The bedroom I'm staying in has a big window that opens to the interior courtyard--the one I talked about in the last post. This courtyard is the perfect acoustic magnifier--if there is such a thing. Sounds are captured and echoed from stucco, concrete, and aluminum-framed windows for 14 floors before escaping into the sky above.
Echoes of apartment life are my alarm clock as well as my companion throughout the day.
A preschooler from 604 calls for mae (MUAEE) a half dozen times; finally Mother answers. Telephones interrupt with various rhythmic rings, while the front desk phone installed in each kitchen sings the same gentle notes in every home. Remodeling construction in 702 starts weekdays promptly at 8AM with large hammers on concrete walls. Notes of a familiar opera float around. Metal spoon on metal cooking pot announces a meal with a happy clang-clang. 1104 sits at her window while talking on the phone; the tone of her voice tells me she's talking to a friend about pleasant things, though this Gringa only catches a familiar word or two. Early one morning I heard a woman weeping with such passion that I was at once heartbroken and a little embarrassed at overhearing such vulnerable sadness. Had she lost her husband? Did she have grave news from a doctor? I prayed for her peace and consolation. Yesterday someone was enjoying the music of a Portuguese artist who sounded like Celine Dion. As I hung a load of whites on the balcony racks, I enjoyed it too..
On the courtyard's ground level, a crew of two has prepped the concrete floor for installation of ceramic tile. Mostly it's just been the sharp blows of hammer and chisel repeating through the window from ten floors below. But last week after they finished breaking out a few high spots, The Whistler arrived. I think his job was to install self-leveling concrete to insure the slab would be able to receive the overlay of large square tiles. What an unusual juxtaposition! I could hear his scraping and mixing, but I was mystified by the tune he whistled--rich and slow. Verse after verse, the virtuoso warbled like some exotic tropical bird. Now the intermittent whine and scream of a tile saw has chased The Whistler away, and in a few days there will be a completed ceramic tile patio for 201, 202, 203, and 204. Cecilia hopes it's soon; me too.
One night at dinner, I asked Cecilia and Will if they knew any lullabies to sing to Daniel. I chuckled when I told them how poorly prepared I was to sing to Steve Jr. when he was born. 36 years ago, all I could think of was "Silent Night;" and I sang it over and over again to soothe my firstborn in the wee hours. Cecilia offered the Portuguese version, I sang a verse in English, and then Will began his mock operatic crescendo. We three stood at the sink, processing the dinner dishes, and sang Christmas carols into the midnight courtyard. Now that I think about it, I wonder which neighbors heard us?
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