The Finger

Hugh stood at the carriage door, gazing out of the window, blurred faces coming into greater focus as the train eased into the station. The train stopped entirely and Hugh looked out at an elderly woman wearing a bright red beanie. She had been waiting right on the edge of the platform, her feet blatantly over the yellow line. Shuffling to the left, the woman lined herself up with Hugh's carriage door, then raised her finger to the entrance button. Hugh, always eager to be first out of the carriage, stood exactly opposite her. The two commuters locked eyes: a standoff. The doors opened to an ascending chime, and Hugh started out of the carriage.

The passenger exiting the carriage has right of way.

Those waiting to board must make room for those alighting.

Be kind and make room.

The woman lunged forward into the crowded carriage. Despite her small stature, she confidently placed a leather boot down in front of Hugh, staking her claim. Hugh faltered, flat-footed by her speed and unable to overcome the feeling that he shouldn't become involved in physical altercations with little old ladies. Stepping around her, he exited the carriage, a dark look of disapproval on his face.

It was a mid-autumn afternoon. Mottled daylight shone down faintly over the tree-lined footpath and a crisp wind brushed up steadily against Hugh's cheeks as he walked home. He should have said something. At her age, she should know better. How long had she been getting away with that kind of behaviour? The standard you walk past is the standard you accept. Hugh suddenly noticed that all of the dead leaves from the footpath had been swept into neat little piles. Walking past each pile, he was filled with a sense of order, a sense of relief.

Hugh approached his apartment. Except for the ugly orange streaks that punctuated the building’s design, it was an uninspiring mass of grey and white blocks. He saw a slender figure swiftly enter the foyer. Hugh had lived in the building for six years. In this time, he had met many of his neighbours. He’d gathered a name here, an occupation there; nothing more than surface level details of their lives, but he felt this instilled a sense of community in his building.

Scanning his entrance card, Hugh entered the foyer of his apartment. In front of him stood a man he immediately recognised as Benelli – he was not sure if that was his first or last name.

‘How are you?’ asked Hugh.

Benelli, a taciturn man with a narrow face and impressive cheekbones, turned and acknowledged Hugh’s greeting.

‘Good,’ he said, and after a pause, ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, not bad. I was almost bowled over by someone getting onto the train. Rogue commuter,’ said Hugh.

‘Really,’ said Benelli. Hugh continued.

'I'm sure they've seen the signs — Metro has been running an ad campaign. But the messaging is all about empathy and respect, something these people are in very short supply of.'

Benelli nodded along, then glanced furtively at the LED panel above the elevator - it was still descending.

'With teenagers, I just hold my ground and march out. But you can’t bowl over an old Italian Nonna. It's weaponised decrepitude,' said Hugh, flashing a smile at Benelli, trying to sell him the joke.

Benelli seemed to start to say something, then smiled while nodding agreeably.

Suddenly, a descending chime. The elevator door opened and Benelli gestured to Hugh to enter.

‘Thank you, Benelli.’

The two neighbours entered the small metallic space and stood beside one another facing the elevator door.

Hugh pressed the number four, ‘What floor are you again?’

‘Five,’ replied Benelli.

‘Nice views on five I’ve heard,’ Hugh teased as he pressed the button.

Benelli let out two laugh-like noises, twice in quick succession. The elevator started upwards and the pair was surrounded by a gentle mechanical hum.

‘So, have you had a good day?’ Hugh asked.

'Big day,' said Benelli. The elevator steadily and surely continued upwards.

‘You're a social worker? I have a cousin who is a social worker. They’re always complaining about having too many cases,’

‘Yes, well fortunately for me, I work in...'

Ascending chimes - the elevator door opened slowly.

‘We’ll continue this another time,’ said Benelli, smiling.

‘Sure thing, I’ll catch you round Benelli,’ said Hugh, stepping out of the elevator.

Hugh walked towards his apartment at the end of the hall. Then, out of the corner of his eye he noticed a new flyer on the floor’s community notice board. He loved reading notices on the community board. Even though they usually were not relevant to him. He pivoted. Suddenly, something drew his attention back towards the elevator. The doors of the elevator were closing but through a narrow gap he could still see Benelli standing inside. His eyes narrowed in disbelief.

