My neighbour had a passion for blasting rock music at 2am. Thats when I decided to buy my son a violin, and together we began practising scales precisely at 8 in the morning, right when my neighbour finally drifted off to sleep.
Every night at half past one, the ceiling of my bedroom would come alive with strange activity. It started as a faint rumble, as if a distant thunderstorm was brewing, and then the low frequencies kicked in. The bass pulsed so fiercely that the crystal glasses in my display cabinet trembled, chiming nervously to the beat of the drums.
My upstairs neighbours name was Colin. He was a devoted fan of artistic expressionwhich, in his case, meant endlessly listening to Metallica and early Iron Maiden, accompanied by questionable lager at any hour.
Naturally, I am not one to seek confrontation. I work as a bookkeeper, raise my seven-year-old son Oliver alone, and all I want in this world is a good nights sleep. But when you startle awake to the sensation of James Hetfield roaring “Enter Sandman” directly into your ear, even the most peaceful spirit starts to crack.
The first time I addressed it was around two in the morningstill clad in my dressing gown and slippers. Colin, in his thirties and unkempt, opened the door, eyes bleary. A haze of cigarette smoke and heavy rock spilled from his flat.
Colin, have mercy, I said, trying for calm. Its the middle of the night. Ive got work in the morning, Oliver has school.
Whats the problem? he genuinely wondered, propped against the doorframe. Its not loud, the speakers are quality, the bass is soft.
My chandeliers swinging, I replied.
Alright, Ill turn it down, he grumbled, slamming the door.
The peace lasted ten minutes; then the music was back.
The next day, I tried to handle things properly. I rang the police. The officers showed up an hour and a half laterby then, Colin was asleep and the music was off. They shrugged. No noise to record. Write to your local council, ask them to have a word.
The council officer did come round, though only a week later.
Ive spoken to him, he reported on the phone. He promised to keep it down, but you know, the fines are trivial. Hes not bothered.
And so it went on. Every night, the relentless boom-boom-boom worked away at my nerves. I began taking herbal teas for calm, showed up at work looking grey, and fiercely resented this house, Colin, and my own helplessness.
A childs talent must be nurtured
The idea hit unexpectedly one Saturday morning. I was sipping coffee in the kitchen, staring at the dark circles under Olivers eyes. He wasnt sleeping well either.
Mum, can I learn to play the violin? he asked suddenly, scrolling through something on his phone.
Have you ever listened to a beginners violin? Its not musicits an assault: a piercing screech, as if reality itself is tearing, mixed with the sound of nails on glass.
Of course, my love, I said, and for the first time in a month, I smiled a genuine, predatory smile. Well buy the best instrument we can find.
We went to the music shop that very day. The salesman, a dignified elderly gentleman, fitted Oliver out with a quarter-size violin.
Does the boy have an ear for music? he asked.
Hes got plenty of motivation, I replied.
Meanwhile, I made sure to read up on the regional Noise Regulation Act. On weekdays, noise was permissible from eight in the morning, slightly later at weekends.
Colin usually quietened down by four in the morning. He was especially sound asleep at eight.
Monday. Morning. Oliver and I stood in the lounge.
Go on, sonplay a C major scale. Loudly. With feeling.
The sounds that followed defy description. It was the shriek of a cat whose tail had just been slammed in a door, mingling with the screech of metal across glass. The violin, unchecked and uninhibited, reverberated beautifully through the concrete floors, sending its message straight up to Colins flat.
After ten minutes, a loud crash came from above; probably Colin himself. Five minutes later, frantic banging on the radiator. We kept goingthe law was on our side.
At 8:20, the doorbell rang. I opened it. Colin stood there in vest and boxer shorts, eyes bloodshot, looking like a man whod just survived a natural disaster.
What are you playing at?! he rasped. Its eight in the morning! People are trying to sleep!
Good morning, Colin! I replied cheerily. Just practising. Olivers got a gift, his teacher said to do an hour every morning before school.
Youre torturing me! My heads splitting!
Thats strange, I mused. We arent loud. By the way, how did you like Enter Sandman last night? I thought the bass was a touch weak.
He looked from me to Oliver, who stood in the hallway with violin and bow, like a tiny warrior.
Are you doing this on purpose?
Its art, Colin. Art requires sacrifice.
Finding peace through music
We kept at it for a week. Every morning, right at eight. By the third day, the night-time concerts upstairs stoppedColin hoped that if he stayed quiet, wed stop too. But music education, as everyone knows, cant be postponed.
Friday evening, he finally came down. He was sober, wearing jeans and a shirt.
Look, neighbour, he said tiredly. Lets make a deal. I cant go on. The squealings in my head all day.
Im all ears, I replied, inviting him to the kitchen.
I placed a sheet of paper and a pen on the table.
The terms are simple. Absolute quiet after 10pm.
What if I have friends over? he tried negotiating.
What if Oliver gets inspired at seven on a Sunday morning? I answered, calm as ever.
Colin visibly flinched.
Alright. After tensilence. Deal. And the violin will you sell it?
No, I said. Itll stay as proof. On top of the wardrobe, always ready.
We signed our makeshift peace agreement. And that pact has held for six months now. Truth be told, Oliver abandoned the violin ages agohes now obsessed with chess.
The block is peaceful again. Sometimes, Colin and I greet each other at the lift. He views my son warily and me with new respect. It seems hes learned: a quiet bookkeeper mother with a well-behaved son can be far more formidable than any eccentric rocker.
The lesson? Sometimes, gentle persistence and creativity can solve what confrontation never could.
