I didn’t know their names. I’d never heard their voices. I didn’t even know them by sight, strictly speaking, for their faces weretoo small to fill in with identifiable features at that distance.
Yet I could have constructed a timetable of their comings and goings,their daily habits and activities. They were the rear-window dwellers around me.
Sure, I suppose it was a little bit like prying, could even have been mistaken for the fevered concentration of a Peeping Tom.That wasn’t my fault, that wasn’t the idea. The idea was, my movements were strictly limited just around this time. I could get fromthe window to the bed, and from the bed to the window, and that was all.
Straight over, and the windows square, there was a young jitter-couple, kids in their teens, onlyjust married. It would have killed them to stay home one night. They were always in such a hurry to go, wherever it was they went,they never remembered to turn out the lights.
The next house down, the windows already narrowed a little with perspective. There was a certain light in that one thatalways went out each night too. Something about it, it used to make me a little sad. There was a woman living there with her child,a young widow I suppose.
The third one down no longer offered any insight, the windows were just slits like in a medieval battlement, due toforeshortening. That brings us around to the one on the end. In that one, frontal vision came back full-depth again, since it stood atright angles to the rest, my own included, sealing up the inner hollow all these houses backed on. I could see into it, from therounded projection of my bay window, as freely as into a doll house with its rear wall sliced away.