An old couple lived in the apartment. I used to see them from time to time in the street. He was a robust looking man, but he had that old man’s shuffle that gets slower and slower with time. Eventually he needed a cane. Later still, the only times he went outside he was accompanied by his wife. Wiry, brown like a wren, she stuck close to his side, ready to prop him up, to help him over a rough spot or catch him if he fell. His face had a grim set to it; these carefully supervised walks were surely not a pleasure, more like a duty he knew he had to do to keep going.

Then I stopped seeing the old man out on the street. I saw him only between the roses of the stained glass window, sitting in an armchair, watching television. Early morning, mid-afternoon, night, each time I walked the dog, he was there, with the television always on.

Today there is a For Sale sign on the apartment, on the window of a little study adjoining the living room with the stained glass. The armchair is empty. The round-the-clock television is dark and silent.

I mourn for this old man though all I knew of him was that he appreciated the beauty of a stained glass window in a neighborhood of anonymous clear glass panes.

I hope whoever buys the apartment will keep the stained glass window of the living room. There are so few beauty marks along my daily dog walk route.

© 2013, Alice Evleth

Alice Evleth is a long-time American expatriate living in the 6th arrondissement of Paris.

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