It seems as if mister Tertius J. Mathlener in twenty eight has no family or friends. Me. Morrison, the caretaker, made a point to see if anybody comes to visit him. Nobody ever does. She has been caretaker in this block of flats for nine years and during that time she has never seen anybody visiting him.
Mister Mathlener never tries to make contact or befriend any of the other inhabitants. Actually she sees him only when he goes to the café to buy a newspaper and a packet of cigarettes. He leaves at eight and always returns within ten minutes.
Me. Morrison knows that mister Mathlener has a parrot. An African Grey. It is against the rules to keep pets, even a canary in a cage, but because she hasn’t had any trouble with mister Mathlener ever, she has decided not to accost him about it. Mister Mathlener always pays his rent on time, he fixes any thing that has to be fixed himself, even buying and paying for things like new washers for taps and screws for windows. There is another reason why the caretaker won’t bother mister Mathlener and that is that she, who has been a widow for the last ten years, would very much like them to become good friends and perhaps more. Understandably she keeps this to herself.
Me. Morisson has come to know mister Mathlener as a very private person. Outside of the flat he always wears dark glasses. Very dark glasses behind which his eyes can’t be seen. He never bothers other people and he clearly wants to be left alone. Mister Mathlener receives a pension. He cares extremely well for the parrot.
Mister Mathlener has two bad habits, he drinks too much and he is also a heavy smoker. He buys the cheapest whisky possible. He never buys liquor of a very high quality, simply because he drinks to get drunk.. He sits in his armchair and drinks until he passes out. The first year after he retired he used to drink only over weekends, because he found the weekends unbearably lonely. After that he started drinking in the evenings of week days too. Never during the day, about that he is extremely strict, even if he can’t leave the flat, he never drinks before eight o’clock in the evenings.
Three years ago he saw the parrot in the window of a pet shop. He felt an irresistible urge to buy the bird. The talkative shop owner repeatedly congratulated him on buying the bird, pointing out that an African Grey is the most loyal and talkative of all parrots. Mister Mathlener needed no persuasion, from the moment he saw the bird, he wanted it.
Mister Mathlener’s wife had divorced him and he has no idea where she and their two children are. He guesses that they must have emigrated to Australia because her only sister lives there. The two boys were also adamant that they wanted to leave the country and emigrate, preferably to Australia. When he stopped paying alimony they immediately stopped visiting him. In the beginning he sometimes longed for them, but he soon made his peace with that, remembering how his embittered wife had constantly whipped the two boys up against him.
He decided to name the African Grey, Fidel. The primary reason being that he always had an admiration for Fidel Castro who, in spite of his own privileges, could be so sensitive to the plight of the poor and powerless and wasn’t afraid to fight oppressors. He also had a vague idea that the name Fidel meant loyalty or truthfulness or something like that. He immediately started with his efforts to teach the parrot to speak, starting with the bird’s name.
To no avail. He talked slowly and clearly. He bought special food for the bird which he gave to him after each training session. Then he tried to hunger the bird out in the hope that it would get him to speak.
It did not entice the bird into imitating even one word.
Sometimes he ignored the bird for days, but in the end pity towards the bird got the upper hand and he rubbed the bird’s head, which the parrot seemed to like to such an extent that it in turn started rubbing its head against mister Mathlener’s hand.
At least three days pass before me Morrison notices that she hasn’t seen him around. She walks up to the door but stops there because she knows that mister
Mathlener doesn’t like to be disturbed. Not a sound comes from within. She wonders whether he still has the parrot. She leaves and waits until after sunset. She has a bad feeling about this. Mister Mathlener never visits anybody. He must have taken a holiday though. Or he might have met a woman in whom he is interested and is visiting now. She feels a slight twinge of jealousy, blushes and look around to see if anybody has seen it. There is no one else near.
Me Morrison becomes even more worried, although she really has no reason for that. She goes back to her flat to fetch the pass key for number 28, knowing full well that it is highly irregular for her to unlock a tenant’s flat without them being present, but by now the feeling that something is amiss, has become so strong that all her scruples have been replaced by it. Mister Mathlener did not fit any additional locks as some tenants do, the door swings open. Me. Morrison has to switch on the light.
She gives a scream, which she immediately tries to stifle. Mister Mathlener is sitting in an armchair on the other side of the room
The flat is actually very neat, but on the coffee table is an ash tray overflowing with cigarette butts and two bottles, one empty and one with about a quarter of liquor left in it.
An intense pain comes into her heart. Tears fill her eyes.
“Mister Mathlener?” She struggles to get the words out.
Mister Mathlener’s eyes are open and he is staring ahead.
He is dead.
Me Morisson jumps when a voice suddenly seems to come from the deceased. But from the sound she knows that it comes from the African Grey.
“Terrr...shi...sh... You know wh...aat? You are a bl...blooody cold fff...ish!”
For a few seconds the parrot rolls its head to and frow.
“Did you heeearrr... that, Fffidel? Ha, ha, but the bb... bitch tttook all mmy
money!” in a deeper voice this time.
The parrot starts rolling his head again. Then, in a high-pitched voice, as if he is mocking a woman: “Terrr...shhh...shhh, you are d..dr...unk, you cold f...f... f...”
Now me Morrison notices the containers still filled with water and food.
It seems as if the bird hasn’t touched it.
She moves closer to the bird, trying to speak to it.
“Fidel?...Fidel?” she tries.
The bird again drops its head to its breast, closes its eyes and refuses to speak.
In South Africa today security plays a vital part in any business or private home. This book and the volumes to follow, will guide you step by step through the essential precautionary measures to be taken in protecting your family and valuables. From employing security guards, evacuation of your site and security measures to burglar bars and alarms in your private home.
a Book compiled by me from experience gained after 10 years in the security industry as Industrial relations officer with Nosa qualifications, 1st Aid, fire protection and also S.O.B. grade A.
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