By Leila Samarai
Healthy urban man, one of the numerous tenants of the New Building, decided to lose a certain number of kilograms, for it was known that in the newer buildings there was only a certain number of kilograms allowed per floor. The calculator was deciding the correlation with height, to prevent occurrences of dislocation, deviation, turning into men-frogs or spider crabs.
The calculator was clearly showing that he needs to lose 5 kilograms, 2 grams and 10 milligrams. But, in order to lose that alarming number it was necessary to leave the New Building every night exactly at nine o’clock and run the route of five of stations of the forty-two bus then stop in the street which leads to the station of the bus number fifty-nine.
All of these numbers made sense, especially for Pythagoras.
Just as he left the building, Healthy urban man realized that the New Building, even though overpopulated, is flawlessly clean. After he thought about it he realized that he saw the tenants, who lived peaceful and quiet lives, very rarely, except in front of the buildings entry, while they were unlocking the door and after that disappearing down the ghastly empty hallway into unknown directions.
He thought about all of this, Healthy urban man, while he was returning from his jog and unlocking the entry door of the building. The light turned on automatically, welcoming him.
“My life is perfect,” he thought. “Everything slides like down the light…” this one thought, like well-oiled, while caressing the key and gently tracing the lettering on the metal relief.
“Permil by permil.” He thought while climbing step by step.
“Permil then a stair, a stair then the door, key then lock.” he was thinking while inserting the key into the lock.
Then, however, something unexpected happened. He shivered, while his hands shook from fear. The key was stubbornly refusing to open the lock. He was agonized, he tried and tried and finally realized he will have to ask help from his neighbors. He checked the display of his cell-phone. “No, it is far too late.” Besides, they will think he is crazy. They will cuss at him, perhaps even hit him. With fear he looked into the spyhole on the next door.
He was relieved after seeing the number 9.
“That means, that means I’m healthy. “he thought . “And that I merely wandered off in my thoughts, missed my floor. Ha ha ha ,” he laughed with relief. “I was just confused.”
But his brain worked and steamed with a speed of the comet which whipped the dinosaurs: “It looks like I was trying to break in into an apartment. By mistake, ofcourse, but they can accuse me in court. They can move me into the Old Building, with those misfortunates, the hunchbacks of the Silicon valley.” He turned around and smiled like a lucky thief.
When he entered the lucky apartment 13, he went to bed, content.
A few days later, in the apartment number 8, a corpse was found, of an old lady, standing upright. She lived alone, without any kin. It was told that she did not leave her apartment for years , nor received any visitors. Maybe she escaped the Old Buildings and was by mistake given an apartment in the Newbuild. Her stiff mouth was forming the letter ‘O’, as though she is calling someone for help. She was gripping the lock, like she was fighting someone from the other side of the door, a burglar most probably. That is how she died. From fear.