Monday, June 05, 2006
The Window
I
It was a small room in the far corner of his basement. Empty - as though someone had removed its contents in preparation for some purpose, now long forgotten.
The four walls were interrupted only by one door and, in the opposite wall, one long narrow window. Years ago, the window, which abutted the concrete of the adjacent building, had been painted shut, and over time a thick coat of grime had covered the glass completely.
A single light bulb, now dead, punctuated the bare ceiling. The only light to enter the room came through the doorway from the small lamp at the other end of the basement.
His fascination with the window had begun when he was young - still a student. One day, while rummaging through old magazines, he looked in through the door and thought he saw a pattern in the grime - a pattern that moved. He approached the window. There could be no doubt, the pattern was moving. He left the basement, took an aspirin and went to bed early.
A few days later he looked again, with the same result. This time he lingered at the window for over an hour.
Through the years, his visits to the window became more frequent, and gradually grew into a daily obsession. Despite the dimness of the light, the pattern had begun to form images - blurred, always different, and always in motion. The window seemed the entrance to another world - a world whose mysteries promised far more satisfaction than the dross and drudgeries of his everyday existence.
As his obsession grew he began to wonder what he would find if he opened the window. Would it break the spell or would he be able to see more clearly that universe beyond the glass?
Eventually, he resolved to find out. He had to open the window.
For several days he tugged and strained against the frame, to no avail. He then brought a putty knife, a screwdriver, a hammer and even a chisel. He worked feverishly and after a week, the window seemed to loosen in its frame. And through all this the patterns seemed to shimmer and swirl, as though beckoning him to continue.
II
One last mighty pull and the window rose, as though now eager to reveal its secret.
The scene before him was no longer a blurred pattern in the grime, but a vivid landscape, brighter and clearer than any he remembered seeing before - a landscape of rolling green meadow bordered by distant rocky hills.
On the left were small trees and flowering shrubs nestling along a meandering brook. To the right, three small children played with a newly born lamb. He could hear their delighted squeals and the lamb’s gentle bleating.
Entranced, he stood motionless for many minutes, afraid to break the magic.
A cooling breeze caressed his face, wafting a multitude of spring fragrances. He breathed deeply. Finally, with a great effort of will, and with much regret, he closed the window.
His wristwatch showed seven AM. He must prepare to go to work. He must return to trash strewn streets, to acrid odors, and to noise, noise, noise.
One thing only occupied his mind - he must return to the window.
III
After work, he hurried home, wolfed down his dinner, and, at last, stood before the window.
He needed tug only lightly - the window seemed to want to rise.
His first perception was that of crashing water. He viewed a seashore on a warm sunny day. He squinted in the brightness to better see the scene before him. Colorful umbrellas and canvas chairs dotted the clean white sand. Bathers splashed about in the water, alternately seeking and fleeing the endless waves. As though imitating the bathers, seagulls scrambled back and forth with the surf.
A gentle salt spray cooled and moistened his face. He licked his lips and tasted the briny salt sea.
He realized he was facing west, and the late afternoon sun was only beginning to paint the sky with rusty reds, with purples and with blues among the clouds.
Suddenly he had an idea. He bounded from the window and up the stairs. Moments later a thump, thump, bumping could be heard as he struggled down the stairs with an overstuffed chair.
He dragged it in front of the window and sank deeply into it. “Just like a king.” he thought and continued to survey his magical domain.
The sun was now setting, washing the sky with a fiery glow. Minutes later, it had set completely, leaving a clear black heaven dotted with uncountable silvery stars.
“Just like the sky at sea,” he thought, “Where city lights and smog can’t mask their flickering.”
He sat there through the night alternately dozing and waking to the ever shifting scene.
IV
He was in trouble at work. Soon after arriving late, he was called into the boss’s office.
“Your performance recently has been substandard!”
“Yes Sir.”
“Your attendance has been unsatisfactory!”
“Yes Sir.”
“Correct these problems or we can do without you!”
“Yes Sir.”
He returned to his desk. All he could think about was the window. What wonders would it hold for him tonight?
