The Neighboring Walls

During the three years Mr. Palizdar and Mr. Ferguson lived next to one another, the neighbors had grown accustomed to hearing their never-ending quarrels. Their one-bedroom units were located in a rental townhouse community built for function and lacking an attempt at aesthetics.

Mr. Palizdar was a man in his early 30s who had grown up in Iran and later studied communication at a state university in Florida. He was petite and tidy with a head of pitch-black, straight hair, of which each strand was placed in perfect order. He spoke softly and clearly, and perhaps due to his Farsi accent, uttered his words with extra emphasis.

He was 14 when he immigrated to America with his parents. His father had come to this country with not much more than an empty pocket, and like many other immigrants in similar situations, had tried to make a living by starting a grocery store.

Perhaps it was a combination of Mr. Palizdar's distant gaze, orderly hair, and distinct accent that had compelled many neighbors to think of him as a man of logical and important thoughts. He was a data management specialist for a corporation that owned a chain of assisted living communities. His job entailed acquiring death certificates for the deceased and closing any open records or files, such as social security accounts, driver's licenses, passports, and voter identification cards. When this information was imparted to Mr. Ferguson by a neighbor, he contemptuously and furiously blurted out, "The bastard relies on the death of Americans to make a living. He's probably waiting for me to die, too!"

Mr. Ferguson was a man of about 50 years. He had strawberry blond, greasy, and relatively long hair. He had not finished high school and had never stepped out of the state of Pennsylvania. At the time, he was working at a chain hardware store. Mr. Ferguson often spoke loudly, and most of the time appeared intense and angry. He had a habit of standing too close to his targeted audience, who would invariably become victim to his not infrequent, however unintended, spit. As such, his neighbors often made sure to speak to him only on occasions in which he sat on one side of a table and they on the other.

The rental complex had a small community hall located in a building separate from the apartments, which also hosted the management office. This community hall was equipped with a coffee machine, a big pitcher of lemonade frequently replenished, and a few tables and chairs for current or prospective tenants. The hall also hosted monthly happy hour events where beer and snacks were served. Most of the tenants saw these amenities as their only lot of luxury in life. Thus, most of the residents would pay at least one visit a day to drink coffee or lemonade, and many religiously attended the happy hour events. It was in the community hall where Mr. Palizdar and Mr. Ferguson's quarrels were most often exposed to, and discussed by, the neighbors.

It is not that easy to understand the exact reason why Mr. Ferguson and Mr. Palizdar hated each other, without resorting to stereotypes. Perhaps the likelihood that two grown men, of different nationalities, who share no common social interests, would come to hate each other is quite high, provided they see each other frequently enough to get on each other's nerves. Once, Mr. Palizdar told one of the neighbors he found Mr. Ferguson frightening. He also told them he believed himself to be a compassionate person who loved humanity. Yet his compassion and love for humanity failed him, no matter how hard he tried, when attempting to expand his circle of compassion wide enough to encompass the likes of Mr. Ferguson. Mr. Palizdar found Mr. Ferguson's hair and voice repugnant and believed bathing to be a very rare phenomenon in his neighbor's life. Perhaps Mr. Palizdar could not forgive Mr. Ferguson for his shortcomings. Perhaps his love for humanity came with prerequisites.

Observing the relationship between those two made one conclude people can only claim love for humanity in abstraction. In contrast, people talk of their hatred for others concretely, often by thinking of a very particular person. For example, when Mr. Ferguson made unkind comments about foreigners, he was most often thinking about Mr. Palizdar.

The walls separating the apartments from each other were thin, with hardly any soundproofing. One could hear much of what happened across one's neighbor's wall. During the times he was home, Mr. Ferguson would almost wait in ambush to catch any sound arising from Mr. Palizdar's residence, such as the pitter-patter of footsteps across the floor, the evening news on the local TV station, or a muffled voice during a phone conversation. Upon hearing any noise, in a triumphant fury, he would bang his fist on their common wall and utter colorful curses directed at Mr. Palizdar in particular and foreigners in general.

Frightened, Mr. Palizdar would try his best to cease making any more noise. Unfortunately, the noises about which Mr. Ferguson complained also included those that could be classified as unavoidable, such as the sound of water rushing through sewage pipes after flushing the toilet.

One day, one of Mr. Ferguson's relatives, who was also a dog breeder, offered him a puppy—an unwanted love-child of two mismatched breeds. After seeing the noisy little black-and-white puppy, Mr. Ferguson decided owning a puppy was a strategically brilliant move. What better payback for all the noise Mr. Palizdar made than a yippy little puppy? This was the best weapon there was.

Mr. Ferguson called his puppy Coco. Coco was very adorable. She had soft, innocent, baby eyes. Seeing her together with Mr. Ferguson often incited contradictory feelings within the neighbors. For a time they worried Mr. Ferguson's bitter attitude would make his puppy miserable. But soon they realized Mr. Ferguson and his puppy shared a profound and beautiful friendship. Through their friendship, one could see a glimpse of the true man Mr. Ferguson could have become, had he lived in a kinder world, a world different than ours.

