217 Babel Street | Apartment 15
Tom popped the tip of his penknife into the brown tape, breaking the seal. A purchase thus established, he drew the blade along the seams, slicing the tape down the centre. The wrapping paper fell away. Now the two halves of the inner cardboard packaging could be pulled apart. This he did slowly and carefully, fearful of damaging the contents of the parcel.
Music drifted down from the room above, the wail of a saxophone. Julietta poured herself another glass of wine, and lit a cigarette. She took up a pen to mark the cigarette packet with a stroke of ink. Seven strokes all told. She was counting, trying to keep under ten cigarettes a day.
Finally, the last piece of white protective foam had been removed from the package, revealing the object within. Tom and Julietta stared at it.
It was a wooden box, about four inches cube. The sides were decorated with gold leaf, the pattern split by a complex array of darker lines. Tom picked the box up and examined it from all angles. There was no obvious lid, no opening, if it was meant to be opened at all. "What is it?" Julietta asked. "What does it do?" Tom held the curious object against his ear. Moments passed. "Is it making a noise?" Tom nodded. The faintest sound could be heard, as though grains of sand or dust were shifting their position constantly. The box breathed.