Short Story 2

Outside on the lively Shaanxi Road, two Shanghai police officers instruct me to follow them. The men storm into a shop without saying a word, and I’m at the back of them, squeezing my way through. I’ve never been inside this place. The police quickly examine a pink room in the back area where pets are resting. One guy says something to me in Mandarin; I shrug, looking confused. A Chinese woman (I don’t know her name, so I’ll call her Jing) is the owner of the pet shop.

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JING: It is the noise next door from the shoe repair shop. 

 

ALDO: There’s a lot of loud hammer noise inside my apartment. I live on the third floor. The landlord told me to call the police if I hear too much noise. The police said to follow them.

 

JING: I know. The shoe repair hit the hammer on metal every day. I have a headache sometimes. 

 

ALDO: Can you tell the police that the noise is coming from the shop next door?

 

Before Jing can answer, the two officers exit the pet shop in a hurry and tell me to follow them. Outside on the sidewalk, surrounded by Chinese locals who are wondering what's happening as the commotion is unfolding, feels uncomfortable, and people keep coming closer. It’s a busy Sunday afternoon with lots of people walking by.

 

One cop (the aggressive guy) begins shouting at the owner, who’s standing outside of his shoe repair shop, which is next door to the pet shop. I live on the third floor, and the shoe repair shop is in the same compound on the first floor. Jing comes out of the pet shop to defend the owner of the shoe repair shop. The rowdy cop and Jing exchange words in each other’s faces. Jing’s the calmer one, but she’s not showing signs of backing down. The observers clearly hear her messages. As usual, I don’t understand the Mandarin dialogue. 

 

Jing is within kissing distance of me as a bunch of Chinese locals surround us, shoulder-to-shoulder. The confusion and fast momentum prevent fear and anxiety from accumulating, knowing that I’m responsible for calling the police.

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JING: This is a legal business for twenty years. The working hours are eight o’clock in the morning to ten o’clock at night; it is a busy place with a lot of noise. The best thing is to get another apartment. I am very sorry.

 

Jing and I (I’m the only foreigner) are outside with the police and the center of attention. The hostile cop continues to holler at Jing and gives the shoe repair owner a few verbal jabs. Perhaps he’s accusing them of lying or wants a confession. In theory, the cop should be defusing the situation when things escalate between two or more parties by being cool, calm, and collected rather than creating tension.

 

Instead of pointing the police to the shoe repair shop, a twenty-year-old mom-and-pop shop that appears to barely make ends meet, I keep my mouth shut. The owners, a Chinese husband and wife, look old enough to be my parents. Snitching on a shop that’s accountable for the hammer noise is a disservice to the people relying on the place, and a loss of face for the two owners.

 

The shop is the size of a tiny bathroom. Some neighborhood locals rely on the place to fix the heels of their fancy dress shoes or to replace shoelaces. Some nearby shops within walking distance sell dress shoes and are less expensive than retail value. However, people in the community who can't afford to get a new pair or don't have the cash on hand visit the shoe repair shop.

 

Anyhow, the two cops rush to the pink room again with the sleeping pets as if Jing’s covering up something inside her shop. Customers freeze and glare. I step in and say, “It’s okay” with a let’s-squash-this look. I head back to my apartment, passing by the shoe repair shop, hoping that the locals outside don’t cuss or throw blows at me. Calling the cops was a mistake, and I feel bad. 

 

Now, why did I call the police on a mom-and-pop shop that's been repairing dress shoes for twenty years? Let me explain. For the past four months, I’ve been continuously hearing a hammer hitting the walls inside my apartment. The hits range from five to forty-five seconds, typically occurring every few hours, specifically on the weekends from the morning to nighttime.

 

During my first day at the apartment, I assumed a renovation was taking place next door or upstairs. I let the noise slide the first month. Hearing a hammer every night after work and during the day on the weekends became a nuisance by March 2019. I notified the landlord about the noise problem on a few occasions. 

 

ZHENG: Call 110 for noise problem; it is the police.

 

He framed it like it’s the standard thing to do in Shanghai. 

 

Zheng was in my apartment roughly a month ago to ensure the replacement of a new water heater. I felt some tension in the room because of our chats a few days before the installation. He was irritated since a technician told him and his mom that nothing was wrong with the water heater and laughed in their faces. I sent Zheng a video with a beeping water heater before he met with the technician. The water heater started making beeping sounds every morning and night for a week. I paid the water bill on time, too.

