Nullsphere

As I walked in the door tonight, the phone rang and I went to pick up, thinking it was Exar, as it often is. It was the family lawyer, who has been taking care of our case for the past 7 years in Us vs. Neighbours-upstairs.

Perhaps it would be clearer if I explained the whole situation from the start.

Many moons ago, back in 2000, the old woman upstairs moved out after her mother had died and she lost the right to the rent-controlled appartment they had occupied for over thirty years -if not more. The appartment was quickly sold to a new family and although I can’t remember the details, I think my mother was quite glad at this change because she found the old women quite irritating.

Soon, builders were being called in and my mother went on an exploratory mission to meet the new neighbours. They seemed like an alright sort, a middle-aged couple and their grown children who didn’t live at home.

Then the water came. At first, it was a mishap in the bathroom that attracted my mother’s ever-watchful eye. As swift as a bird, she went upstairs to let the neighbours know. They promised this was an accident and set about to repair the thing, coming down to open up the ceiling to do their work.

And then it got worse.

New leaks started springing in my parents’ bathroom, in the toilet, in the corridor. As the water spread, so did the divide between my family and the one upstairs. Relationships had been cordial up until then and descended pretty quickly into petty name-calling. The worst came one evening as Mom and I were alone in the appartment, Dad away on business. Taking dishes back into the kitchen, I heard the sound of running water. I turned on the light in the toilet. Lo and behold, there was a fountain coming from the ceiling. I went upstairs to tell the neighbours to switch off their water so a plumber could be called and later heard that the man had threatened physical violence against me to another neihbour. Not that I cared, he’s half my size.

It was a memorable battle between two staunch wills:
The man upstairs insisting that it was our greed for his wealth that made us damage our own appartment. It was obvious that we were poor because we hadn’t repainted flawless walls. (Umm… no, that’s called being sensible).
My mother trying to prove that these people were being particularly horrible to us and that the damage was real. Bedridden and recovering from a masectomy, she rose to the occasion in her housecoat for one expert visit.
I remember several instances where inspectors of all kinds were called. One such instance, the man from upstairs turned up with a huge cigar. My dad threw him out. Or the lawyer for the adverse party was riffling through my mother’s papers and I had to yell at him.
And even once, upon breaking the pristine wall of my parents bathroom, the guy from upstairs had the gall to say “Look, they broke our piping” when it was revealed that they’d forgotten to connect their tube to the mains and all their dirty water was going straight into our walls.

My parents moved out for two weeks to a hotel after this.

This was a losing battle for them, fought on the dirtiest grounds possible: the daughter and mother kept going around, mincing like they owned the place and saying comments like “Don’t look at her, she’s ugly” or “Piece of shit” when talking about me.
The daughter had children of their own and they were left free to be as noisy as possible, running and jumping around the appartment until past midnight.
After mother had died, mysterious rumours about us moving out emerged. Not being one who allows themself to lay down and die, I took up the fight and the endless stream of legalese that went with it.

Another leak sprung in spring last year, putting out nearly 50 liters of putrid water over Labour weekend. This even ran down to the neighbours below. It stopped after strange banging noises were heard from upstairs.

So now the call came, two years and an eternal grudge too late. It isn’t so much for the water damage itself, this can be repaired. It’s for ruining my mother’s final years with this crap. Had she not had this battle to fight, it would have probably been easier for her to get the help she needed before it was too late.
We’re getting about 7k out of this. It’ll be enough to pay for the bigger repairs and I’ll do the painting myself, probably over the summer.

Unless they appeal, that is. But the judgement is out there, we are vindicated and justice, for once, prevailed.

I should have felt elated but I feel strangely empty and, once I had put down the phone, I looked at my mother’s urn and started crying. This was not what I expected. Judgements rarely are.
I do, however, feel that wheels set in motion many years ago have finally delivered a push towards the future. And I will doubly on my guard. A man who dares threaten a child of harm because of their parents’ legal ties to them is someone to be wary of. But then again, so am I.