Benelli appeared to be giving him the finger. His face was contorted into a mad grimace. Benelli’s entire body seemed to be an appendage of his finger. That middle finger. It looked like it was shaking, vibrating, radiating hate violently towards Hugh. A friendly chime sung out, and the doors closed entirely.

The elevator resumed its journey. The LED panel above the elevator doors was now changing from a four to a five – Benelli’s floor. Did he just give me the finger? It must have been directed at something else. He spun around searching the space behind him. Nothing, just a plain wall, not even a framed stock image of some anonymous city skyline. The sickly fluorescent lights and dull buzzing of the hallway seemed amplified and he felt a sensation of being in purgatory. It had to be a mistake.

Hugh glanced once more at the LED above the elevator, expecting the number to tick downwards. He imagined Benelli stepping out of the elevator, a sheepish grin on his face, ready to explain the misunderstanding. However, the screen did not change. Glancing at the community board, he played with the idea of leaving a notice on Benelli’s floor. ‘Hi Benelli, it appeared as though you gave me the finger yesterday evening. Would love to chat about it.’ No - it was Benelli’s responsibility to rectify the situation. Pulling himself out of his stupor he walked back to his apartment.

Opening the door to his home, Hugh was greeted by the smell of a fragrant curry. From further inside the apartment, he could hear samba music.

‘Tracey!’ shouted Hugh.

Hugh entered the kitchen, which was also his living room.

As Hugh entered, Tracey placed down a book, ambled out of an armchair and made to greet Hugh with a kiss. She stopped as she noticed his expression.

‘Something has happened,’ Hugh said solemnly.

Tracey sat down at the kitchen table so as not to be too comfortable upon hearing bad news.

‘Tell me, what is it?’ Tracey asked delicately.

‘I was given the finger,’ Hugh intoned. He then proceeded to recount the story to his partner.

‘…You told him you wanted to knock down an old lady?’

‘What? No, I – I was joking, it was…’ Hugh paused, ‘Do you think that’s why he gave me the finger?’

Tracey held Hugh’s gaze for a moment. She was straining to give this the seriousness she knew Hugh felt it deserved. She stood up and walked over to the stove.

‘No, that seems like an overreaction, even if he thought you were a danger to aged care facilities and bingo halls across the country, or for that matter schools - what was it you said about children?’

‘I was making a point, that as the disembarking passenger, you have right of way, and that — you’re joking,’ Hugh said.

‘I don’t think Benelli took you literally. While he may not find your diatribes as endearing as I find them, I can’t imagine he took your comments that personally,’ said Tracey.

Tracey placed a serving of curry down in front of Hugh.

‘You know, it’s interesting that you looked back when you did. That was a private expression, his way of venting at…well, you.’

The words hung in the air as Tracey sat down next to Hugh and began to eat.

Hugh’s eyes bore into his bowl. A sugary sweet voice hummed over a bossa nova beat.

‘Ok, sorry this is not doing it for me tonight.’ Hugh stood up and turned off the stereo, mashing his finger into the off button as if he was squashing a small bug.

Tracey took a deep breath, then spoke as gently as she could manage.

‘I’m sorry that Benelli gave you the finger. It was an awful thing to do. We’ll probably never know why he did it. Perhaps he had a really hard day, you said it yourself, social workers have heavy caseloads. In any case, let’s just chalk it down to human misjudgement and enjoy our dinner!’

‘Misjudgement is an understatement, he told me to fuck myself. All I did was try and strike up a friendly conversation.’ Hugh fidgeted with his fork, turning it over and over in his fingers.

‘And as for not finding out, I will find out. I’ll be raising this with Benelli one way or another. We live in the same building; we’ll run into one another soon enough.’

‘Hugh. We all need to vent once in a while,’ Tracey replied, her tone becoming more severe as she lost patience with Hugh's spiralling.

‘We’re not robots,’ Tracey added as she stopped eating, laid down her fork, and gave Hugh a searching look. Hugh sensed the conversation broadening out to something larger, something he would rather avoid.

‘Ok fine, but I don’t get it - what did I say that was deserving of that?’ Hugh muttered, finally starting to eat his meal.

