The front gate gives onto the dingy tiled patio. I open and meet the noise.

I look around for it, as if its shape and the extent of its vitality could be determined. It comes from beyond the bedrooms, from an empty lot I’ve never seen, behind spacious house that faces a different street.

“It’s been like this all morning,” my mother warns from the kitchen threshold.

“What is it?” I want to establish, disconcerted.

“They brought a bus, turned on the engine, and left it running…”

The Silentiary by Antonio do Benedetto