Blood on the balcony

In the mild early-summer night, the rhythmically repeating sound of creaking and banging breaks the silence of the tenement house into blade-sharp splinters. From inside, from the room, the sound of gasping, laboured human breathing filters out onto the open walkway. Out on the walkway someone quietly steps up to the half-open window, holding in their hand a dark object that looks like a weapon.

The hand moves towards the window with a soft rustle and a tiny indicator light flashes on the device. A few metallic clicks, a pained hiss, and a few drops of blood appear on the pale stone floor of the walkway. From inside, at this very moment, a cough and a quiet throat-clearing can be heard; at this the hand freezes motionless and the light goes out at once. A few minutes of tense silence, only shreds of a faint horn from afar filtering through between the blocks of houses; a couple of corners away a baby starts to cry, down in the concreted courtyard a stray breeze skims through a newspaper, then tosses it aside in boredom and flutters on. The hand springs into rapid motion again, the LED flashes on and off, and once more those metallic clicks. This is repeated exactly four times, then the shutters close gently, and the dark figure stands rigid and listens intently. Since no more noise comes from inside — no rasping, no gasping — the fellow looks around cautiously and slinks back into the shadows from which he came minutes earlier.

In the morning the head of the caretaker lady’s broom knocks twice on the door, and a few times she twangs the old, many-times-repainted railing of the walkway, and at this a quiet scream and a shout sound from the flat: – Good God, what happened?! What time is it? Where am I?!

The caretaker lady knocks:

– Is Katóka all right? Won’t you be late for work? You’re not usually still at home at this hour! There’s a note here on your door, do you know about it? It might be something important.

Someone opens the little window in the door from inside, and the caretaker lady cries out in alarm:

– Good God, Katóka, surely nothing has happened to you?!

A charmingly tousled girl in pyjamas, her face creased by the pillow, stands inside in the half-light and answers with a forced smile: – No, Auntie Zsuzsa dear, it’s nothing, the wind just blew the shutter in during the night, and because of the dark I overslept a little.

What’s the time?

– It’s already half past nine, my treasure. Shall I read out to you what’s on this note?

Katóka suddenly doesn’t even know what she should answer to a question like that, so she blurts out – yes, please be so kind as to read it, it might be something important!

– Well, it says here: “Dear Kati! I couldn’t bear the creaking of your shutters any longer, so on shop.menet-trend.hu I ordered you 4 new stainless and acid-resistant NONOX hinges to replace the old, rusty shutter hinges, and I’ve been meaning to offer for days now to change them for you, but since I couldn’t sleep tonight, with your retrospective permission, I did the job in the night. I guarantee that these will never rust again! Please try them, and if you’re satisfied, but only then… (something has been scribbled over here…) It wasn’t cheap, and on top of that I changed the screws too, for nice new, matching NONOX stainless and acid-resistant screws, and all the while I was only fretting that you might smack me in the face with a rolling pin. So, if you’re satisfied, all I ask is that you don’t turn me down again when I invite you to dinner. Careful, I’ve kept your creaky, rusty hinges as a memento, and if you say no, one night I’ll put them back! Signed: the guy who took the Kovácses’ flat. P.S.: I don’t know if you knew that the Kovácses moved out of the house because of the creaking of your shutters, which I don’t regret in the slightest, because that’s how I got to be your new neighbour.”