which access was permitted was rectangular in shape and quite spacious, with the doors of the larder, shower and lumber room opening on to it. As it was clearly a sacred place, the Forbidden City, I guessed, must have been grandly furnished with the Grossman family's belongings. The porch itself was always spotlessly clean. So long as the season permitted, the old woman washed the stone floor twice a day. There, if she had a free hour or two during the day, she would play the hostess at a table placed between two benches. I often saw her, either through the hedge as I walked past or from my window, serving tea or coffee to guests of varying ages and social classes. She would pour out refreshments into fine porcelain cups, with the smooth, confident actions of someone who had done it a thousand times, and who had learned how to conduct herself at table from someone of importance. I remember attending the opening night of Shaw's
Man and Superman,
in which a famous actress played Blanche. Throughout the performance I kept wondering who the lovely young artiste had reminded me of in the tea-serving scene. Then I realised. It was Emerence, entertaining guests at the entrance to her forbidden domain.
At one time a number of prominent people lived in the neighbourhood, and a policeman would regularly walk our street. Later the politicians moved away, or died, and as they disappeared so too, one by one, did the surveillance men. By the time Emerence came to work for us the only person in uniform appearing with any regularity on our street was the Lieutenant Colonel. For many years I puzzled over their relationship, and why it didn't bother the friendly officer that entry was denied him, when she might be hiding anything in her home. Later I discovered that he had been inside, and knew its secrets. In addition to the accusations of pigeon poisoning and desecration of graves, politically-motivated and totally libellous "information" had been received. The police had to see, if only once, what needed to be hidden and kept secret, and was of such value that no human eye might ever gaze upon it. Emerence, grumbling and muttering, opened up her entire premises to the Lieutenant Colonel — then still a Second Lieutenant — when he dutifully called with his canine assistant, but all they found was an unshapely cat (the third she had owned since moving in) who, as soon as he saw the dog, fled to the top of the kitchen cupboard. There was no secret transmitter, no escaped convict, no stolen goods, only a dazzlingly clean dining area and a room fitted out with a stunningly beautiful set of furniture under covers, in which no-one appeared to be living, since there were no personal belongings to be seen. And in fact the friendship between Emerence and the officer began with an argument. As soon as she had shut the door behind them she started shouting. Was there a law that stated that she had to open her home to everybody who happened to be passing, and let them in if they felt like ringing the bell? Why didn't they go and look instead for the bandit who kept filing reports about her? In fact the real insult was the honour of regular visits by the police. First it was the dead pigeons, then the business of the dead cat, now they were looking for weapons or the source of an epidemic. She'd had all she could take of the police. Enough was enough. The force had by now assumed a defensive, conciliatory stance. The Second Lieutenant was deploying all his eloquence to calm her down, but Emerence's voice rose louder and louder. She told him that the politicians who lived locally carried guns. They had nothing better to do so they shot crows. The police, sure enough, gave them every protection, and then came to snoop around her place with a dog. She hoped the sky would fall on the lot of them! On them, mind you, not on the poor dog. It wasn't his fault if he was misused. She wasn't angry with the dog, just the Second Lieutenant. And then the force's
Man and Superman,
in which a famous actress played Blanche. Throughout the performance I kept wondering who the lovely young artiste had reminded me of in the tea-serving scene. Then I realised. It was Emerence, entertaining guests at the entrance to her forbidden domain.
At one time a number of prominent people lived in the neighbourhood, and a policeman would regularly walk our street. Later the politicians moved away, or died, and as they disappeared so too, one by one, did the surveillance men. By the time Emerence came to work for us the only person in uniform appearing with any regularity on our street was the Lieutenant Colonel. For many years I puzzled over their relationship, and why it didn't bother the friendly officer that entry was denied him, when she might be hiding anything in her home. Later I discovered that he had been inside, and knew its secrets. In addition to the accusations of pigeon poisoning and desecration of graves, politically-motivated and totally libellous "information" had been received. The police had to see, if only once, what needed to be hidden and kept secret, and was of such value that no human eye might ever gaze upon it. Emerence, grumbling and muttering, opened up her entire premises to the Lieutenant Colonel — then still a Second Lieutenant — when he dutifully called with his canine assistant, but all they found was an unshapely cat (the third she had owned since moving in) who, as soon as he saw the dog, fled to the top of the kitchen cupboard. There was no secret transmitter, no escaped convict, no stolen goods, only a dazzlingly clean dining area and a room fitted out with a stunningly beautiful set of furniture under covers, in which no-one appeared to be living, since there were no personal belongings to be seen. And in fact the friendship between Emerence and the officer began with an argument. As soon as she had shut the door behind them she started shouting. Was there a law that stated that she had to open her home to everybody who happened to be passing, and let them in if they felt like ringing the bell? Why didn't they go and look instead for the bandit who kept filing reports about her? In fact the real insult was the honour of regular visits by the police. First it was the dead pigeons, then the business of the dead cat, now they were looking for weapons or the source of an epidemic. She'd had all she could take of the police. Enough was enough. The force had by now assumed a defensive, conciliatory stance. The Second Lieutenant was deploying all his eloquence to calm her down, but Emerence's voice rose louder and louder. She told him that the politicians who lived locally carried guns. They had nothing better to do so they shot crows. The police, sure enough, gave them every protection, and then came to snoop around her place with a dog. She hoped the sky would fall on the lot of them! On them, mind you, not on the poor dog. It wasn't his fault if he was misused. She wasn't angry with the dog, just the Second Lieutenant. And then the force's
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