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| James Stewart in Alfred Hitchcock's Rear Window |
«Blinds!» I said in a half-scream. With his
hand around the hips, holding the towel around the waist, he looked around and
acknowledged the light coming from the wide opened window on the study. He said
his scientifically learned “Aaah.”, that sounds something between “aaah interesting”
and a mildly enthusiastic “aaah eureka!”, there was some eyebrow raising, that
graphically completed the sentence designed on his forehead. Then he
acknowledged the other curtainless window on the bedroom, that completed the
“light tunnel” in the corridor. In a unconscious safety measure he tucked the
towel tighter… I giggled at his nonchalant walk towards the bedroom, as he
closed the blinds.
Later, as we were preparing our tea mugs in
my wonderfully sunlit kitchen - where
the 3 meters large, 2 meters high windows, give a generous view of the small
backyard with two palm trees and an array of windows from other people’s
kitchens – the learned “Aaah.” returned, but a bit more emphatically. At this
time, I knew he was going to share his view on his discovery, usually as
plausible as laughable, and highly entertaining.
«You know, you should ask a percentage of
the profit». I looked at him quizzically, encouraging him to go on with his
theorising. «All these curtainless rooms, provide quite a view, I bet, to your
aging neighbours. So, my guess is that property value has increased. You know,
the better the view, the more expensive real estate is.». By now I was laughing
hysterically. I confessed that when I first moved in, there were a couple of
times I walked into the kitchen wrapped only in a towel. His eyebrows raised
enthusiastically, as he realized he was on to something, «No-no… my bath towels
are huge, so much so, that the word for them in Portuguese is bath sheets…». He
was a bit disappointed but still wondered how I would manage to live in a curtains-free
house, there were the blinds, of course, but still… «a lot of exposure».
I frowned and remembered all the good
advice and words of wisdom I had got before moving in. Whenever I told people I
was moving out from my parents into a tiny, comfortable flat in suburbia,
people would often ask whether I was sharing the flat. As I would explain that
I was moving out alone, then the words of wisdom would come. First the
nostalgic sigh, then the looking at an invisible past and then the reassuring
words «Good for you! You’re at the right age to move out alone, you’re still
young and it’s good to leave the parent’s nest. And it's so nice to be on your
own, you have your own privacy, nobody controlling your coming and going, more
independence, you can walk around naked around the house, not a care in the
world…».
Excuse
me? Let’s rewind these words of advice “walking
around the house naked, carefree…». Really? That’s the highlight of single
living? I could not believe the number of people, young and old (especially the
grandparents' generation), that would tell me of the marvels of living alone,
in particular, walking around the house naked. As it seems, that is the no. 1
advantage of having a place of your own, it’s the naked rights. Living alone is
a free pass to be naked in the privacy of one’s own home. Nine out of ten
people would come up with the “naked argument”. That was not the advice I was
expecting, but it sure was funny… everyone had the same nostalgic look and
wishful sentiment in their words “not having to worry about walking naked…”. I
wonder how often would they actually do it, and why they missed it so much.
Three years of mortgage later, my flat is still
curtains-free, I really do not miss it all that much, except for the kitchen,
where in lazy mornings, all that light can be a little too overwhelming.
Curiously enough, the only room in the flat that is windowless is the bathroom.
That probably explains why winter, spring, summer and fall I will be more or
less clad, but always dressed.
And that’s the whole truth, the naked truth.
