Down on the Farm- September 9th 2008

9th September 2008 - The Clanging Step

It is 11pm and we are in bed, snuggled up close and cosy. Rikki and Oren are still up and we can hear them clattering about in the kitchen, which means they're probably about to have their dinner. They don't always eat in the kitchen and on cool evenings will sometimes go into their bedroom, light the wood burner, switch on their laptop and watch a film.

There is always a lead up to these bedroom meals. We've never known what it is that they're actually doing, we've only listened. It’s never seemed quite the place to ask about it and we’re becoming used to this regular mystery. We hear them walking back and forth between kitchen and bedroom, which they'll do anything up to 20 times per pre-meal session. There's the clump, clump, clump of heavy feet across the wooden floor of the kitchen (Oren), the flap, flap, flap of slippers along the path between kitchen and bedroom (Rikki), then up the steps, into the bedroom and more clumping and flapping. We lie there and listen, tracking them, wondering what it is that they carry to and fro. Bowls, pans, plates, condiments, glasses. What?

I'm pretty sure this is another bedroom dinner night and if it is, I know full well that however sleepy we are right now, within five minutes or so we'll be wide awake. We'll soon be sleepy afterwards, of course, but we now have to wait for that to happen again and there is the irritating knowledge that we were all ready to drop off to sleep before this moment and now we're not. It's bearable, but it's annoying.

The main factor isn't all the late night clumping about, it's the door step, the step outside their unit. It's nothing unusual, just a metal caravan step, but it's not on an even surface and the surface it is on is a concrete slab. Metal and concrete, not a good combination unless both are firmly fixed and these two are not fixed at all, so every time either Rikki or Oren go in or out – and, it must said, neither of them is light-footed – the right side of the step clangs as it hits the slab. We know the sounds so well – clump, clump, clump, flap, flap, flap, CLANG!

The odd thing for us is that, apart from the foot steps and the clanging, this is all carried out in silence, for we never hear a word spoken during these getting-ready-for-dinner to-ings and fro-ings. Maybe they whisper but I find that hard to believe as they don’t make a habit of whispering at other times.

Why is nothing said? Do they really know exactly what needs fetching and where to put everything? How come? I can't think of any other couples who prepare for dinner without speaking. You'd at least expect something like, 'Hang on, we'll be wanting the pepper, don't take it away' or 'Have you got the butter?', but we never hear a word and it's the lack of talk, as much as the clanging, that brings me to full wakefulness, because I wonder about it every time and lie there trying to imagine what it is that they're doing. I could just get up and look, of course, but I don't want to leave this comfortable bed and, anyway, they might see me looking.

As far as the clanging goes, we decide that something must be done, but that we'll wait until no one is about. Then, one day Rikki tells me that they are going away for a few days and there's our chance. The day comes, after what seems like weeks more of clanging, and off they go. We look forward to going to bed that night so we can enjoy the clump and clang-free silence as we drift off. What luxury.

The next day Karl cuts out a piece of wood just the right size to fit under the offending step and wedges it firmly in place. We test it, taking turns to tread heavily on the step and it's quiet, no clanging. Wonderful. That’s better.

We both wonder if something will be said when they get back, if they'll notice that their step has gone quiet and ask us if we've fixed it, but they don't and behave as if nothing has changed. We don't say anything either, and the matter is never mentioned.

© Copyright Miranda Hodgson 2008