I rang the doorbell three times without getting an answer; mom was not home. Finally I used the key that is usually hidden in the entrance, under a stone.
I opened the door and went through with my travel bag. Once I closed it, I left the luggage on the floor to notice the sepulchral silence that invaded my house, as one who listens to the sound of thunder under a tree, notices the fright.
A whirlwind of thoughts came over me. They all revolved around Mom's unknown whereabouts. It was unusual this absence on her part, especially that weekend we had arranged for my first visit. Besides, I wouldn't have made such a long trip to find a house as empty as my stomach.
It was his roar that diverted my attention to the kitchen. Two steps in his direction, I noticed a small grade with my name - Isaac - on the console in the hallway. On one side of the vase of petunias, my mother's neat handwriting told me that she had had to go out in search of some food for dinner.
The notice awakened a new concern in me: If I had gone food shopping, what was I going to do to satisfy the hunger that gripped me? I hadn't eaten since I left the residency program at the University, although I must admit that it was not for lack of opportunity but because my mind was occupied with another matter; an unsolved problem, one of the many that were present in the heads of those of us who studied at Cambridge.
I went through the opening leading to the hallway, located on one side of the staircase banister. Once in the kitchen, I went to the pantry. When I opened it, a glint of disappointment flashed in my eyes as I realized that the only thing there was a modest bowl with two or three pears. Not only is this fruit not to my liking, but the color of their skin did not exactly encourage me to sink my teeth into them.
Fortunately we have an old apple tree in the garden. It was October, so its fruit was a not inconsiderable choice. I went to the hall at a brisk pace, opened my travel bag and took my notebook out of its outside pocket before leaving the house, moving through the main garden around the house to reach the back garden, where I took refuge under the comforting shade of the tree, from which I plucked an apple and took a bite. It tasted sweet. I opened my notebook, picked up a pencil and waited for inspiration to strike, but it didn't come.
Bite after bite, I stared at the blank notebook page as I squeezed my brain like an orange, growing impatient as not a drop of juice flowed out. I lost track of time in front of the notebook opened in two, just as I had wasted weeks trying to solve that problem. But no answer came up.
It had gotten late without my noticing. I heard Mom's voice calling me around the house; she must have seen my travel bag. I closed the notebook and went to get up from that shadowy corner.
-Tomorrow I will find the solution to the problem," I tried to console myself.
Just then I felt a sharp blow on the top of my head. I put my hand to the painful area and looked for the object that had hit me. I immediately discovered that it was an apple.
