Someone Whispered

It was after late night shop window blinds were winched down

After lively conversations on balconies were muted

After echoes of boots on wet pavements dissipated

After curtains shifted in the cool breeze of an open window

Someone whispered

Four courtyard walls, a dozen flats and a chimney of space

A dark square of sky, a scattering of stars, a light drift of cloud

The scent of a dozen meals cooked and the fragrance of wine

The last bars of a song, water from a shower, the low rumble of a washing machine

Someone whispered

We met in daylight, the tenants, glancing and guessing, awkward dances in hallways

We watched each other, reluctant to speak or ask, or look the other in the eye

The names we never knew, because we never asked, never tipped on our tongues

Strangers sharing bricks, cement, a wrought iron gateway and a dozen post-boxes

Someone whispered

Night after night after night

Someone whispered

English, not Spanish

A woman, not a man

At night time, never in the day

Someone whispered

“She’s praying,” said the woman from the top floor as she folded her washing

“It’s her brother’s flat,” announced the man who lived opposite, cigarette between fingers

“He’s in hospital with cancer,” added the young man wheeling his bike into the porch

“Dying,” disclosed the old woman from the ground floor, crossing herself swiftly

Someone prayed

We listened, chairs pulled up to windows, eavesdropping on a conversation

She prayed a storm of words, rebuking tumours the size of an egg, declaring healing

Asking for anointed conversations over cups of coffee on the hospital veranda

Seeking peace, finding anger, raging at God who kept His distance, then saying “sorry”

She prayed

We thought if we were God we would answer her prayer, perhaps

We thought the brother would get the all clear, perhaps

We thought we should say something if we saw her, perhaps

We wished someone would pray for us the way she prayed for him

So we prayed