Of mice and (wo)men *

There is a mouse in my room. It's amazing how these simple words make me come right back fifteen years ago, to this indescribable but huge feeling of insecurity, when I was seeing one of those big spiders we have in Reunion island in my bedroom -really big- and spent the rest of the night screaming under my blankets - 100°F, 100% humidity.

I never thought I would felt that again, so many years after. Of course mice are adorable creatures who eat cheese and are movie stars. Just not in my room ok? There is even no point in running in the living-room, as I saw not one, but two, three, four of them crossing it to hide in my roommate's place.

Here I am, standing on my bed, glancing at the corner of the room where it may be. Poor thing, it must be just as scared of me as I am of it. I just don't know what to do. My roommate has those horrible glue traps everywhere, she suggested I put one in my room. What, and wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of the poor creature screaming to death, struggling to survive? No way, I'd rather never ever sleep again.

Moving out wouldn't change a thing. Mice are just another New York usual thing. They are everywhere, no matter how clean your flat is. Even in the so chic Upper East Side, even in the trendy Greenwich village - my friend Marie has cockroaches in her kitchen and has to walk in very loudly to scare them away. Isn't it amazing? I mean, it's New York, who would have thought that.

Tonight was the weirdest night. All those mice, and then this strange, really awful smell in the building, coming up to the fifth floor. Almost as if something was dead and the body slowly burnt. After all, a few days ago someone has been shot dead just at the corner of the street - who knows what can happen here. Strangely enough, this doesn't scare me as much as the mice - I mean, this could have happened everywhere, not only at 109th and Amsterdam streets.

My roommate remains so calm. We went to see the neighbours about that smell, which is too strong to just be garbage smell. Nobody knows, but nobody wants to call the police and answers tons of questions - and assume the responsability of bringing the police over. 'Wait and see'.

The sound of her talking to her family at the phone in amharic makes me feel better. I don't understand the language, but the melody of the words and her soft voice calms me down.
I just hope I can get some sleep tonight...


* John Steinbeck, Des souris et des hommes, 1937