A few months after Coco's introduction into the neighborhood, Mr. Palizdar, too, came home with a young dog, a German Shepherd. Max was big and loud, and although he barked infrequently, his barks were startling. Mr. Palizdar, too, seemed captivated by his dog. Since Max entered his life, he spent less time in the community hall chatting with others. Mr. Ferguson appeared to think of Mr. Palizdar and his dog as one unified entity and abhorred "it." And although it was previously thought impossible for Mr. Ferguson to hate Mr. Palizdar more than he already did, after Max entered the scene, it was soon realized that there were truly no boundaries to hatred.

About six months after Max's arrival, something unexpected happened. One summer afternoon, Mr. Ferguson and Mr. Palizdar came out of their units at the same time, each accompanied by their dogs. In the blink of an eye, Max and Coco, who hitherto had barely any direct interaction with each other, ran away from their owners and started jumping around together. Then, in less than a minute, they ran behind the buildings and vanished from their owners' field of view, leaving both men frozen in bewilderment. Concerned, Mr. Palizdar and an indignant Mr. Ferguson both rushed to get their dogs back, only to find them in an imprudent situation. Incensed, Mr. Ferguson delivered Max a mighty kick under his belly. Hurt and humiliated, Max howled and ran to his owner, who, worried about further violence from Mr. Ferguson, took him back inside without uttering a word.

After that day, Mr. Ferguson stopped speaking to Mr. Palizdar altogether. But his indirect aggression toward him escalated to a new level. Now Mr. Ferguson was a lot more sensitive to the noises he would hear from the other side of the wall and would bang on the wall ever so loudly and violently. To his disadvantage, though, like Mr. Palizdar's emissary, Max would reciprocate Mr. Ferguson's aggressions vociferously, with very loud and frightening barks. Mr. Ferguson's punches and Max's barks created an almost comical contention. Knowing Max could continue barking forever, it was almost always Mr. Ferguson who would have to yield, bitterly.

A month after that unexpected event, the once vivacious and hyperactive Coco started to feel sluggish and lethargic. This greatly worried Mr. Ferguson. He started to complain of Coco's unknown ailments to me. All of the neighbors, except for Mr. Ferguson, knew Coco was pregnant, which was strange, since Mr. Ferguson had seen the dogs together. But fearing his wrath, nobody felt ready to share this information with him. It should be noted that although in Pennsylvania most dogs are neutered or spayed before being adopted, this was not the case for either Coco or Max. Mr. Ferguson was not ready to spend any money to get Coco spayed, and Mr. Palizdar had ethical and philosophical qualms with neutering animals and chose not to opt for it.

Since Mr. Ferguson did not want to pay for the cost of a visit to a veterinarian for Coco's alleged illness, he kept offering her different home-brewed herbal remedies. Coco hated them all, often vehemently rejecting them after one sniff. Mr. Ferguson would even give Coco softened cookies dipped in milk, or mashed fruits, hoping she would regain her strength. But Coco languished more as days went by.

Two months after that momentous day, on a summery Saturday afternoon, events took a new turn. Mr. Palizdar was taking a little nap when he woke to loud bangs at his door. He heard Mr. Ferguson shouting outside his door, "Come out, Palizdar, come out!"

While Max responded to Mr. Ferguson's cries with ferocious barks, Mr. Palizdar blanched and froze in terror. He was hoping Mr. Ferguson would imagine no one was home and eventually give up. That did not happen. He heard Mr. Ferguson shout, "I know you are there, you bastard! Come out! My dog is dying."

Mr. Palizdar tiptoed to the door, tensely. His heart pounding too hard and his terror too debilitating, he could not bring himself to open the door. In a quivering voice he whispered, "Is Coco in danger?"

Mr. Ferguson pleaded, "Come out, man. No one's home. I am helpless. Come out, Palizdar. Coco's in a lot of pain. I don't know what to do. Help me, man! Help me!"

Mr. Palizdar opened the door to Mr. Ferguson's red, imploring eyes. His hair and body seemed filthier and more disheveled than ever.

Mr. Palizdar followed Mr. Ferguson to his unit, and for the first time saw the interior of his house. The furniture was sparse and wretched. An old brown couch occupied one side of the small living room, opposite a small TV unit. In front of the couch, there was a faded coffee table with thin and vulnerable legs. Several empty beer bottles could be seen on the coffee table. There was something desolate yet candid, unpretentious, and friendly about Mr. Ferguson's living room, something that softened Mr. Palizdar's heart and helped him feel compassionate toward Mr. Ferguson for the first time.

Coco was lying in a corner of the room, almost motionless. Every few seconds she had another fit of pain and cried in agony. Mr. Palizdar asked Mr. Ferguson for a clean towel and boiled water, as confidently and assertively as would a professional midwife. Mr. Ferguson had a sudden revelation about what was happening, but despite a new rush of rage toward Max and Mr. Palizdar, followed his orders.

