The Jewel : Part 1

He stood looking at the gate, obscured from vision by hungry vines that were growing over the wooden door. The passage was sandwiched between a “estanco” that sells liquor, outside which, sat five or six middle aged men playing dominoes and drinking beer at the very sociable hour of 2pm, and  a “lavanderia” where fat, aged women were chatting loudly over the sound of washing machines. Had he not been alerted to the whereabouts of the entrance, it is beyond doubt that he would still be looking. The dominos players eyed him curiously, knowing exactly why he was there. He, 

himself, was not so sure.

 Self consciously and hesitantly, he approached the overgrown gate, put the black iron key into the equally aged lock, turned it stiffly and pushed. Nothing. It was stuck and try as he might, it was not budging. Embarrassed and aware of his audience, he turned tentatively around looking for some help or some guidance. One of the domino players recognised his strife and came to his aid. The slightly woozy old man took the door by the handle, lifted it slightly and rested his 

shoulder against the wooden panel of the door.

It reluctantly swung open with a loud groan and yelped with the sound of wood scraping across concrete. He saw then that the top hinge had come away from the door and remained swinging idly from the doorframe. It must have been like this for some time as the bottom of the door was significantly worn and he could see the scars on the concrete where it had been dragged many times as the old man had just done. He thanked the beery domino player sheepishly and turned to enter.

The passageway was alive. It was breathing and heaving. Flowers of a multitude of colours leapt into the air, spraying their scents as if flirting openly. Vines sprung from the walls on either side, diving to the earth in an aerial dance of green and yellow. The ground was an unsteady covering of leaves, roots, vines and earth, with a small path, cut over time, towards the rear of the buildings. The path had nearly been overgrown, hinting that nobody had entered in some time, but in this part of the world, plants grow so quickly that it could be less than a week. The little light that made its way into the passageway, was filtered through metal bars and steel mesh that had been erected by the neighbours to keep out any unwanted company.

He instinctively set forth on the path towards the back, to where surely must be the workshop. As he cautiously rounded the back corner of the lavanderia, he was welcomed to a sight beyond his imagination. If the passageway had been teeming with life, the garden that he now found himself in was simply overflowing. Palm trees swayed in the light breeze as if dancing to a soothing song of bliss. Banana trees leaned against the palm trees, holding their drunken buddies up. Plump mangoes, of green and red, lay on the ground beneath the trees from which they had leapt, ready for eating and vulnerable to the many wild birds that had decided that this was as good a place as any to call home. They swung from the trees, showing off their radiant colours, too numerous to identify. They squawked, sang, bleated, bellowed, screeched and chirped a melody as rich as the most accomplished orchestras. Just above his head, they flew, threatening him playfully and he laughed quietly.

 The splendid energy of life vibrated and rattled among the undergrowth where insects were having sex, where eggs were slowly incubating, where new life was beginning and old life ending. This energy was audible and visible to him in a quiet hum and a fuzzy glow. Wildness was flourishing against all odds amidst the concrete, filth and harsh urbanity of the city and he sensed the stubborn persistence of the garden. He decided not to reduce the existence of this place to meaning or reason and rather just see the arbitrary eruption of something that cant be grasped but is just there, in all its contradictory beauty. The air was crisp and clean and gifted him the first lungful of fresh air since  stepping off the plane into the stifling 30 degree air.

Among this most fantastic display of nature, sat the workshop, consumed by the growth of trees, vines and flowers. Barely visible and shyly peeking out of its undergrowth hiding place, he could see the entrance. Again a wooden door similar to the entrance gate but this time in front of it sat a sturdy iron security gate, obviously design to stop thieves. Consciously drawing himself away from the wonder of this oasis, he reminded himself of his task and dug around in his pocket for the set of keys.

On finding what seemed like the best option, he tried the lock on the gate. Surprisingly it opened easily and without complaints but it seemed the plants that had grown around the bottom had something to say about it. Then the wooden door. The key that had opened the first door now opened this one in much the same way. He crunchingly turned the key against the rusty internal mechanisms of the lock till the deadbolt retreated to its housing and allowed for his entry. The door slowly creaked open revealing a space that, although much bigger than it seemed from the outside, was cluttered with, what seemed to be tools and machinery but were unlike any he had seen before.

A worktop ran around the perimeter of the space and was completely covered by these tools of iron and steel. He could not get a good idea of exactly what lay within as the only light that made its way in, entered through the door in which he stood and through a window which was not only covered in a thick layer of metal dust but was also obscured by greedy plants, robbing the suns rays of their chlorophyll. However a few liquid gold rays did creep through the thick vines to illuminate the floating dust particles that littered the air. The particles were filings of metals and appeared to be of gold, silver and various other precious species, as they shone and glittered like stars swimming in crystal clear streams of light. The air was thick with a musky smell that hinted at a recent history of sweat, chemicals and alcohol. He had a feeling he knew the source all three.