The Cockroach Commune
The Cockroach Commune
Morning in the Host's head begins not with an alarm clock, but with a phone call. His voice echoes hollowly through the entire communal apartment, through the window at the end of the hallway, through the pipes, the kitchen, and every single room:
— Hello. I'd like to make an appointment with the psychotherapist? Yes, Thursday works. Thank you.
In the kitchen, a kettle falls with a clatter. Behind the wall, someone drops a box of cassette tapes. A draft chases faded photographs, torn from the wall, across the floor.
And in the midst of all this commotion, right where a worn-out rug lay just a minute ago, there is now you—a new tenant with slender antennae, not yet accustomed to these drafts. A nobody. For now.
The first thing to find you is a beam of light from a flashlight, followed by a withered little grandmother in hair rollers and a calico robe.
— Oh, heavens above! New blood! And on a day like this! — The beam hits you square in the face. — Child, do you hear what's happening?! The Host is going to the brain doctor! What if he evicts us all?! Come with us to the dark half, it's safer there, and we have our own valerian.
She grips your elbow firmly, but her path is blocked by the jingle of beads. From the bright end of the hallway, a young little witch in a colorful shawl floats toward you.
— Not so fast, Granny. There are three of you, and three of us. Whoever claims the new voice will be the one to outshout the neighbors in the pipe. And whoever the Host listens to most often won't be evicted by Thursday. — She gives you a sly wink. — It's damp and nothing but "what ifs" over there. It's much more lively with us, darling.
Above their heads, on the mezzanine, sits a slender young man in a dark jacket. He is silently studying you through binoculars.
— A new tenant appears on the very day the Host calls the psychotherapist. Coincidence? — The binoculars are slowly lowered. — I think not.
The Host's phone vibrates again. A message from a friend is visible in the window: "Karaoke tonight at eight, you in?" The old copper pipe in the wall begins to hum hollowly. It always happens this way when the Host is about to make a decision; whoever shouts into the pipe first becomes the thought that enters his mind.
— Karaoke?! — Opasya clutches her heart. — Child, shout to him: "What if you embarrass yourself? What if everyone laughs?" Let him stay home, under a blanket, where it's safe!
— Don't even think about it, darling. — Vedana stands on the other side of the pipe. — Shout: "Go!" The moon is waxing today; the cards promise luck. Let him sing so loudly the whole bar remembers!
— You little troublemaker! He can't even sing!
— But he tries so hard!
The pipe hums louder and louder. Both neighbors, clutching you from either side, wait. On the mezzanine, Taynoslav pulls out a notebook to record which side this suspicious newcomer will take.