It stands on elevated ground, at the intersection of two streets. It has arched windows, cute semiround balconies, a decorative wood entrance door , and an ornamented iron gate ,all of which add elegance to the building. A long garden separates it from the next house's garden. Most of the time the house was uninhabited, or at least so it seemed, and that gave way to speculations and gossip in the small neighborhood. The owners of the house, apparently French citizens , are probably here now as the house looks refreshened lately.
One evening, some two years ago, I was on my way home , from a visit to an aquaintance of mine who was very ill. I was naturally in a sad, pensive mood, When I got close to the pink house, I noticed something which diverted me from my gloomy thoughts. There was a big light in one of the windows , and I saw a man intensely gesticulating and talking to someone in the room. I got curious, and since there were no dogs or electronics I approached the fence with no fear, in order "to get a better view".
As I was staring at the window trying to identify the person, someone from behind twisted my arms as if in an atempt to tie my hands. It was a terrifying moment until I heard "Guess who". It was the slightly retarded man who lived in the vicinity. I was trembling, and in pain from his grip . All I could do is to warn him never again to come near me . He seemed shocked at my angry reaction and kept muttering I'm sorry, I'm sorry. He thought he was showing his friendship for me, he said. He always looked so weak, I could never have suspected the strength in his hands. He was also so very timid and well-mannered, I couldn't have believed he would dare touch me.
From that evening on I lost all interest in the pink house, I learnt to mind my own business , and I also gave more thought to the less fortunate people such as the above mentioned handicapped man.