Jan went to sleep at around 11:30 last night. I gently yet firmly woke her up at 1am saying, “Jan, you have to get up now”. She slowly opened her eyes and saw me standing over her… with four burly firefighters standing right behind me in our bedroom. Jan was slightly startled. What a way to be woken up.
You see, as part of my getting-ready-for-bed ritual last night, I was in our bathroom brushing my teeth at around 12:30. I was exhausted from a very long weekend and was looking forward to going to bed “early” to catch up on some much-needed rest. And that’s when I heard the voice. It was coming from somewhere outside our bathroom window. It weakly mumbled a single word. I stopped brushing my teeth for a second to see what it was but it had already stopped. So I continued brushing. A minute later, I heard it again. I still couldn’t make out what it was or where it was coming from. But when I later heard it a third time, it sounded very much like someone was trying to shout, “Socorro!“.
I went to the window and waited. Sure enough, the voice once again feebly muttered, “Socorro!“. It sounded much too tired to be a real emergency (at least in my mind). My first reaction, I am embarrassed to admit, was to just ignore it, close the window, and go to bed. But my second reaction slapped my first reaction across the face and I stuck my head out the bathroom window to make sure nobody was calling for help at half past midnight. Once again, “Socorro!” wafted up from one of the floors below us but I couldn’t tell exactly from where. It sounded like an old man. One of my numerous elderly neighbors, no doubt. So I waited for the next one to see if it would be easier to locate, as if knowing which window it was emanating from would have given me any more information than I already had. I heard him again and finally got the nerve up to answer. I shouted downward as quietly as I could (in Spanish), “Hello?”. I was answered with, “Socorro!“. Shit. “Do you need help?”. The man called back, “Yes!”. “What’s wrong?” The tired voice replied, “I can’t move!”. Shit. “Which apartment are you in?”. He admitted, “I don’t know!”. Shit.
I ran into the office, threw on my shoes, and ran down the stairs to the fourth floor where a tiny dog was barking its little head off from one of the apartments nearby, and I stuck my head out of the window in the stairwell. “Hello?”. And once again, “Socorro!“. It seemed to be coming from the apartment directly below us but I couldn’t tell for sure. And that damned dog was making it very hard to hear anything else. “Where are you?”. “I don’t know!”. “What floor are you on?”. “I don’t know?”. “Do you need help?”. “Yes!”. “What happened?”. “I can’t move!”. And that’s all the information I could get out of him. So I ran back upstairs and was quickly reminded of my recurring fear that, over the last 13 years of living in Spain, I never bothered to memorize any emergency phone numbers. A quick Google search for “barcelona emergency telephone number police” saved the day. Thank goodness I wasn’t somewhere without Internet access.
I explained everything to the emergency operator and they swiftly connected me to the fire department. I then had to explain everything again to them. While I was on the phone, a very sleepy Emily appeared at the door of the office. I just kept speaking on the phone, waived hello to her, and she rubbed her eyes and went back to bed. The operator took my contact info and told me they’d call me right back. I ran back downstairs to make sure the man was OK. He had started shouting, “Socorro!” again. How long had he been calling out for help before I first heard him? Why hadn’t any of the other neighbors come out to check on him? I didn’t have enough time to get angry because my phone started ringing so I legged it back upstairs. It was the department of medical emergencies. I then had to explain the whole thing all over to them. They assured me they were on their way and asked me to stay by the phone and to buzz them into the building when they got there. So now I had to wait.
I went back downstairs to quickly tell the man that help was on the way. I think I heard him talking to that infernal dog. I guess it probably was the man in the apartment below us. Maybe. An elderly gentleman (in his late 80s), very sweet, very quiet, very slow. His wife had just passed away not two months ago and we was living on his own (well, with the dog). I don’t know him very well and wasn’t sure how “with it” he normally is; not knowing where you live is pretty weird. I told him someone would be there soon to help and I rushed back up to wait for the cavalry.
Less than 10 minutes later, I heard the sirens coming up the street. I didn’t think they would blast the sirens so late at night. But they did. Two fire trucks, one ambulance, one police car, and one unmarked car. I felt guilty for causing such a ruckus, but better safe than sorry I guess. I buzzed them all in and went out into the hallway to greet them. Some were coming up in the elevator while others were climbing the stairs. I went down to the fourth floor to show the stair climbers where I thought the voice was coming from. One guy tried to talk with the old man via the window in the stairwell but had as much success as I did while another guy started to pry open his front door. I suddenly broke into a sweat at the thought of sending them barreling into the wrong apartment! They couldn’t get the door open so the firefighters surveyed the situation and asked me if that was my apartment directly above. And if that was my window directly above his. And if they could go through my apartment, through my bedroom, out my window, and scale down into this guy’s bedroom window. Sure! I just had to wake up Jan first.
So four firefighters and I briskly made our way upstairs, past the kids’ bedroom, and to my room. I woke a very confused Jan and the expected comedy reactions ensued. I cleared off the bedside table and the boys opened our window, whipped out their ropes, carabiners, and harnesses, and proceeded to jump out of our fifth-story bedroom window at one in the morning. It was all very surreal.
I didn’t play an active role in the remainder of the evening’s events but, according to the interviews I conducted with the firefighters and random neighbors the next day, it appears as though our downstairs neighbor had fallen down and bumped his head. He was confused and only slightly bruised, but he couldn’t get up. They brought him to the hospital for a few hours and then they brought him home again the next morning. Of course, he didn’t have his keys on him so they had to bring him back to the hospital and wait for his daughter to come and pick him up. Poor guy. I now know that, if anything should happen to him again, the neighbors on the second floor have a key to his apartment. And if they’re not home, the neighbors on the third floor have a key to their apartment. I think I need to draw a flowchart. Anyway, life is back to normal and I’m a local hero. Hurray!
