Tea with the Birds

The funny thing about Mortimer Street is that no-one really seems to know anybody else. The people aren’t really that nice. When I first arrived, as good gossipers, they tried to discover something about me, in the end they assumed that I was a student nurse and also a snobbish person (possibly because I refused to baby-sit the child of a neighbour I barely new).
I lived on the second floor of a big back-to-back terrace, which had been converted into four bed sits. It was a very silent space. Then to worry me someone moved into the flat opposite mine. Mr Tamaoki. I wasn’t that happy; I just hoped he would be a quiet neighbour. For days I didn’t see him, only heard him. He had been living there for a week when I finally saw the man in question. I saw a man that might be of any age: small, neat, unamussing. He was a very silent and quiet man, he reminded me of a bird I had once seen in the ZOO; small and drab-looking in his cage, huddled in a corner.
He seems to be the perfect neighbour, but there was a problem. Every morning at five- thirty he received a vegetables delivery, a van with two mans, one man would ring a bell, while the other called up to the windows. That really bothered me, because I’ve always suffered insomnia: the slightest disturbance wakes me up. At first a tried to complain, but the Mr Tamaoki politely deflected me, and then I left some notes in his door, but nothing. At 6 o’clock he would leave the flat with heavy bamboo hamper in each arm. What could contain in those hampers? I wondered. Every time he passed in the landing I made some comment, but Mr Tamaoki continued to smile. Then it occurred to me that Mr Tamaoki could not speak English. My suspicions were confirmed when I heard him practising English.
One day when I returned from my shopping. Mr Tamaoki was waiting for me, he invited me to his house and for Tea. The room was almost bare; a red lantern swinging in the ceiling, a bamboo calendar on the wall, a futon in the corner, the tiny kitchen space was filled with a big old-fashioned pink refrigerator. While we were drinking the tea Mr Tamaoki smiled and nodded at me, there was no conversation, but for the first time I felt wholly comfortable with a strange person: in silence. Then he made his way to the refrigerator, it was filled with birds; orange yellow, green, scarlet. A beautiful (multi-shaped) aviary of birds resting among flowers and leaves. There were the vegetables, this was Mr. Tamaoki’s secret.
“They’re beautiful”, I said.
“You too kind “, he answered.
He left soon after that, I did not see him go. I noticed when the delivery van failed to arrive.
I find myself missing Mr Tamaoki and his vegetables deliveries; I no longer enjoyed the silence around me as I once had. The coldness of Mortimer Street was no longer a comfort.
For some weeks Mr Tamaoki’s room remained empty, but the day before the new tenant arrived I found the door open. The room smelt of dust but was neat and bare. There was a small package next to the sink, my name was written on it, and there was a packet of Japanese green tea. That night I prepared it just like Juzo Tamaoki did (or at least, I tried). I sat to drink the tea, wondering if I should invite my new neighbour for some tea, she might be glad of a friendly face to welcome her on the street .As I finished the cup I noticed that in the semi-darkness of my room, with the fire casting stilted red shadows on the wall, the rising steam looked like a bird’s wings fluttering ready to fly.