Conversation with the neighbor

I knocked on the door of apartment 4B at 10:00 this morning. I had rehearsed what to say. I had prepared for awkwardness.

Mrs. Kuznetsova opened the door. Misha was already at her feet, looking at me as if she had expected this visit.

“Dr. Goverki,” Mrs. Kuznetsova said. “Is something wrong with the pipes again?”

“No. The pipes are fine.” I paused. “I have a favor to ask.”

She raised an eyebrow. In the seven years I have lived next to her, I have never asked for a favor.

“Come in,” she said. “I will make tea.”

The Request

Her apartment is the mirror image of mine, but completely different. Plants on every surface. Photographs on the walls - children, grandchildren, a man I assume was her husband. Embroidered cushions. It smells like cinnamon and something floral.

My apartment smells like solder and old paper.

“I am traveling this weekend,” I said. “To Karaganda. I will return Sunday evening.”

“Karaganda,” she repeated. “That is far.”

“Fourteen hundred kilometers. By train.”

She poured tea into cups with painted roses. “And you need someone to check on your apartment?”

“If it is not too much trouble. Just… make sure nothing is leaking. Or on fire.”

“Your apartment has never been on fire.”

“This is true. But I have never left it for three days.”

She smiled. It was the first time I had seen her smile. “I will check on it. Saturday and Sunday.”

“Thank you.”

She handed me a cup. “Now. Tell me why you are going to Karaganda.”

The Explanation

This is the part I had not prepared for.

“I am… conducting research,” I said.

“What kind of research?”

“It is difficult to explain.”

“I am 73 years old, Dr. Goverki. I have time.”

Misha jumped onto my lap. This was unexpected. She has never done this before. I did not know what to do with my hands.

“I measure electrical frequencies,” I began. “The power grid operates at 50 Hertz. But sometimes, on Tuesdays, there are small deviations.”

“Deviations?”

“The frequency drops. By a fraction of a Hertz. Always on Tuesday. Always around the same time.”

She was quiet for a moment. “And this is unusual?”

“It should not happen. Or if it happens, it should be random. But it is not random. It is… regular.”

“Like a heartbeat,” she said.

I had never thought of it that way. “Yes. Like a heartbeat that should not exist.”

What She Said Next

“My husband was an engineer,” Mrs. Kuznetsova said. “He worked at the power station in Almaty for thirty-one years. He used to say that the grid has moods. Good days and bad days. He said you could feel it, if you paid attention.”

“He was not wrong.”

“He also said that nobody listened to the people who paid attention. They were too busy with the people who talked loudly.”

I did not know how to respond to this.

“You pay attention,” she said. “I have noticed. You are quiet, but you pay attention. That is why Misha likes you.”

The cat was purring on my lap. I still did not know what to do with my hands.

“There was a scientist in 1987,” I said. “He noticed the same thing I am noticing. He wrote a paper. Nobody believed him. He died thinking his work was worthless.”

“And you are going to Karaganda to find his work?”

“His widow has his papers. Three boxes. She kept them for thirty-nine years.”

Mrs. Kuznetsova nodded slowly. “That is a long time to keep something nobody else wanted.”

“Yes.”

“She must have believed it mattered.”

“I think she believed he mattered. The papers were part of him.”

She looked at me for a long moment. “Go to Karaganda, Dr. Goverki. Find what you are looking for. I will water your plants.”

“I do not have plants.”

“Then I will make sure nothing is on fire.”

The Key

She gave me a spare key to her apartment in return. “In case of emergency,” she said. “Misha sometimes knocks things over.”

I now have a key to my neighbor’s apartment. This feels significant in a way I cannot articulate.

When I left, Misha followed me to the door and meowed once. Mrs. Kuznetsova translated: “She says good luck.”

I do not believe cats can say good luck. But I said thank you anyway.

Tomorrow

The train leaves at 18:45 tomorrow. My bag is packed. The equipment is ready. Ruslan has called three times to confirm details.

And my neighbor knows what I do. Not everything. But enough.

She did not laugh. She did not say it was pointless. She said her husband would have understood.

Perhaps this is what I was afraid of all along. Not that people would think my work is ridiculous. But that they might think it matters. That creates expectations. Expectations can be disappointed.

But Mrs. Kuznetsova did not seem disappointed. She seemed curious.

That is enough for now.

Current status:

  • Apartment-sitter: Confirmed (Mrs. Kuznetsova)
  • Key exchanged: Yes (mutual)
  • Plants to water: 0
  • Fire risk: Minimal
  • Misha’s opinion: Apparently positive
  • Hours until departure: 32
  • Emotional state: Unexpectedly calm

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