WAITING

The full moons come and go, sunny, hot days follow others bleak with rain, and occasionally nature gifts us breath-taking sunsets. 

 

Outside our house a full crew of workers has broken one lane of the street to put down giant sewer pipes which will serve Rocinha up the hill. We hear their voices and the machinery, and over many weeks the commotion has traveled from the front of the house, accompanied by the whistles and the shouts from those directing the single file traffic, to around the corner and up along the long sidewall of the garden, with the noise growing less strident. We have to imagine most of this, because we can only see the undisturbed other side of the street from our second- floor windows. Sometimes several men let out alarmed shouts, “oh-oh-oh-OH!” and we fear a truck lost its brakes, a digging machine tipped over, or a heavy section of pipe fell from great height, but then they stop yelling, and we hear nothing more.

 

Inside our walls, life continues with the significant change that we were exposed more directly to the virus, which has been alarmingly on the rise in the city and country. Back after a weekend away our handyman took ill last week and had to return to his home only to subsequently test positive for Covid. Shortly thereafter Victor began to feel unwell, and we have since then isolated from him on separate floors in the house, as well as wearing masks when around the few people that come here. We have done PCR tests and are awaiting the results, but as of now we all feel ok, and Victor is getting better.

 

A new reality sets in for us, at a less opportune moment than when we began our self-isolation in March. We now have the demands of an energetic 5-month-old puppy to consider, and I’m on crutches. Back then I would run up and down the stairs all day long, clean, wash clothes, and cook, but this is no longer possible. Even Zaffy seems overwhelmed. I used to joke that unlike other German Shepherds I’ve had, who were devoted nurses and mothers, she thought it was “all about her.” Now she seems to have woken up to her nursing instincts. She avoids hanging out with the hyper Loki and instead lingers with me, watching me soulfully, perhaps waiting for me to make it all better.

As a Dane with strong traditions around Christmas I am normally the driving force behind setting up our tree and filling it with our collection of decorations from our more than 40 years together. This year, hobbling around on crutches, isolating from Victor, there doesn’t seem to be much point. We’ll lower our expectations and just be grateful we’re together and hopefully healthy. 

 

While we wait to see how this new situation will play out, I sit with my leg on a pillow and silently devour plot-driven books written by plucky Agatha Christie and Dorothy L. Sayers. There’s comfort to be found in their steady march towards revelations and solutions when one’s unsure about the future.