“It’s nice, nice…but a little quiet, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is, nowhere else in city you will get so much peace and calm. Relax after hustle bustle of daily life, you know.”
“I mean, it’s a little too quiet. Oppressive silence. Gloomy, even though there are many windows. And the air…somewhat stultified, as though it never stirs. Speaking of which, there’s no breeze, but that curtain, see, see?”
“The curtain is only one year old mister, I’m leaving it, no extra charge. Sweet water, only three hours power cut, you can keep inverter also.”
“There is a feeling one gets, especially in this bedroom here, whose window looks out on to that vacant ground filled with rubbish, a feeling that one is not alone.”
“Yes, yes, very safe locality, the neighbours all decent, you will make many friends. Any emergency, always people ready to help.”
“This feeling of desolation, this indefinable impression, as of the lingering memories of tragedy, and most unsettlingly, that silent, almost invisible but all too palpable presence, like the blurred, indistinct shape of a person seen in the corner of a room in twilight. There, do you see?”
“All electrical fittings are perfectly working, lights, fans, geyser in main bathroom, plenty of plug points, will install more if you want.”
“Your house is beautiful, sir, has every advantage one can think of, but I fear I cannot take it, for, though you are the owner, someone else possesses it.”