John has been having a hard time lately; he has not been very well since a dentist pulled out one of his molars a month ago, resulting in a painful dry socket, impaired immune system and other related misfortunes. He has had to spend a lot of time in bed in a tiny hotel room in Glasgow convalescing, surrounded by our worldly possessions, all unpacked for convenience. It was like convalescing inside an RV that had rolled down a hill after taking a corner too fast then sat subsiding in a swamp for four weeks.
A single-room existence is problematic for two people if they have different sleep schedules. I like staying up late and sleeping in; John prefers going to bed early and being woken by despair just before dawn. One way to avoid disturbing the sleeping partner too much is to put on the sound machine our friend gave us for Christmas. It also doubles as a nightlight, providing a modicum of visibility. And you can even choose the colours: green, blue, red or white.
This system usually works well but last week resulted in a regrettable scene. I was snoring as usual and John got up early, got dressed by the red night-light of the sound machine and sat down at his laptop to write. Because the noise machine was on, he did not hear the quiet knocks of the timid maid. She opened the door to see what looked like a disembodied head, as John’s face was lit up by the laptop’s ghostly glow. From behind him was a hissing sound and a strange red glow, as if the head had opened a portal to Hell.
I was still asleep at the time so I said I was sure it wasn’t that bad but John said that, judging by the look of horror on the maid’s face and the scream that froze on her lips, it was actually that bad. It may have been a coincidence, but no one came to clean our room for a few days after that. They left us to our Satanic rites.