As he hurried home he conceived a plan to no longer eat in the kitchen, but to take food to the basement and eat in the chair in front of the window. Nearing home he passed a house with a yard sale. There, under a table, he spied a chamber pot.
“Perfect!” he thought. “Now I needn’t ever leave the window.”
The scene that night, he thought, must be in Switzerland or Scandinavia. On the left were sheer crags, with a waterfall, splashing a fine spray into midday sunlight, creating a huge shimmering rainbow. On the right was a cluster of flowering trees, pink petaled, and alive with visiting songbirds.
Beyond the trees he could see the outskirts of a town with low houses along cobbled streets. Almost every window held a box of flowers. There were Begonias, Ranunculus, and Anemone. Children were playing excitedly with a ball, and two old men, seated at a small table, were rapt in a game of dominos.
He sighed contentedly, finished his food, and placed the dirty dishes on the floor to his left. His chamber pot was on his right.
Three young goats made an appearance on the crags. One, a kid, gamboled happily around the other two, who were busily grazing.
No thoughts or problems entered his mind. He simply relaxed, and watched, and sank more deeply into his chair.
V
Edna was concerned. She spent most of each day looking out of her second floor window, at her neighbors, scurrying back and forth as they pursued their busy lives.
Something was wrong. She hadn’t seen him for six days - not since the evening when she saw him come home with a package of groceries and a what looked like a chamber pot.
Edna was a caring neighbor. She prided herself about that.
“I’ll just give him a ring,” she decided.
No answer.
She hadn’t seen him go out. She phoned again and then went downstairs and knocked at his door.
No answer.
Edna called the police and waited at her window. Within five minutes they arrived - two patrolmen who were well known in the neighborhood.
Ed rang the bell and knocked as Charley peered in through the front windows. After a few minutes conversation they reached their decision. Edna saw Charley take out a batch of keys and start trying them in the door.
Eventually one clicked and they entered.
A foul odor greeted them. They traced it to the basement. There they found the empty chair, dirty dishes piled on its left, and a half filled reeking chamber pot on the right.
Charley was puzzled. “Why sit in front of a cement wall?”
“Who knows,” said Ed, as he closed the grime covered window.
It was a small room in the far corner of his basement. Empty - as though someone had removed its contents in preparation for some purpose, now long forgotten.
The four walls were interrupted only by one door and, in the opposite wall, one long narrow window. Years ago, the window, which abutted the concrete of the adjacent building, had been painted shut, and over time a thick coat of grime had covered the glass completely.
A single light bulb, now dead, punctuated the bare ceiling. The only light to enter the room came through the doorway from the small lamp at the other end of the basement.
His fascination with the window had begun when he was young - still a student. One day, while rummaging through old magazines, he looked in through the door and thought he saw a pattern in the grime - a pattern that moved. He approached the window. There could be no doubt, the pattern was moving. He left the basement, took an aspirin and went to bed early.
A few days later he looked again, with the same result. This time he lingered at the window for over an hour.
Through the years, his visits to the window became more frequent, and gradually grew into a daily obsession. Despite the dimness of the light, the pattern had begun to form images - blurred, always different, and always in motion. The window seemed the entrance to another world - a world whose mysteries promised far more satisfaction than the dross and drudgeries of his everyday existence.
As his obsession grew he began to wonder what he would find if he opened the window. Would it break the spell or would he be able to see more clearly that universe beyond the glass?
Eventually, he resolved to find out. He had to open the window.
For several days he tugged and strained against the frame, to no avail. He then brought a putty knife, a screwdriver, a hammer and even a chisel. He worked feverishly and after a week, the window seemed to loosen in its frame. And through all this the patterns seemed to shimmer and swirl, as though beckoning him to continue.
II
One last mighty pull and the window rose, as though now eager to reveal its secret.
The scene before him was no longer a blurred pattern in the grime, but a vivid landscape, brighter and clearer than any he remembered seeing before - a landscape of rolling green meadow bordered by distant rocky hills.
On the left were small trees and flowering shrubs nestling along a meandering brook. To the right, three small children played with a newly born lamb. He could hear their delighted squeals and the lamb’s gentle bleating.
Entranced, he stood motionless for many minutes, afraid to break the magic.
