main | table of contents The Reflecting Eye Copyright © 2003, S. Y. Affolee 2 A Home Matthias maneuvered the car past the college, a collection of columns and windows which stared out in defiance of the cold weather. Few students were about. The ones that were clustered near one of the side entrances in heavy coats and backpacks. From the college stretched a road disappearing into a dense grove of residential buildings. Verity almost missed seeing the sign which said, “West Main Street.” “I thought Avtandil Road was the main street,” she said. “It passes through the city,” her uncle agreed, “But I believe it was a smaller road back in the early days of the city. And there’s the problem of the direction too. It goes northwest. This one goes from east to west.” “And the houses look newer here.” “Yes, it does, doesn’t it? The Old Quarter is back in the other direction; you probably saw some of it when you took the bus up here. It’s somewhat historical, I suppose, but the residents of that district don’t want to change or renovate. Unfortunately, the city officials can’t make them change—a couple of influential people are from there. I’d like to think that over here is the better neighborhood.” Respectable houses in respectable siennas and maroons lined the street like matrons queuing up in a grocery store. Matthias turned again, right, and the sign below “Main Street” said “Finsen.” A faint familiarity stirred in her mind. Had that been what she had written on the envelopes that she had mailed to her uncle? They stopped at a cul-de-sac which had been terminated by what looked like a series of tiny two story houses that had been squished together. A few cars were parked on the curb and the lacy curtains at the window of one of the house, but otherwise the complex of condo-apartments appeared to be empty. “Where’s everybody?” “The people around here aren’t too chatty, I’m afraid. They usually keep to themselves most of the time.” He grinned. “The motto around here is if you don’t bother me, than I won’t bother you. Works quite well, most of the time.” “Most of the time?” “Well, you can’t call them up if you’ve accidentally locked yourself out.” The apartment was the one at the very right of the row. There were a few steps leading up to the front door—this was sheltered overhead and rimmed with a wrought-iron railing that trailed off in curling, decorative flourishes. There was a plain doorknocker of dark brass, but Matthias did not touch that. Instead, he unlocked the door with a key that he promptly dropped into her own hands and pushed the door open, revealing a tiny foyer and a living room. Brown cardboard boxes spilled from the living room back into the foyer. Matthias flipped the switch near the door. In the light, she could see that the foyer was wallpapered in some sort of light green floral print. “Somehow, I didn’t think you would pick this.” Her uncle waved a dismissive hand. “It came with the apartment. I didn’t bother changing it. It’s not like a received visitors every day. Sorry about the mess. I could have organized the stuff you sent in a better manner, but well, they just arrived the other day and I had some other errands to run.” “That’s all right. I’m going to make a bigger mess when I unpack.” He nodded. “The city picks up the trash every Wednesday. You can just leave all the extra boxes out on the curb and they’ll take it away. Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be back in the kitchen warming up dinner. You can drop your things in one of the bedrooms upstairs.” The stairs came down into the foyer in a sweep of mahogany. She trailed her fingers over the smooth wood as she ascended, Matthias trudged the other direction to the kitchen. Darkness was above, but she easily found the switch and saw that she was on a small landing. The first and second doors were already open, revealing a bathroom and a bedroom which she assumed her uncle was temporarily using because an open suitcase, half-filled, was sitting on the floor and a raincoat was draped over a chair. She opened the last door. Her bed was already here, assembled, but plastic still covered it. The familiar wardrobe and desk were pushed against the wall. She left the light off as she walked over to the window that was actually a window seat. Dropping her duffle bag onto the floor, she looked out. This room faced the road. Finsen disappeared into the horizon which was marred by the spires of the cathedral back in the center of the city.