During that week, at exactly 6:39 every day, a tiny crumpled sheet fell from the window. A couple times, I waved but there was never any response, as if, for the Watcher, the single word or number, and later, the short phrases – like penalty catalogue and trust deed and power of attorney – were enough. I was confused by his actions. Was he trapped in the house or had he been waiting for decades for someone to pay him some attention? I suspected they could be meaningless words comprehensible only to the aged person who had released them and that I should bother no more, but I could not get it out of my head there was some as yet not understood purpose. I even entertained the hope that I could discover something about myself, but what could a man living alone, at the end of his life, tell me
