The wolf par la perceuse rose bonbon

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I can see the whole street from where I stand.

 

17:01 — The bakery opposite my building closes. The smell of fresh bread will dissipate within the hour. The baker’s son turned the sign to ‘chiuso’ a minute ago, which means he will come back in a moment to swipe the front steps with the broom. He comes out. He does a thorough job, then sits on the steps to check his phone. He starts scrolling. A ping. New message. His startled look tells me it’s close and it’s unwanted. He looks down the street in the direction of the sea for a breath. The noise of an e-scooter approaching. Round the corner, two teenagers on the vehicle; their shirts and shorts float in the hot afternoon air as they speed up to a stop at the baker’s son’s feet. This one steps back. The riders spurt out words in Italian with such fierce that I can’t catch what they say to him. I only see him confound himself in apologies. They laugh at his obvious lies. They check their own phones before dashing away almost knocking the baker’s son off his feet. The boy stands in the street by himself for a moment, a disappointed look on his face. He slumps back on the front steps of the bakery, takes out his phone, and starts scrolling again.

 

18:38 — A high-pitched scream. A long one. Another one replaces the first. It goes on. I can’t see its origin. A woman’s voice utters some soothing words below my feet. A high-pitched scream again. Hush. Steps. The scream continues. A mother comes out of the awning of the store at the street-level of building, carrying her screaming six-year-old daughter in her arms. It’s obvious she’s too big for her. The girl’s feet dangle on the sides of the mother’s legs as this one starts pacing down the pedestrian street. The screaming comes back. The mother gently sways her daughter. The little girl’s face is tense, with tears running down her cheeks. As the pair stumbles across the street, the crying fades. The little girl’s face is still tense, but her tears ran dry. It’s gone. Whatever it was. By the time they reach the corner of the street, the girl’s screams have now turned into squeals of elation. They stop at the corner. The daughter climbs down her mother, and they both enter a gelateria.

 

20:17 — Ecstatic foreign voices echo up the now much emptier street. An elderly couple. A young elderly couple. Early 60’s at least. Hiking boots. High thick socks. Oversized backpacks. Hats and shades. They’re not locals. Eyes locked on his smartphone, the man throws shapes with his arm at the emptiness before him. The woman points in front of her, shouting kind words to her husband. The husband looks up from his smartphone in every direction but the one his wife insists upon. More kind words shouted. The husband turns to the bakery the wife found. They come to a stop in front of its steps. It’s still closed. Silence. They look at the door. Then at the timetable sign on its right. Then at their smartphone. Then at the door again. They do another couple of these rounds before muttering their visible perplexity to each other. The husband looks through the front window, covering the sides of his eyes with his hands to block the early moonlight. He tries to convince his wife that he saw a light in the darkened staff-less bakery. The wife is dubious. She walks away, lazily trying to make her husband let go of their recent failure. Disappointed, still, he resists. His pride is hurt. He succumbs a moment later. The foreign shouting is revived. Much less ecstatic than previous.

 

22:53 — The fresh air of the night after a long hot day. Stillness. Until a pram pushed by a young couple comes down the seaward end of the street. They stroll along the deserted path. The man in a sleeveless t-shirt showing his tattooed arms, upper back and chest. Three-days beard. Baseball cap. Tunnel earrings. The woman holds onto the arm of her partner holding the handlebar. Yoga pants. Sports bra. Hair tightly pulled into a high ponytail. Sneakers for both. The mother looks at the window of a closed shoe store opposite my building. She lets go of the father’s arm to get a closer look. The father stops the pram in the middle of the street to join her. As soon as he frees his hands, he reaches for a vape in his pocket. Takes a sip. Stands next to the mother, glaring at his own reflection in the dark window. In a low voice, the woman takes him through all the shoes that caught her attention. He resolves to nodding along, and muttering a few approbations as the smoke escapes casually from his mouth. His gaze then stops to a pair of his liking. He cuts his lover’s rambling to express his own desire. She jokes about it. He laughs. They both do. A moment. The baby squeaks in the pram. Their attentions leave the window, and bring them back to their new-born, all smiles. The man takes one last sip of his vape before clutching the handlebar again, and getting on their way.

 

00:59 — Not a sound besides the waves crashing fifty yards from here. The port town is asleep. The cold night air challenges my short sleeves and shorts. My body is tired. The nearby church clock breaks the silence to ring the hour. The hairs on my arms stand. Something is approaching. A shadow, at first, from the adjacent street. It grows larger. Then a snout peeks out. The beast sniffs its way across the street. Zigzagging from one side to the other. It takes its time. From the gelateria at the opposite corner. By the shoe store. And then the bakery. Nothing seems to satiate its interest. It comes an abrupt stop in the middle of the street. Raises its elongated head. And listens. It turns its head even more upward, until he locks its eyes on me. I return the gaze. We both stay there immobile. The wolf and me. Not a sound comes from either of us. I hoped that after a while it would lose interest in me. Or at least, cast me out as a potential threat. Or treat. But the wolf remains still. As do I. I understand I won’t get away with it this time. I step back from the ledge and over my balcony’s rail, my eyes still on the beast. The wolf waits for me to have both of my feet standing firmly on the balcony to go back on its way. I step inside my flat, and look one last time through my window to see the shadow moving along the façade of the bakery.