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It was a deep and moonless night and the town was asleep. Like an invisible serpent, the stench of fish and rotten seaweed slithered through the narrow cobbled streets and dark alleys. Was it not for a few rats skulking in the shadows, one could think the town has been long deserted.

In one of the murky alleyways connecting the town’s square with its Market district stood a house. Once grandiose, the building was now in a pitiful state. Its sandstone walls were grey with thick layers of dust and dirt, and a large part of its left wing was sank underground, like dragged down by some invisible force. On the wall, illuminated by a faint flicker of a solitary gas lamp, was a rusted metal plate that read Zentral Wasserwerk und Registratur 12A (Central Waterstation and Filing 12A).

Upon entering through the heavy wooden door, the building opened into a wide atrium. In its centre stood a windowless grey structure of solid concrete, anchored to the ground by four thick steel ropes like some strange ship. Walking inside, one could easily get lost in a labyrinth of small offices and interweaving corridors built around a large open space area. There, like a lone buoy in the sea of desks, sat a man.

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It was the beginning of my summer break, and as always at this time of the year, I went to stay with my grandparents for a few weeks. Gone was the boring school, the mundane chores of everyday life, gone were the never-ending lectures of my parents. I was fifteen and a little too jaunty to start giving myself, or my life, a more serious thought.

As I was lying on my back, listening to the whines and whispers of the house, I heard feet tapping on the kitchen linoleum next door. Before I could brace myself, something big and hairy fell right next to me with an ear-popping “Gooood mooorniiiing”. The irritatingly cheerful face that stared at me belonged to none other than my beloved cousin who I knew ever since I could walk. Only a few months older than me, he was “the more responsible one” as my mom used to say. Still, I loved him like a brother and at that time, and on that very day, I couldn’t picture my summer without him.

“C’mon , let’s go! Grandma’s already off to the allotment!”

“Right…what time is it?” I asked still a bit sleepy.

”Eight fifteen…and guess what?! I finally found my knife!” He said with a mix of triumph and childish happiness.

I dragged myself from the makeshift bed into the bathroom. I splashed icy cold water on my face and as I was brushing my teeth, I saw him standing by the door, fully dressed and fixing knife to his belt. Still half asleep, I changed myself into my summer shorts, put on a shirt and a pair of ragged trainers. I locked the door and we emerged from the cool house onto a hot and busy street.

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It is a sleepy Sunday afternoon and the street is still and quiet, save the occasional tinkle of cutlery and sound of TV coming from the houses. Buried in my own thoughts, I walk slowly down the road and as usual subconsciously try to avoid cracks in the pavement. I look up and suddenly spot my niece on the other side as she walks up the hill, towards the direction of the park. I have spoken to her only occasionally as she is almost twenty years my junior and always away whenever I stop by.
I notice she walks briskly, reminding me of a quicksilver temperament of her late mother, but I also recognize something odd that makes me stop in my tracks. With her arms folded, pressing against her stomach and slightly bent like caught frozen in some apologetic bow, I realize that this is not the Charlotte I remember. While standing there and contemplating about what to do I notice that she unknowingly drops something small and white. Observing the unexpected, I suddenly want to shake off my pathological habit of cowardly ignorance and cross the street and pick up what appears to be a small linen handkerchief. I run after her hoping to catch her before she disappears into the park but she’s too fast and I am too embarrassed to call out.

Panting and catching my breath, I enter the park and lean against an immense tree. I unfasten my tie and with my thoughts racing far ahead of me, I wipe my forehead with the linen still clutched in my hand. I look around, waiting while my eyes slowly adjust to the shade of the park, and finally I spot her sitting on a wooden bench about a hundred feet away, near to the observation tower. Looking at the city’s bay, she appears to be mesmerized and fully consumed by the vista and completely unaware of me or other park visitors, of which there are not many. Still not sure if what I do is right, I walk cautiously towards her, like looking some invisible trap.

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