"Lovely" Neighbours Part III

I have an English friend. That's right. Born in England to English parents, and raised in England. He is smart, funny, and a very good an loyal friend. He is a teacher of English language and history, he is a professional clown and actor, he is a writer and a musician (he plays 5 instruments). A woderful, accomplished person.

For various reasons, he has moved to Romania 6 years ago and he intends to live here for the rest of his life. To this purpose, along with the fact that he dreamed of being a "peasant" and growing his own vegetables, he has bought a house and the garden around it just out of Cluj. To reach his house, whenever I visited him, I had to take a bus ride that took about half an hour, and then walk for about 45 minutes up a hill, through corn fields and past a small forest. His house was one of those rather traditional houses, low ceiling, and toilet at the back of the yard. No, the toilet did not flush. He was growing his vegetables and some flowers in the front of the house, and in the garden in the back, he had grass and fruit trees. So, a teaching, and occasionally, clowning job in town, and the house of his dreams uphill. It would seem idyllic, right? Right. Except for the neighbours.

When he first moved to this house, there was a stack of hay in the front yard, under a wallnut tree. One day when he got home, he found the stack of hay torched to ashes. Obviously, some neighbours had done that. And the fire had also damadged the tree above. My friend did not have any animals, so he had no immediate use for the hay, but it was his property.

At various other times, his neighbours stole fruit from his garden and just about anything they could get their hands on. His fence was anything but solid to start with, but they actually took down a portion of the fence, so they could send their cows, horses, pigs and sheep to graze in his garden. He got a puppy at some point, with the intention of training him to guard his grounds, and the neighbours stole it, even before he grew into a dog.

A very poor gipsy family from the neighbouring village got into the habit of visiting him. My friend is not prejudiced against the gipsies, as most romanians are, but at some point he found their demands unreasonable. Obviously, they kept asking for things all the time. Things like cofee, clothes, and god knows what else. He would give them small things, but not money and, definitely not accomodation. The gipsies' house had burned down and they insisted that he should let them move into his woodshed. A line had to be drawn somewhere, so he said no.

Another line he had to draw was this: one summer day I visited him with the intention of sunbathing in his garden. But we ended up chatting on the front porch over cofee and his playing the mandola, banjo and guitar to me. I was sitting in a chair, wearing my two-piece bathing suit. After a while, he said that he thinks the gipsy family want him to marry their eldest daughter and while he had nothing against the girl, who was rather pretty, he did not want to marry her, because that would have meant "marrying" the whole gipsy family. Quite understandably, he did not want this to happen. So he asked me if one day when he knew they were coming for a visit, I would also come round and pretend to be his girlfriend, so he could get rid of them. I agreed, of course, it was such a small effort to make in order to help a friend. So we went back to chatting. Some time later, he went to the kitchen to cook lunch for us. He's a great cook, by the way. I joined him in the kitchen, still wearing only the bathing suit. While I watched him cook, for he would not let me help, the gipsy family showed up unexpectedly. The mother and three daughters, plus a young boy.

He politely invited them in, seated them and continued with his work, while they were shooting their mouths. Before long, they asked for some cofee, so my friend had to stop what he was doing, and make some coffee for them. In the meantime, they were spying on me, glancing over my body, assesing the "goodies", obviously inferring that there was something going on between us. Otherwise, how could a girl stand almost naked and at ease in the presence of a man? Of course, the question had to come: "Is she your girlfriend?" He gave such an assured "Yes" as if we had been doing it doggy style all morning. So they put up some smiles, and came up with "Oh, she's so beautiful. Are you getting married soon?" While they continued to praise my good looks and his good luck, we exchanged some amused glances. I think I also made some mean comments in English. And then I went out of the house to smoke. My friend does not smoke and I make it a point not to smoke in non-smokers' houses. Through the open door I could hear them asking him to give them some detergent, because they had none left. So, he gave them some detergent. They thanked him, and after half a minute of mindless talk, they made another request: could he spare them some shampoo? So he gave them some. I was beginning to wonder if this was ever going to stop, so I went in. They left before long, with some grins, leaving us alone. So, my mission was accomplished, sooner than we had expected.

Over lunch I questioned his giving attitude, I meam, come on, they're never going to stop at this rate. He argued that a bit of cofee, a bit of detergent and a bit of shampoo was not much, and compared to them, who had nothing, he was a rich man. Well, we had a nice day, and in the evening I went home. Some ten days later when I met him again, I enquired about the gipsy family and if he was off the hook with the gipsy marriage. He said Yes, thank you very much, so that was that.

I believe that out of us all complaining about neighbours, he had the greatest problems. Well, he has sold the house in the meantime, but for other reasons than his neighbours. If you think that carpet dust coming from the neighbours upstairs is a big problem, or kids shouting like there's no tomorrow, or lousy music coming out the neighbours' window, or someone nosing in your bills, think again. Until someone torches your door, or steals your dog, or wants you to marry the gipsy queen, you're safe.

Monday 31 July 2006