I had been working in the housekeeping of a hotel for a couple of years and I wore my cleaning routine like a second skin. I was comfortable in the movements involved, the occasional itch caused by an extremely dirty room was soon scratched and forgotten, and as my nose was not very sensitive, I was not bothered by the smells the guests left behind. I preferred cleaning hotel rooms by miles, instead of attending tables in a restaurant. I loved that I had little contact with the guests and cleaning the rooms to be ready to welcome new guests gave a sense of accomplishment to my work. I often imagined how a guest would smile sinking in a well-made bed, which smelled fresh bed lining or discovering the assorted amenities sprinkled in the room. Occasionally I would meet a guest, when bringing for example an extra blanket to a room or when a particular cleaning service was needed. But most days I could enjoy the silence and set my working mode to an automatic pilot, allowing my mind to wander freely. It almost felt like a meditation. This is probably why it took me several minutes before I noticed the three golden rings left next to the bathroom sink. They were beautiful and one of them was engraved: 2008 Patrick. I went outside to look at the room number: 18. I had been to this room a couple of days ago. I closed my eyes. Yes, the red hair lady broke two glasses and asked for help to remove the tinier glass parts from the tick carpet. I went there with the vacuum cleaner and this tall lady with a white gown opened the door. It was somewhat old fashioned, I thought, but it suited her beautifully. She had red cheeks, not sure whether it was the wine (but then, there had been no wine in the glasses as the carpet was completely dry) or maybe she cried. It was possible that it was just the shadow playing with her middle-aged face. She could not stop apologizing and in the end, she even pressed in my hand a couple of euro bills. I smiled and within the limited time of our interaction, I felt a strange connection.

I took the rings to my supervisor, what happens next was not my business. On the way home after my afternoon classes I sat in front of a man reading a newspaper, which occupied the whole space between his two stretched arms. There are still people reading a newspaper in paper form, I thought absentmindedly, while my attention was grabbed by a couple who could not keep their disagreement to themselves. I felt for the young woman, who seemed closed to tears. Then the lady in the white gown flashed into my mind. Could it…was it possible…did she leave the rings…on purpose? Because she knew she would not need them anymore? I had no idea where this scenario came from, but I felt my throat closing.

I remembered that in the few minutes I was in her room, she noticed my young age compared to my colleagues and I told her I was working part-time to pay for my studies. She looked surprised and then saddened as if she had never heard of students needing a job. I imagined her getting ready to leave the room, then slowly taking her three rings off her fingers and leave them in a place where they could easily be found. Maybe she thought about writing a note saying, “good luck with your studies”, but she was too tired inside to go that far. Closing the door, she dragged slowly her light luggage to the elevator and then left the safety of the hotel for a hostile world she did not want to fight anymore.

The pre-recorded voice announcing my station brought me back and I had to rush to get out of the train before its doors closed. Once in the street my usual way home took me in front of a newsstand. I suddenly had an urge to buy a newspaper too, then I shook my head. Too early. And buying a paper in the internet age…I laughed a little, then I felt my forehead frowning. Even if I read the news, a stranger doing something stupid was not newsworthy. I straightened my head and noticed the sky magically covered in a blue-violet light. I wished I was not the only experiencing the beauty of the day and that the three rings were not all what was left of the lady in room 18.

***

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