A baby has arrived on our stairs. With that piercing cry that nature gives to human children, so that we can find them if they are lost in the forest. In my little block of flats we know where this creature is. His sonic presence is so intense that he has picked up some rabid current affairs that were trying to make their way here. The child’s rage rages. Or joy or desolation or whatever these crazy screams are. A fierce voice that does not yet articulate words. We poor neighbors on this staircase haven’t heard anything like this for a long time. In all fairness, the last few years must have reached our ears the sound of a cat in an unbridled zeal.
We are a bad neighborhood. I’m the only one who almost talks to everyone, I don’t know how I ended up becoming a blue helmet of scale. Things were very bad. One day, the one below, despite being so old, hit the young man in front for knocking on the door. It seems that he was rushed. The young man who was assaulted filed a complaint. Two uniformed policemen came to the staircase. I don’t know if I saw it or if it was explained to me at length by another neighbor who also doesn’t talk to anyone, because of bicycles or dogs. I don’t want to think that we are a portrait of contemporary society. I don’t want to remember a day when I went to the accused’s house, for some mission, and he kicked me out furiously. I saw you talking to the others, he shouted with red eyes. A few months ago, the assaulted neighbor quietly had a child. Now he calls.
We hear him through the wall, with a reborn heart. In the morning, his squeals enter my dreams and bring back vivid memories of the sounds of my son when he was a baby. i can feel it Time runs through my body like an electric spark. Another day, in the middle of sleep, the howls of the neighboring creature awaken a strange correspondence with those of the little girl who was even me. I feel her and I don’t know what I feel. Then, in some nap interrupted by the little beast, I pull the thread until I hear the cries or laughter of the creature that was once my mother. Sounds that had inexplicably never crossed my mind. Your baby mama is a bottomless pit. The power of this neighbor creature is beastly. I don’t get to the howling baby that was my grandmother, in the crazy twenties, because you have to know how to stop.
