Concierge

Concierge

The Loge

A few minutes after the knocking I watched through the windows of my lodge as the first figure entered the courtyard, his hood pulled up. Then I saw a second figure appear. The newcomer, the girl. Clattering that huge suitcase across the cobbles of the courtyard, making enough noise to wake the dead.

I watched her on the intercom screen until the buzzer stopped ringing.

I am good at watching. I sweep the residents’ hallways, I collect their post, I answer the door.But also, I watch. I see everything. And it gives me a strange kind of power, even if I’m the only one who’s aware of it. The residents forget about me. It’s convenient for them to do so. To imagine that I’m nothing more than an extension of this building, just a moving element of a large machine, like the lift that takes them up to their beautiful apartments. In a way I have become part of this place. It has certainly left its mark on me. I am sure the years of living in this tiny cabin have caused me to shrink, hunching into myself, while the hours spent sweeping and scrubbing the corridors and stairs of the apartment building have winnowed my flesh. Perhaps in another life I would have grown plump in my old age. I have not had that luxury. I am sinew and bone. Stronger than I look.

I suppose I could have gone and stopped her. Should have done. But confrontation is not my style. I have learned that watching is the more powerful weapon. And it had a feeling of inevitability, her being here. I could see her determination. She would somehow have found her way in, no matter what I did to try and prevent her.

Stupid girl. It would have been far, far better if she’d turned and left this place and never returned. But it’s too late now. So be it.