The Ides of April

LVI

I heard approaching footsteps. I was trapped. I had put myself in jeopardy; it had gone wrong.

Judging the sounds, the man was only one or two floors below now, heading up fast. The apartments on the intervening floors were unoccupied, all locked up. I had nowhere else to go.

I had no weapons. I am not a fighter.

I took the only evasive action. Quickly I slipped into the second room, my archive with the leaky roof, and hid behind its curtain. I was thinking fast. If he came in and didn't see me here, I had one chance. If I could get out past him, escape behind him, I might manage to be first downstairs. But he had nothing to lose and was light on his feet. The risk that he would catch me and stab me on the steps was too great.

I stood quite still. I heard him arrive outside. He stopped in the open doorway. He must be staring in from the landing.

He moved. His steps passed through the office, taking him to the folding door.

Now he would know I was not on the balcony. I had an instant to act. I slipped out through the curtain and straight across the room. I saw him; pushed him with both hands on the middle of his back; shoved him forwards hard. Surprise gave me time. Desperation gave me strength. I dragged the door closed, me indoors, him outside.

This could only end in disaster. He was trying to force the door leaf open, I was frantically holding on to keep it fastened. He was slim built, but it was a man against a woman and he was now openly violent. The door was a rackety bifold with battered panels, scene of much past mistreatment and even occasional violence. For years, people in drink had habitually crashed into it. Only the awkwardness of that dilapidated woodwork, which had always jammed and refused to operate properly, helped me.

I heard him say something to me. I saw him through the lattice, stepping back against the balustrade. He was about to hurl himself against the door, which would inevitably burst inwards. I jammed myself in the frame, full weight pushing on the door handle. It felt hopeless.

Shouts below. Someone was coming. He would not have time to reach us.

Andronicus was shouting too. He took his planned run at the door. I still managed somehow to keep it closed. He was so frustrated, he jumped right in the air and stamped down with both feet. At his next attempt, I could no longer hold the door, and he dragged it partway open. He was looking straight at me, when we heard a tremendous cracking noise. Vibrations ran through the soles of my sandals. A shudder rippled in the outer wall. He did not understand. I hope he never knew what was happening, though he must have done. I know he screamed. Any time I think about that moment, I can still hear him.

The old balcony split off from the building. The deadweight amphorae and our struggle were too much for the weakened supports. The ancient construction came away from the masonry and fell six storeys. Andronicus was taken with it.