PROMPT - "white" Part 1

"This is the house, sir," the tricycle driver says as he slows down in front of a high iron grill gate secured by a thick chain and a large Yale lock.

"Wow!" I say, unbelieving at the sight of the large old Spanish house beyond the fence. I get off the tricycle and sling my heavy backpack over my shoulder. I walk the width of the iron gate a few times, surveying what I could see on the other side.

"Sir," the driver calls at me. "Sir, don't forget your payment!"

I pull a ten-dollar bill from the back pocket of my pants, walk over to the driver and gave him the money. He pulls the bill from my hand rather abruptly and starts to tell me he has got no change. I tell him to keep it.

"Sir," he hesitatingly mutters. "Sir, do you need me to pick you up later? How long are you going to visit there? Are you staying overnight there?"

I look back at him. "Why?" and I see the startled look in his eyes, his face staring straight at the road.

"Are you going to be okay, sir? Well, you don't look like you're scared, that's probably because you're American, sir. You don't believe in this mysterious stuff." He motions his hand towards the house, but still not looking at it.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"That you're not scared to go to that house, sir. It's bad luck to go there. I can't even look, sir. The people there, they have a curse. I have to go now, sir. Do you want me to come back later on and pick you up? I can come back at five o'clock if you want."

"Come back at seven," I tell him.

He hesitates, thinks hard and long before saying "Okay, sir. Seven sharp." And he pedals away.

It is at this point when a middle-aged lady emerges from among the thick hibiscus and bougainvilla plants and stands on the other side of the iron gate. I feel kind of spooked as I look at her face. She looks alright except that her eyes seem to bulge from the thick lenses of her eyeglasses. She almost looks like a cartoon. Even her friendly smile is negated by the enlarged eyes.

"Good evening," she says, in her soft, almost inaudible voice. "May I help you?"

"Yes," I say, clearing my throat. "I'm Bill Brennan. I was trying to call but the phone's been busy the whole time." She looks at me through those magnified eyes and I have to pause or I would stutter. She cocks her head, waiting for me to continue.

"Er...ah...Sister Mary del Rosario at the Parish told me I could come by here and look at the 'clock'." I stress the word 'clock'.

She nods, looks beyond me onto the dusty road, to the left and to the right, as if she is expecting to see someone else.

"How did you get here?" she asks.

"Tricycle," I reply.