photo illustration: window of the shop ROSE in Brussels, Ixelles, with a cool touch of feminine playfulness

Angela was walking to the medical centre where she worked as a receptionist for several doctors and practitioners; taking calls, making appointments, calling people back to confirm, soothing the patients in distress and gulping and processing lots of emotions in general.

It was a fine summer morning; the world bearing a newness, old news wiped partially by the night slumber. With a corner of her eye, she spotted a rusty creature pacing along a block of houses, a gracious movement on four legs, lean, long tail, pointed ears. A fox. A young one. She looked relaxed and alert at the same time, as if on an important errand. Intuitively, the animal avoided Angela´s trajectory and continued along the avenue leading to a forest where she probably was born and had her home. Strange, the forest was still a good kilometre away, Angela thought, wishing the animal a safe journey. Road-killed animals always saddened her, filling the heart with a seeping despair.

She came to the front door of an elegant townhouse, typed the code and slipped inside. Early morning was Angela’ s favourite time of the day, she loved coming the first, into the silence. She switched the phone into receiving mode, waited for the computer to come to live and before opening email box, she typed FOX TOTEM ANIMAL into a search machine. It was her favourite pass-time, when an animal occurred in her dream or crossed her path, she looked up its symbolics. There was always something that stirred intuition, brought an insight. Fox, as expected, bore important meanings from the shamanic world.

Mid-morning Angela’s freshness was gone. Several patients wanted their appointments to be postponed, a young dermatologist came with a headache after a heavy fight with her husband. She realized that she had screwed one appointment putting a different hour on the calendar. Angela felt sweat under her armpits, heard rumbling in her intestines and noticed a numbness in her head. Wonder if the fox came safely to her forest, she mused while pouring hot water on green tea leaves to appease the belly and to give a nudge to her mind.

At one p.m. she took a lunch break, bringing a box of beans and lettuce salad with a hard-boiled egg into an empty parlour on the first floor. It was used as a leisure room for employees. Before, this had surely been an audience room for visitors, long ago, when this was a private residence of a Brussels wealthy merchant. She found herself alone, half of the employees went out for lunch, some were already on early vacation. Karen, an ophthalmologist, came to say hello, they chatted briefly about their holiday plans. Then Angela munched the vegetables staring out of the window overlooking a leafy street. She knew better than opening her phone and checking messages – that would drain more energy from her. A learnt experience. Emptying her head, on the other hand, would help her to recuperate energy needed for the afternoon. Almost finished with her lunch, she suddenly spotted something unusual at the side of the unused fireplace with a marble mantlepiece. A hole, quite a huge hole on one side of the fireplace. A hole made by an industrious creature, judging from the debris of plaster around. She looked closer, little glittering eyes were observing her, belonging to a grey head. A mouse? No, not a mouse. A rat. A big one. Angela recoiled instinctively, then, silently took her empty box and withdrew from the room, straight into the kitchen sink where she washed and rinsed the utensils and put them on them on a rag to dry. And now what? Angela knew she should report the incident immediately to the concierge, or anyone from the house, for the matter. Nevertheless, she continued working without doing anything. The rat was occupying the back of her mind; disgust receded, and she felt more curiosity and amusement. This rat was clearly an explorer, the one the pack sent to check out new territories and potential food supplies. There was a cabinet with coffee, biscuits and chocolates in the room, as well as a bowl of fruit. For sure, rats, having excellent noses, sensed food from afar. Pioneers, explorers usually end up tragically. A Jeanne d’ Arc archetype. Angela called the rat Jeanne. Now, how to give Jeanne a fair chance to disappear? Opening the street window for the night? Letting the door of the room open? Both felt risky and futile. No chance that Jeanne would climb up the inside of the chimney.

Angela waited for the last doctor to leave the centre, lingering in the reception area, rinsing empty cups, watering plants, switching the phone back to answering machine mode. When she was sure nobody else was around, she tiptoed back to the parlour. The hole was still there, of course. She did not dare to come very close; the animal could attack her if it felt ambushed. She felt Jeanne’ s presence, but did not see her. Now, what about you? I should call the fox and let you two sort things out. But who knows how that fight would end? Bloody bath, injured young fox, or a lot of fuss with not much result? Anyway, the whole idea was preposterous. Angela knew that her own attitude was ridiculous and irrational. She must report the rat, this was a medical centre, almost sterile, rats in town were a pest, a potential health risk, epidemiological bomb. All that very logical, and still, Angela took a different action. She went to the window, an old-fashioned original window, one of the few that were not replaced yet. The middle part opened by lifting upwards. It required quite some strength, as it was rarely done, but she managed, creating a space of twenty centimetres, a comfortable escape for Jeanne the Explorer. Later, when the house would be completely silent, Jeanne could come out of the hole and grasp the opportunity. Everybody deserved a fair chance, Angela told herself.

Next day, the first thing in the morning, she would call the concierge and tell him about the hole pretending she never saw a rat.  

Angela walked back home on the sun warmed pavements, stopped at the grocery store and bought some cheese and wine as a treat for herself. A quiet evening. Still, Angela’ s mind was far from quiet. She watched an episode of a sitcom while sipping a glass of wine, fresh from shower, in a silky pearl pink pyjama shirt that she found at a discount in an underwear shop. All should be fine, right? She even had a date planned for later that week. And a holiday booked for a few weeks ahead. She brushed her teeth and took a glass of water to her bedroom. A restless sleep, a few runs to the toilet and fetching more water. Breathing techniques and shallow sleep. Then, the new morning came, and the alarm went off.

In the vast space between sleep and wake, just in a few seconds time here on the Earth, a revelation came to her:

It was not Jeanne she wanted to let escape. Or not only Jeanne. She, Angela, needed an open window to slip out. Coffee, shower, some fruit and cereals, and a walk to the medical centre. This time, no trace of any fox. Then, when she switched on the phone and computer in the reception area, she was certain. Apart from informing the concierge about the rat, she called the director of the centre, her boss:

“Angela, good to hear from you. How are you?” The tone the very contrary to the words he was uttering.

“Fine, Garry.” Angela responded. “As a matter of fact, I am calling you to discuss my job here. Ehm, would it be possible that I switch to a part-time contract?”  She blurted the question that was burning on her mind.

“Well, Angela, interesting enough, as I was about to contact you. The thing is, we are switching to a digital receptionist. Appointments will be done electronically. The door will open automatically with a code every patient receives. Of course, I do not like bringing this piece of news, but as you are calling first, you may start looking for a new job, Angela.”

 Angela did not expect the conversation to take such a twist. The pang of pain surprised her. And the scornful thought: Would the electronic receptionist soothe the patients, too? Do not worry, my dear, Siri kind of avatar would say. You have thirty percent chance of surviving next five years. A box of Kleenex is on your right.

A few days off-work presented themselves, as the centre had to be temporarily closed for de-rat-isation. Competent men, poison and traps, but Angela was not there to witness the mission.

Farewell, Jeanne, Angela whispered, while starting the job search seated in a co-working café. She was planning to start with checking out opportunities at animal protection associations and vets ‘cabinets. She sincerely hoped Jeanne found her way out. Even though rats in town have a bad, bad reputation.