A cooling breeze caressed his face, wafting a multitude of spring fragrances. He breathed deeply. Finally, with a great effort of will, and with much regret, he closed the window.
His wristwatch showed seven AM. He must prepare to go to work. He must return to trash strewn streets, to acrid odors, and to noise, noise, noise.
One thing only occupied his mind - he must return to the window.
III
After work, he hurried home, wolfed down his dinner, and, at last, stood before the window.
He needed tug only lightly - the window seemed to want to rise.
His first perception was that of crashing water. He viewed a seashore on a warm sunny day. He squinted in the brightness to better see the scene before him. Colorful umbrellas and canvas chairs dotted the clean white sand. Bathers splashed about in the water, alternately seeking and fleeing the endless waves. As though imitating the bathers, seagulls scrambled back and forth with the surf.
A gentle salt spray cooled and moistened his face. He licked his lips and tasted the briny salt sea.
He realized he was facing west, and the late afternoon sun was only beginning to paint the sky with rusty reds, with purples and with blues among the clouds.
Suddenly he had an idea. He bounded from the window and up the stairs. Moments later a thump, thump, bumping could be heard as he struggled down the stairs with an overstuffed chair.
He dragged it in front of the window and sank deeply into it. “Just like a king.” he thought and continued to survey his magical domain.
The sun was now setting, washing the sky with a fiery glow. Minutes later, it had set completely, leaving a clear black heaven dotted with uncountable silvery stars.
“Just like the sky at sea,” he thought, “Where city lights and smog can’t mask their flickering.”
He sat there through the night alternately dozing and waking to the ever shifting scene.
IV
He was in trouble at work. Soon after arriving late, he was called into the boss’s office.
“Your performance recently has been substandard!”
“Yes Sir.”
“Your attendance has been unsatisfactory!”
“Yes Sir.”
“Correct these problems or we can do without you!”
“Yes Sir.”
He returned to his desk. All he could think about was the window. What wonders would it hold for him tonight?
As he hurried home he conceived a plan to no longer eat in the kitchen, but to take food to the basement and eat in the chair in front of the window. Nearing home he passed a house with a yard sale. There, under a table, he spied a chamber pot.
“Perfect!” he thought. “Now I needn’t ever leave the window.”
The scene that night, he thought, must be in Switzerland or Scandinavia. On the left were sheer crags, with a waterfall, splashing a fine spray into midday sunlight, creating a huge shimmering rainbow. On the right was a cluster of flowering trees, pink petaled, and alive with visiting songbirds.
Beyond the trees he could see the outskirts of a town with low houses along cobbled streets. Almost every window held a box of flowers. There were Begonias, Ranunculus, and Anemone. Children were playing excitedly with a ball, and two old men, seated at a small table, were rapt in a game of dominos.
He sighed contentedly, finished his food, and placed the dirty dishes on the floor to his left. His chamber pot was on his right.
Three young goats made an appearance on the crags. One, a kid, gamboled happily around the other two, who were busily grazing.
No thoughts or problems entered his mind. He simply relaxed, and watched, and sank more deeply into his chair.
V
Edna was concerned. She spent most of each day looking out of her second floor window, at her neighbors, scurrying back and forth as they pursued their busy lives.
Something was wrong. She hadn’t seen him for six days - not since the evening when she saw him come home with a package of groceries and a what looked like a chamber pot.
Edna was a caring neighbor. She prided herself about that.
“I’ll just give him a ring,” she decided.
No answer.
She hadn’t seen him go out. She phoned again and then went downstairs and knocked at his door.
No answer.
Edna called the police and waited at her window. Within five minutes they arrived - two patrolmen who were well known in the neighborhood.
Ed rang the bell and knocked as Charley peered in through the front windows. After a few minutes conversation they reached their decision. Edna saw Charley take out a batch of keys and start trying them in the door.
Eventually one clicked and they entered.
A foul odor greeted them. They traced it to the basement. There they found the empty chair, dirty dishes piled on its left, and a half filled reeking chamber pot on the right.
Charley was puzzled. “Why sit in front of a cement wall?”
“Who knows,” said Ed, as he closed the grime covered window.
