It is persimmon season. At 7am there is shouting somewhere outside my apartment. A fucking! followed by a string of incomprehensible shrieks. The accent is South African and this lines up with the direction from which the shrieks are tearing through the blanket of birdsong and otherwise general quiet of mornings in our village on a hill. The shrieks are female and coming from a single story bungalow diagonal to my apartment. I rush to my front room to see if anyone needs help. My first thought is it might be a domestic dispute. Maybe I should stay hidden until I can suss out what is happening. My second thought is I am naked. I wrap a towel around my waist. This stirs up memories of my father stumbling out of bed during an earthquake in the middle of the night - naked - and bundling us up into his arms so that we can stand safely in a doorframe while picture frames crash to the floor and bookshelves come alive. His towel didn’t hold and at some point my aunt screamed. I hold my towel in place as I slowly slide open my balcony door. Now I see that the glass back door to the bungalow in question has been flung open. It is a nice bungalow, white walls, green trim, newly bought by a gweilo couple who evidently split their time between here and Hong Kong Island, two blonde toddlers and a matronly helper in tow. They replaced a Serbian man and his cousin. The bungalow looks like it belongs in Greece. It has a rooftop patio. So unlike the triple storied, tiled village houses on Lamma, this bungalow is the envy of many. Another scream erupts though it is not quite Halloween. I hear Afrikaans and more English swearing. It is either fury or fright. Or both. Another scream. Oh, definitely both. And that can only mean one thing. “This house! So many cockroaches in this house! I told you! I told you!” My work here is done. Immediately I slide the door shut as visions of cockroaches flying from the pretty bungalow to my balcony flood my mind. I can’t explain it but I am at once deeply disturbed and deeply satisfied. From inside, I hear a vacuum roar to life. Who on earth would- ? I try not to think about it. A strong impulse to shower. And so to begin my morning.
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