 

My second video made him understand that a new water heater for the apartment was mandatory. In one of his messages, he asked if I was dealing with a high level of stress, causing me to hear things, which made me angry. 

 

ALDO: No, I have a brain. I’m not crazy.

 

The landlord was also upset about a recent complaint from my neighbor on the fourth floor. I knocked on his door at 9:30 a.m. on a Sunday and asked him with the translator app on my phone if he knows about the noise. The hammering sounded as if it was coming from the apartment upstairs at 8:00 a.m., and it prompted me to ask him. The animated body language and rambling in Mandarin of the Chinese man with long eyebrows and in his pajamas demonstrated that he had been sleeping.

 

Zheng brought up the hammer sounds while we were waiting for the technician to install the water heater. I told him it’s on going.

 

ZHENG: It is cooking noise. Every Shanghai apartment has a good cook.

 

What?! The landlord’s smiley mother is showing with her hands that she’s cutting food. Instead of asserting myself, I zip it and recognize what Zheng needs: proof containing a video of where the hammer noise is coming from. 

 

For three months, I would occasionally roam up and down the concrete stairs of the building (lane 2), trying to figure out which apartment was accountable for the hammering. Listening to sounds starting at 8:00 a.m. on the weekends and after 7:00 p.m. mainly during the week at random times has been annoying. My weekends haven’t been relaxing. 

 

By the end of March, I discovered where the sound was coming from: the shoe repair shop on the first floor. I recorded a forty-five second video of me standing outside my apartment on the third floor and rushing down the concrete stairs to the first floor to a white door without a handle. To prevent the door from opening, there’s an old and dusty wooden chair along with a dirty red dustpan carrying green rat poison. I sent the clip to Zheng on WeChat.

 

ZHENG: We will try to talk to the shop.

 

I didn’t want to call the police (110) on the shop, but Zheng avoided touching base with me after a week. Plus, I had to call 110 on Thursday (three days ago) at 7:30 a.m. Yesterday (Saturday) night at 10:00 p.m. included another 110-dial for the same thing.

 

I received a call from a man talking in Mandarin (it was the police), not the operator with broken English. I made another attempt at 10:15 p.m. The operator said to go outside and wait for a few minutes. Standing on the sidewalk for twenty minutes caused me to dial 110 for the third time at 10:30 p.m. The guy on the line sounded frustrated. It wasn’t my fault that the other operator told the police to go to 729 instead of my address (629). If the guy on the first call didn't cut me off and say, "Yeah, I know, I know, I know," while I was reiterating my address, then I wouldn't have had to make two additional calls.

 

An officer arrived, but the shoe repair owner left his shop two minutes before. The man couldn’t help, according to my Chinese friend, Kira, who translated the dilemma. She said to call tomorrow morning when I heard the hammer noise and to visit the station with evidence (the forty-five second video) showing that it's the shoe repair shop. Going to the police sounds inconvenient because I don't speak the language. Also, on New Year’s Eve, the same police station couldn’t help to get my one-month deposit back from my previous landlord.

 

A hammer hitting steel, which vibrated on the walls inside my place, reached its boiling point today. A week ago, I let the landlord know again, but he still didn’t act. I was tired of pestering him with noise complaints. I took a new twenty-five second video recorded from the morning, proving where the noise was coming from (the shoe repair shop). 

 

At 3:00 p.m., I called the police. I received a call from a guy talking in Mandarin. I immediately texted Kira asking for assistance by calling the number and explaining the situation to the cop. She told me to go outside, stand on the sidewalk, and wait for the police; otherwise, they will disregard my call.

 

When the two police officers arrived, I gave one of them the phone so that Kira could elaborate. One officer created a scene by talking forcefully while his partner stayed quiet. People were watching, and I felt more unpleasant than usual. The language barrier amplified the confusion. After the cop gave me back my phone, Kira said to guide the officers to the area where the noise was coming from and play the video on my phone. 

 

The two guys rushed into the pet shop despite the handleless door on the first floor belonging to the shoe repair shop. In the end, the two cops didn’t resolve the issue. I wanted things to be handled in a civilized and low-key manner.

 

January through June 2019 have included some strange times at the lane house, the fourth apartment that I moved into as of December 30, 2018. There’s another matter requiring medical attention with a specialist.