1001 Nights Cast

Someone had shat on the landing.

‘Have you seen what’s out there!?’ Ana demanded as soon as Claudia arrived home from work.

‘Actually, no. I didn’t need to look—I could smell it from the ground floor.’

‘It’s disgusting! How could anyone do that? And in broad daylight! They must have done it in broad daylight, it wasn’t there when I left for work. It’s just gross! What are we going to do?’ Ana ranted.

‘I know what I’m going to do,’ replied Claudia, opening a bottle of wine and fetching two glasses.

‘I can’t believe it. I mean, there are public toilets, aren’t there?’

‘Are there?’ Claudia poured the wine. ‘There used to be men’s toilets in the square. Are they still there? I don’t know about women’s toilets.’

‘Do you think it could have been a woman?’ Ana didn’t wait for an answer. ‘No, I don’t believe it, I don’t believe a woman would do that. Not in broad daylight, on someone’s doorstep—no way. It’s too disgusting!’

‘Maybe she was desperate,’ suggested Claudia.

‘Maybe. But not too desperate to walk up three flights? I mean, if she was desperate, why couldn’t she have done it outside that horrible guy’s door downstairs? Why did she have to do it on our landing?’

‘Should we leave a note saying ‘please do it down one flight next time’?’

‘Stop making fun of me,’ said Ana. ‘Seriously, Claudia, what are we going to do about it?’

‘I don’t know,’ Claudia sipped her wine pensively. ‘But it’s not outside our door, anyway.’

‘It’s under Mike’s doormat!’ Ana shuddered and gulped her wine.

‘Seems like it’s Mike’s problem then, not ours. Did you have a good day at work?’

‘Oh, work was okay. Everything was okay until I got home.’

‘Nothing exciting happening in the world?’

Ana shrugged and pushed the newspaper across the table. ‘Looks like Bush might have some opposition to sending more troops to Iraq.’

‘That’s something, I suppose.’ Claudia pulled the paper towards herself and read the article. When she finished she gave a grunt. ‘I’ll believe it when I see it,’ she said, and topped up their wine glasses.

By morning, the smell was seeping into the flat.

It was a lovely summery Saturday so Claudia decided to go out for a jog and some fresh air. Opening the front door, she was hit by the full power of the stench. She averted her eyes from the irregular hump of Mike’s doormat across the landing, and ran quickly downstairs. She jogged for longer than usual with the hope of returning to a clean landing. But when she got back, she had to hold her breath until she was inside the flat. Ana was lighting incense in the hall.

‘Mike must be suffering too,’ said Claudia. ‘He’ll have to do something.’

Ana looked woeful. ‘I remembered this morning—he’s gone away for the weekend.’

‘Oh,’ said Claudia. ‘Shit.’

‘Exactly,’ said Ana.

‘What are we going to do?’ asked Claudia.

Protective clothing was essential. Ana found an ancient apron in the bottom drawer in the kitchen, and Claudia had one of those disposable clear plastic macs for unexpected downpours and other emergency situations. Fortunately there were two pairs of washing up gloves under the sink, and plenty of disinfectant.

Ana armed herself with a thick plastic bin liner. ‘But how are we going to get it in?’ They were looking at it now, from the safety of their own hallway but with the door wide open and the stink close to overpowering them. It was neatly placed under the centre of the doormat and decorated with a crumpled rosette of toilet paper.

‘I don’t know,’ said Claudia. ‘But I do know that we are definitely going on rent strike after this, until they fix the bloody lock on the main door.’

‘Absolutely!’ Ana agreed.

‘Are you sure Mike’s not coming back today?’ asked Claudia, looking at Mike’s door and desperately willing it to open.

‘I think he might be away even longer than the weekend.’

Claudia took yesterday’s newspaper in her gloved hands and steeled herself. ‘It’s a shit job, but someone’s got to do it,’ she said in a silly deep voice, which made them both laugh in slightly hysterical gasps.

‘I’ll hold the bag open,’ Ana volunteered bravely, moving into position a couple of steps down the stairs, ‘and you flick it in.’

‘You make it sound so easy,’ said Claudia. She opened the newspaper and held it in front of her like a shield. The headline which faced her, ‘Democrats flex muscles with vote move’, seemed strikingly appropriate and the giggles bubbled up again.

‘Just do it!’ begged Ana.

Claudia inched forward and poked the doormat with the toe of her shoe, as if it was a half-dead wild animal that might still have the energy to bite. For a moment, a silence hung in the stinking summer air as they watched the doormat for signs of life.

Then Claudia swooped with a precision of movement that hinted at past experience in such matters. Newsprint flew threw the air in a complicated semaphore, the bristly doormat leapt up from the floor and the stench increased to unimaginable levels. Ana thrust the bin liner forward with outstretched gloved hands, turning her face away and hoping that she wouldn’t vomit. She felt the bin liner sag with sudden weight.

And it was calm again. The stench abated and a sigh of rustling paper announced that the fight was over. Only a corner of newspaper protruded from the bulging bin liner.

“…more muscular responses…“ read Claudia, before Ana snapped the bag shut with a tug on the yellow strings and ran down the stairs holding the offending parcel at arm’s length. Claudia splashed disinfectant across the floor and tried to formulate a good joke involving passing motions and Bush sending more troops to Iraq.

Ana came back up the stairs. ‘What shall we tell Mike about his doormat?’