CHAPTER 3 - DECOR
At the closing they comment on the spelling
of his name. “M-a-u-r-i-n, how interesting.
Yet it’s pronounced...?”
Wrinkled skin below the woman’s
throat belies her facelift. “Mourn,” he
replies, through tight lips. His given
name is Maurin. But, from kindergarten
on everyone slurred the syllables and
pretty soon “Morn” was
all anybody called him. During the
dour,
testosterone filled years of puberty
he preferred the
M-o-u-r-n spelling. It seemed appropriate,
a proper noun torn from a verb, imbued
with a sense of brooding sadness.
Images of fog-enshrouded landscapes
and dark
figures on the moor. Growing up he
often felt as though someone he greatly
cared
for had died.
By four PM the 18th floor condominium
is his.
His first act is to have the bedroom
soundproofed by building an entirely
separate wall inside the original then
applying
carpeting to all surfaces. He tells
the workmen it’s going to be a
sound studio, but from that day on they
give
him weird looks.
Meanwhile, he plans and shops for furniture.
He’s taken the day off from work because the chairs have been
promised “between 9 and 4.” He hates delivery men. It’s
a stark, raw, elbow banging kind of day. There’s too much
light -- a reminder that his drapes have not arrived and that the
bolts of red fabric he ordered are a week overdue. "Where is
my satin?" he bellows into the phone. Now everything will have
to be covered when they do the walls. The chairs arrive exactly
at four, just as the freight operator is going off duty. It’s
the first time he’s ever paid a bribe.
Covering the walls with red satin is
painstaking and takes days to accomplish.
When the workmen are finally done his
apartment
has the feel and color of a Bangkok hooker's favorite dress.
He has been spending his nights in a
sleeping bag on the living-room
floor. His bed arrives tomorrow, so this will be his last
night before the big window. The view is breathtaking, tier
upon tier
of buildings, with hundreds of lighted windows beckoning
through the dark. He kneels on the sleeping
bag and closes his eyes.
Not since the realtor first brought him here has he dared
to try again
for contact. He closes his eyes and projects his message.
Once again he feels her presence.
