Good Neighbor

(8/5/92)

Just as lions are born to be free, I was born to be neighborly. Just as lions are sometimes caught and put in zoos, so at times do I find myself living next door to a real pill.

So it was a few years back when I lived in the French countryside. The pill, a 40-year-old bachelor peasant, hated my guts for reasons I can't now recall. While we shared no property line, and in fact lived a mile apart, technically he was my nearest neighbor since no one lived any closer to me.

For years our only contact was when we'd meet driving in opposite directions on a winding one-lane road. The first time this happened, instead of attempting to push me backwards into a ditch, as I fully expected him to do, he looked quickly around for a space, then backed his car off the road to let me pass.

Mon dieu! Not to be outdone, I vowed to retaliate in kind. As a result, the two of us would sometimes sit parked on opposite sides of the road for several moments, graciously waving for the other to go by.

After much thought, the only reason I could imagine for his cordial behavior was that he wanted to deny me the pleasure of spreading nasty stories about him in the village.

Now, even in small, friendly, U.S. towns, one may find oneself "neighbor impaired." In a purely hypothetical case, say that you and your neighbor agree to share the cost of a privacy fence on the property line between your yards. Both of you sign the building permit. Then, just before work is to start, your neighbor informs you he will have no part in the project and wants you to build it on your own land.

And the agreement you both signed? Worthless, the city tells you, and no refund.

AAAARGH! Suddenly a vision comes to your mind of a fence, the "good" side facing your yard, the "bad" side — held together by black, smelly, creosote posts of various lengths, and pink two-by-fours — facing your neighbor's. For the rest of his life he'll gnash his teeth when looking at the horrible fence ... all the while having the pleasure of pointing out to everyone in town the awful thing you've done to him.

Oh! But what about the lesson taught by that Frenchman? Wouldn't it be a finer torture to construct the most beautiful fence in the world so that every time your neighbor walked outside he'd be reminded that he'd reneged on his word... to a saint? A saint. And could point out nothing awful about you to nobody?

Yes, that would be a much finer torture. Perhaps too fine a torture to be appreciated by a pill like him. Better to go with a lilac hedge.

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