When the first puppy was born, Mr. Palizdar cleaned his fragile little body with a towel and put him into Mr. Ferguson's shaking palms. Mr. Ferguson laughed and cried jubilantly, his broad thin shoulders shaking in exhilaration and love. "We'll call this cute little boy Bucky. He looks so much like his mama. Doesn't he, Palizdar?"

When the second puppy came out, Mr. Ferguson said good-humoredly, "Ah, this little one looks like you, Palizdar. Shall we call her Polly?"

The next day Mr. Palizdar went to a pet store and bought Bucky and Polly some chew-toys. But when he stopped by Mr. Ferguson's unit to offer the toys to the puppies, he was befuddled to be received with the same old animosity.

Disillusioned and dejected, Mr. Palizdar left the toys to him and went back home. He would have really liked to pay a visit to the puppies. He considered them family.

After that, as far as Mr. Ferguson was concerned, the relationship between Mr. Palizdar and Mr. Ferguson returned to its old state. He resumed expressing disproportionately harsh reactions to any minute noise heard from Mr. Palizdar's house. And on the unfortunate occasions when he saw Max out walking with Mr. Palizdar, he would utter angry words in a way not very different from the barking Max would pay back in return.

Mr. Palizdar returned to being frightened by Mr. Ferguson: his banging, his shouting, his cussing, and his rage. He even resumed finding the sight of Mr. Ferguson repugnant. Yet something hard to articulate had changed within him.

So, Mr. Palizdar started a series of futile attempts to win Mr. Ferguson's friendship. Sometimes he would cook him Iranian food, which, perhaps according to Iranian customs, he would pour into a bowl and take to Mr. Ferguson's door. Mr. Ferguson would not go so far as rejecting the food. Instead, he would eat it and leave the bowl unwashed behind Mr. Palizdar's door. Mr. Palizdar even bought Mr. Ferguson and his dogs Christmas presents. On several occasions, he stopped by Mr. Ferguson's unit before going to the grocery store, and asked him whether he wanted to accompany him or if he needed any groceries.

It was around this time, during one of those happy hour events at the community hall, inebriated on a great amount of cheap bear and heavy melancholy, that Mr. Palizdar confessed to a neighbor, to his later regret, that he had always only aspired to be an average person who is reasonably agreeable, reasonably respected, and reasonably lovable. That he felt so dejected seeing that, for him, even things as basic as those were not givens. The neighbor, though, did not have the heart to tell him it was this last requirement, being lovable, that made things difficult for him. For not only is being lovable an attribute very difficult to quantify, but also, for an adult man like Mr. Palizdar, who had come from a different land to this country, who did not have money, and who, other than his middle-eastern heart, had not much to offer, expecting to receive even a small quantity of love from his neighbors, however degrading, was not necessarily unambitious.

Seeing Mr. Palizdar's desperate efforts in winning Mr. Ferguson's friendship, one could think they perhaps stemmed from Mr. Palizdar's inability to reconcile with having been deemed unlikable or even repulsive by someone like Mr. Ferguson. For on the day those puppies were born, another side of Mr. Ferguson was revealed to him. It was then he realized Mr. Ferguson could not be defined only by his hate. That he too could love, weep, plead, laugh, or cherish beautiful things. That he did have love to give. Only that he had withheld it from Mr. Palizdar, selectively...

Nonetheless, after each of these attempts at friendship, Mr. Ferguson felt more rage and revulsion toward Mr. Palizdar. He would bang the walls ever more vehemently and would cuss ever more pugnaciously. One day when he was fined for paying a bill late, Mr. Ferguson went so far to stand in front of Mr. Palizdar's closed door and kick it with all his might. It was as if Mr. Palizdar's unilateral attempts at kindness and friendship had further convinced Mr. Ferguson that Mr. Palizdar was indeed to be blamed for all that had gone wrong or was missing in his life.

About four to five months into this new phase, the relationship between the two men reached a critical point: Mr. Palizdar stopped his attempts at friendship and started to feel seriously concerned about his personal safety. The menace he felt gradually grew so strong, one Saturday night, when Mr. Ferguson was smoking some type of recreational drug with a friend, Mr. Palizdar called the police on him.

Soon after Mr. Palizdar's phone call, a police car stopped by their units, entered Mr. Ferguson's house, and took him and his friend into custody.

The next day Mr. Palizdar hastily collected his belongings and left. He did not say much of a goodbye to the other neighbors. Only that they were good people and he was sorry about all the inconveniences. He seemed anxious about Mr. Ferguson's imminent return. That was the last time he was seen in that rental community.

For a long time after Mr. Palizdar left, the neighbors talked about how things had unfolded between the two men. Alas, since the peace those two made, on the day Coco delivered, proved ephemeral, the secret to the salvation of humankind remained unknown to them. Yet, they could not shake off the feeling that if only they could find the right angle from which to study the events of that extraordinary day, they were bound to uncover an emblem of something precious and hard to find: the Kimia for human harmony, the object of the alchemists' centuries-old quest, the substance that would turn copper to gold.