‘I don’t think we need to answer that question sweetheart,’ Tracey said softly, and with an air of finality.

Hugh’s fixation had taken seed. He spent sleepless nights alternating between a determination to confront Benelli and a dreadful fear of having to speak with him again. Frequently, he reflected on his relationship with his neighbours, eyeing them uneasily whenever he saw them in the hallway or down the street. He scrutinised their responses to his friendly greetings.

He wondered what his other neighbours thought of him, and why they never called on him to look after a pet, or look after a spare set of keys. His immediate neighbour, his only neighbour, as he was at the end of the hall opposite the fire exit, was a younger couple who seemed to show no interest in becoming anything more than neighbours in name. Ambivalence was preferable to animosity, he thought.

Stepping out of the building one morning, Hugh began to run. He had hoped that some exercise and fresh air would help him to see the situation more clearly. As he ran, he examined the situation from new angles, trawling his memory for past interactions with Benelli, and indulging in baseless speculation about his character. Arriving back at his apartment building, now in quite a heightened state, he suddenly found the solution to his problem.

He would be here, Benelli would be here sooner or later. That would be the easiest way to resolve all of this - just wait for him. Their meeting would need to be a coincidence: an ambush is no way to bury a hatchet. People were always making that mistake with alcoholics: jump out and surprise them, show them you care by lying to their faces then strong arm them into submission. No - trust is the secret to healing wounds. Hugh just needed somewhere to sit and wait.

Hugh retrieved his car from the building’s basement car park and carefully parked it outside his own building, on the opposite side of the street. Adjusting his seat, he settled into position and commenced his stakeout. Hugh initially maintained his vigil with discipline. But as the day drew on he grew distracted.

He began to keep tabs on which neighbours were coming and going. He didn’t seem to recognise many of the figures going in and out of the building. He promised himself he would get to know his neighbours better, find out their names, what they like, what they didn’t like. The community would be built back stronger. Why hadn't he brought any food or water?

He felt a growing weight above his eyelids. The past week weighed heavily on him. His drive, fuelled mostly by neurotic energy and self-righteousness, was rapidly fading. Wrapped up in a jacket, in his hatchback, looking up and out at his big grey building, his eyes closed and sleep arrived suddenly.

Hugh stood in a hallway. In what appeared to be a hallway. There was a dining table and chairs arranged against a wall. There were people, nicely dressed people, who were milling about holding drinks and canapés. He recognised the faces of several of his neighbours. He walked over to introduce himself to one, but upon saying hello, she responded with a look of irritation and walked away. Hugh noticed two of his neighbours walking up to one another.

‘Ted — post office clerk, how are you?’ said one.

‘Sarah — gone to the park today, I’m good, and yourself?’ replied the other.

Warily, he made his way over to the dining table and noticed that he was the only one wearing a hat. He took off the hat and held it in his hands, nervously fidgeting with its edges. The room had grown noticeably quieter. He was about to help himself to a puff pastry when someone next to him knocked over a ceramic jug. Water began to spill all over the table. Righting the jug, he asked if there was a cloth he could use to clean up the mess. The man turned and Hugh saw with a fright that it was Benelli.

He peered down at Hugh through his black-rimmed glasses. His towering cheekbones rose up and out into an enormous toothy smile. Hugh felt the eyes of the room upon him. A voice spoke though Benelli kept on smiling, his lips not moving ‘Courtesy is helping to clean up the spill; politeness is not noticing it to begin with!’

Hugh jerked awake. He was in his car. He noticed his building was awash in the soft amber glow of a sunset - he had been waiting for hours. A silhouette emerged out of the light. It was Benelli. Hugh took a deep breath as Benelli entered the lobby. It was now or never.

Hugh made to reach for the handle of his door, then froze. Looking out across the street, into the apartment foyer, Hugh watched Benelli. He was tapping the sides of his legs and rocking backwards and forwards ever so slightly. Hugh began to raise his hand. Benelli seemed to be humming now. Hugh shaped his hand into a fist. Then, raising his hand right up against the window, stuck out his middle finger and smiled. Benelli, utterly and completely oblivious to what was happening outside, stepped into the elevator and the doors closed.