief flung open the door and run out of Janet’s room towards the gate. Mirth was building up inside Martin. When he heard the loud collision at the gate, he burst out laughing. The chief roared in pain and, an instant later, whimpered in frustration. Martin heard the chief run back towards Janet’s house, step inside, and bang the door shut.

“You collided with that top bar again,” Janet stated.

“Forget the motherless top bar, you atrophied cipher. I’ve just discovered that that I’m wearing your bloody skirt!”

Martin was in stitches. He was laughing so hard now that actually no sound was coming from his lips.

“Oh dear…” Janet said.

“Oh yes. And you don’t have a blessed source of light in this heathen room! Well, we’ll just have to use the starlight, won’t we?”

“What do you mean, chief?”

“Stop using my bloody titles!” the chief roared. A moment later, Martin heard Janet’s door fling open. Then he heard the sound of clothes being thrown out.

“Hey,” cried out Janet, “what do you think you are…”

“Since you don’t own a light,” the chief cut in, “I figure I might just as well hold up the clothes to the starlight before trying them on, see? I’m really not in the mood for bras on my chest. Oh dear, I think I’m cracking up!”

Several moments passed, interspersed with the chief’s swearing, and Janet’s protests. Martin’s ribs were now aching with laughter. Tears were rolling down his eyes. He stood shakily on his feet and walked towards his door, intending to have a visual feast on the drama outside. However, the moment he shot open the dead bolt of his door, he heard a shout of terror from the chief. By the time he had cracked open his door, the chief was already near the gate- a flurry of light clothes against the night’s groom. Martin heard a resounding crash, and saw the figure of the chief fall down. He had obviously hit the top bar of the gate again. The shadowy figure of the chief rose uncertainly on his feet and staggered out of the compound and out of sight. As Martin closed his door again, he saw the figure of Janet dash out of her room, grab an item of clothing from the ground outside, before dashing back into her room. Martin never slept for the rest of the night.

Early the following morning, Martin opened the door of his house and walked towards the gate. The first thing that caught his sight was a round brimmed black hat- the chief’s well known sign of power. He hastily picked it up and, looking around to ensure that there were no witnesses, stalked with the hat back to his room. There, he carefully concealed it inside a nylon paper bag and hid it under his bed. Then he went about making his breakfast. Every now and then, however, he’d burst into laughter, and would stand, helpless, wracked in mirth. He nearly burnt himself with his stove during one of those helpless spells. Around mid morning, he heard unusual noises from Janet’s room. Driven by curiosity, he opened his door to see what was happening. Janet’s belongings were all packed and right then, she was moving them outside into the compound.

“Hey, Janet,” Martin called out in a conversational tone. “Leaving us already?”

Janet kept her face turned from Martin.

“Something came up,” she replied briefly, before continuing with her packing.

“Yeah, something big,” Martin responded. “With boots and skirts and a helluva bad luck.”  He lurched into a paroxysm of helpless laughter, until, staggering, he fell back into his room. 

“We have a saying where I come from,” Janet called out after some marked silence. “And you are full of it.”

Martin never saw Janet again. 

“Let this be read by all

Who understand the meaning of

‘Fire down below…’ ”