List of characters
Amma: mother
Abbu: father
Khala Amma: aunt, my mother’s sister
Andreas: Boss
For many years I lived in Wiedikon, a hip neighbourhood in Zürich. I shared an amazing apartment on the top floor of an old building overlooking Lochergut. The apartment was sandwiched between a busy street and a courtyard. Lots of charm, amazing view, no lift, turned into an oven in the summer.
In the summer of 2018 my parents and my aunt who was visiting from Pakistan came to see me. It was an exceptionally hot summer, building up to be the worst heat wave in the history of Switzerland.
After a walk and dinner at a nearby Vietnamese restaurant, we headed home. Reaching bedtime hour, sleeping arrangements were discussed. I had a double bed in my room and a sofa combed for two in the living room.
Sleep is a touchy topic; for sixteen years I shared a room with my middle sister and we got into endless fights about noise and sleeping timetables. It’s not only that I need sleep. I love sleep. It is a hobby that I’m passionate about and one that I do well.
That specific summer day the need to sleep was higher than the passion; I had had an excruciating week at work and was ready to collapse.
The sleeping arrangements were discussed mathematically, being four people only three combinations were possible:
1. Amma and I - Khala Amma and Abbu
2. Khala Amma and I - Amma and Abbu
3. Abbu and I - Khala Amma and Amma
Obviously option number 1. was never considered. Option number 2. had the downside that both Amma and Khala Amma got up early in the morning to pray and would use the living room, where I would still be sleeping.
Option number 3. seemed to be the most feasible. I however proceeded with utmost caution. I asked Amma for a character reference and grilled Abbu extensively: in his own words how would he define his sleep? How many times does he get up at night? How much does he toss and turn? Does he go to the bathroom in the middle of the night? Does he get up to drink water? Does he kick?
Their answers were unanimous: Abbu turned off the light, curled up on his side of the bed and fell immediately to sleep, awakening only in the wee hours when his alarm bell went off.
Congratulating myself on a thorough investigation, I decided to go with option number 3.
Bedtime was carried out according to plan; once in his pyjamas Abbu turned off the light, curled up on his side of the bed and fell immediately to sleep. I sat in the dim light of the table lamp and read for a little while longer and then switched off the lights, tucked myself in and dozed off fretfully.
Whether it be winter or summer I am accustomed to always sleeping with the windows partially open. In the hot summer nights I hope for a cool breeze that might find it’s way through my windows. It was for this reason that I found myself snatched from limbo, between the realms of reality and dreams, by pounding music.
It was the type of music one cannot ignore, a nerving base that you sense rather than hear. An ultra-sound for dogs. A twitch in your ear. Once you’ve felt it, you keep unconsciously searching for it, unsure whether it was just a fabrication of the mind. I wondered if interrogators are aware of this perfect torture device. The only way to make it bearable is to merge with the sound. Synchronise ones activity to its powerful call.
It started to work, me and the sound waves…merging, merging, merging…when shrieks of drunken laughter started to mix in the cacophony. Bringing me full circle back to my limbo. Screw it, I had tried the harmonious tactic, now it was a battle of wills.
At some point though, I must have nodded off. I dreamt I was sitting at the meeting table at my office with both my bosses. A heated discussion was taking place on the subject that had recently been preoccupying me. I was laying down all my arguments, explaining to them the problematics of the project. Gradually the worry started to subside, the tone and the atmosphere started to change. We were starting to align, each speaking in turn and adding on to the other’s comment.
It was Andreas turn to speak. I was hanging on to his every word, when in the middle of a sentence he opens his mouth and instead of words a noise, somewhere between an ambulance siren and the squeal of a wild bird, emits from his mouth. It only lasts a brief moment and it is over faster than I have time to react. Andreas is already back in his flow- I am irritated by his little stunt and his lack of acknowledgment of his rude interruption.
The conversation carries on, when we are yet again interrupted by Andreas screeches. This time it doesn’t die down after a second but only rises to crescendo. The frequency and volume are unbearable.
I gasp awake scared and disoriented. Wait, the noise is still there, it has followed me from my nightmare. Am I still dreaming? Where is it coming from? Shedding my grogginess, I finally manage to locate the origin of the ominous wail.
Abbu had exploited the one loop hole: I hadn’t thought to ask whether he snored.