Post by ,jnh on Nov 30, 2023 4:48:31 GMT
In the urban background noise, the one you can never concretely define, that mixture of buzzes, rumbles, words, bangs, alarms, sirens, all condensed into an arrhythmic constant melody, I could hear the hairdryer on blowing hot air into the room from the bathroom, abandoned on the furniture, in that empty room where until a few moments before a woman was holding it, my wife, who I had also heard humming an old song, the usual one she loved to listen to. It was a light noise, she always kept the hairdryer on low, and so it wasn't easy to distinguish it among the din of the city, the murmur of the city, as my father called it. No, it wasn't easy to locate that noise.
However, when she ran the hairdryer through her damp hair, a different note was felt, because the air flow found an obstacle after a few centimeters instead of flying away free into the air. At times, when she put it down to comb her hair, she went back to making that perpetual sound and it was precisely the continuation of that monotonous blowing that made me suspicious, several minutes later. When I entered the bathroom, my wife was no longer there. At first I thought she had gone into the kitchen, but she wasn't even there. Only the bedroom remained, because I came from the dining room, but that too was empty.
I called her, even though I knew it was useless, that was our Phone Number Data home, a small apartment almost on the outskirts, not a castle in which it was possible to get lost. Maybe she went to ask the neighbors something, I told myself, and she left the hairdryer on. So I went out and rang the first bell. Nobody opened it. A girl from the other apartment opened the door for me, but she said she hadn't seen my wife. I thanked her and went back inside her. In the bathroom the hairdryer continued to blow air and I turned it off. The hairbrush was in the sink. I looked around, not sure what to look for, signs of a presence, perhaps, messages hidden in out of place objects.
However, when she ran the hairdryer through her damp hair, a different note was felt, because the air flow found an obstacle after a few centimeters instead of flying away free into the air. At times, when she put it down to comb her hair, she went back to making that perpetual sound and it was precisely the continuation of that monotonous blowing that made me suspicious, several minutes later. When I entered the bathroom, my wife was no longer there. At first I thought she had gone into the kitchen, but she wasn't even there. Only the bedroom remained, because I came from the dining room, but that too was empty.
I called her, even though I knew it was useless, that was our Phone Number Data home, a small apartment almost on the outskirts, not a castle in which it was possible to get lost. Maybe she went to ask the neighbors something, I told myself, and she left the hairdryer on. So I went out and rang the first bell. Nobody opened it. A girl from the other apartment opened the door for me, but she said she hadn't seen my wife. I thanked her and went back inside her. In the bathroom the hairdryer continued to blow air and I turned it off. The hairbrush was in the sink. I looked around, not sure what to look for, signs of a presence, perhaps, messages hidden in out of place objects.