La Guerra della Porta
Some background: The apartment directly above us is owned by a real estate agency. They tried to make it into a Bed and Breakfast (minus the breakfast) and it didn’t work.
Three or so years ago they rented it to an old lady. When we bought and when we moved in, she was living up there. Of course, we didn’t know any of this at the time and we thought that she had been there for many, many years because it seemed an inconvenient place for someone elderly to live. The stairway is 14 steps and they are quite deep. I, myself, cannot go up those stairs. They are also made of tile, so they can be slippery. I had also noticed that she ascended those stairs one at a time, like a child.
A year and a half ago the lady fell somewhere in the streets outside and broke her left wrist. Five months later she fell down the stairs and broke her right wrist. We were the only ones in the building when that happened. It was Palm Sunday, no one was around and we were frantically seeking help. Eventually, another neighbor drove in and saw us out in the chilly rain and helped to get the lady to the hospital.
The apartment next door to us is a studio. It had been for sale when we were thinking of buying this one, but it sold before we made a decision.
The day after I arrived in Italy (tired, just a little scared, cold and quite hungry) someone rang the doorbell. I opened it to see a middle aged woman whose first words were “Mio marito e morto”…my husband died. I was not very good at Italian at that point, but I understood that. I was able to grasp that she wanted to know if we wanted to buy the apartment. ??? Not at the moment, thank you…a little busy…exhausted and just…no.
She insisted on showing me the place anyway. As I said, it is a studio, a decent size, with the kitchen on the left, one back window and a narrow bathroom adjacent to the kitchen, which also has a small window.
It was not the time for us to buy another place and it took me three or four tries to finally make this woman tell me what her asking price was, which was WAY too high, anyway.
She was persistent for quite some time, but the situation was impossible. We needed a new boiler, refrigerator, bed, stove, oven….sorry, no…not now.
Since that time we have become more capable with the language, we have gotten to know our neighbors and we have more understanding of the situation.
The old lady upstairs is somehow related to the woman trying to sell the studio. I suppose that is why she was in the upstairs apartment, renting, since her relatives owned and sometimes used the studio downstairs.
Also since then, we have mused about buying the place if the owner would come down on her ridiculous price. Not only for a place for our daughter to stay when she visits, but if it were possible, I would break through the wall and make the bathroom twice as large and make the studio a master bedroom. It has a northern exposure window so it doesn’t get much light, which is fine for a bedroom.
The studio sat empty for more than a year. Until a couple of weeks ago.
The little old lady from upstairs moved into the studio. Of course, it is much better for her not to go up and down those stairs. There is just one little problem. Upstairs she had more windows and a south facing balcony. She also had more than twenty plants.
Somehow she expected to take all of these plants into the studio (which has neither the room or the light) or the courtyard. The courtyard???
The courtyard is enclosed, completely covered. It gets quite cold and has no light unless the front communal door to the entire building is open. I tried growing a shade loving philodendron out there and it nearly died before I brought it inside. I opted for a fake plant instead.
Since we were the only people downstairs, we put out a couple of benches for seating, an umbrella stand, we had the entire courtyard plaster repaired, we had the front door restored and we had some sconces installed for more ambient light (there are lights that go on for 3 minutes when you enter and leave but they are utilitarian and not attractive in any way).
The only time the front door is open is when one or both of us is there. Why? Isn’t it a safe place to live?
Yes, it is. However, every Saturday there is a large street market and people come from all over and in pre-pandemic days, there would be lots of tourists, too. Strangers, in other words. Second, there are lots of feral cats. Some of them are predatory males. They get into fights, they spray, they are not cats that we want wandering into the courtyard. Third, there are also people who let their dogs of the leash (!!!) and some of THEM chase the street cats and that is another thing we don’t want in our courtyard. And last, we now have some property in the courtyard which was formerly empty…lights, benches, an little end table. We don’t want them damaged or lifted.
Here is the problem. The little old lady brought her twenty or so plants downstairs and plunked them ALL in the courtyard. There is room OUTSIDE on the front step and beside it for several plants…south facing, just like the balcony they came from. She refuses to put any of them out there and we don’t know why. We spoke to her. Two other neighbors spoke to her. She won’t do it. It makes not one bit of sense.
Then, she started opening the front, communal door and going back inside her studio and closing the door, which doesn’t even have a peephole. Welcome, one and all, feral cats, wandering dogs and strangers.
We could see through our peephole if the door was open because of the amount of daylight. And we would go out and close the door, only to find it open again some time later.
Several times we were surprised by the post person or a delivery right at our inside door, rather than hearing the buzzer so we could release the lock outside.
Door open or not, the plants are dying. Roses, geraniums, cyclamen….they need sun, not indirect daylight. Twenty became sixteen, then fourteen and now about twelve. Gosh, what a surprise. That only took a couple of weeks. Oh, she waters them every day, by the way. And the terra cotta tiles on the floor are being stained from the runoff. The sight of dropped petals and leaves and drooping plants is not something that anyone in their right mind wants to be greeted with.
She rearranged the ones left two days ago and I don’t know what happened but there was a mud stain across about a meter of the floor. She was cleaning it up with a paper towel under her shoe. She’s old, and she can’t bend down. It’s a total mess. (Yes, we will clean it up.)
Two weeks of this. Door is open again! Ok….close it. An hour or two later…door is open again!
I printed out a sign. “For security, PLEASE close the door if you are not in the courtyard.” Did she see it? I have no idea. Does she care? Don’t know that, either.
I was coming in from having been out on an errand. One neighbor was in the piazzetta talking to another, both older men. “Buongiorno,” we all said to one another.
I turned to head to our building and the door was wide open. I was not facing the men nor was I talking to them, I was growling to myself…”Mamma mia!”…and I continued inside and shut the damned door. Well, life in a small town. Somehow that must have gotten back to the old lady. Something did, because the door is being closed once again. She still refuses to put some plants outside where they could survive.
Is she upset at me? At us? I don’t know. All I know is she was the one who told me, originally, to close the door because she was “all alone,” which she is not because she is not only related to the owner of the studio, but she has a niece who comes by at least once a week.
I don’t know, maybe I’m a total bitch. Would you feel “safe” if you lived in a multiple apartment dwelling and the entry door to all of them was wide open all the time? I wouldn’t. I don’t. Bad things happen even in nice places and I don’t want to invite them in. I am not sure if the war is over, but there is peace for the time being.
