She dipped the sponge plenty this time, gorged it with water until it could pop with a pin. The suds of the soap leaked out like wounds from its punctured appearance. Her hand, sudded too, introduced the wall to sponge, sponge to wall. The sponge greeted the wall with a shlip, the wall replied with a thdrum.

Shlip, shlip, said the sponge. With each stroke the resistance eased, the sponge – a cleaning snail – lay a trail of soap to ease its returns and second-rounds. And its effort was transformative: it started to go grey.

Thdrum, thrdum, said the wall each time it was stroked. Whether the wall was unhappy with the situation, is unknown, for it was a wall and that is all. It did, though, have a single eye, up high, in the corner where the brickwork met the roof tiling. Never was the corner of the wall dirty, so this eye was never watched. It was a curious eye with twelve eyelashes and lids to blink, and it never did anything other than admire the view.

It admired her now, on her knees, as she used the back of the sponge and a summoning of friction to tackle a bumble gum spot. The Admiring Eye, which it preferred to be called, was all input, no output. For this reason, the wall never thanked anyone that came to clean it. But it tried to send energy, which are waves of emotions emitted by cognitive being by way of telepathy. Other than space and time, the fifth axis of the universe is an energetic substance.

But the wall, it was never clear to it if could emit enough energy to make a difference. It once strained so hard it lost an eyelash. That was when a four-legged animal came to sniff, came to dribble, and to spizzle.

Affronts to its bricks, the wall called these, spizzles.

Sprindles were just the opposite: they were soft touches by hands, gentle leans, even a soft bouncing ball was nice at times. The lady cleaning it now, the wall was sure she was unaware it called her efforts sprindles. But it tried to tell her that through energy.

She had erased one leg of an ‘M’, the graffiti now said ‘NUCK’. The sponge, now grey and torn, had done its duty and was retired. She tucked a lock of red hair that had fallen loose behind her ear, whispered an incantation, and found in the duffel bag next to her a short metal rod. The end of this tool, it was gnarled and sharp. It was wound on the end, so it appeared, like barbed wire caught up in itself. It could only admire, the Admiring Eye, for was unfamiliar with this new tool.

This tool required no dipping in suds or in water. It was placed right on the wall and it stuck there, there where it was placed. Oohh that is cold, thought the wall.

Shunk, said the cold tool, which had a tail, long and black, that was now plugged into something in the duffel bag. She then changed her appearance and this was new to the eye, too. Where her mouth and nose were, she covered these with a white cup, where her eyes, well great rings of plastic where set atop them, her ears, too, swallowed by half doughnuts, soft and red and completely engorging.

She whispered an incantation, louder this time because of the ear muffs, and then reached inside the duffel bag and flicked a switch. Great forces came alive then! The Admiring Eye, it must be known, is an eye and no more, therefore it cannot hear, smell, feel, love, lose, smile, or whine. But an eye can do three things and those are, in order: see, blink, and cry.

The third one, the wall had never done, for it had a policy against it – and besides, nothing had done it so bad that it was worth crying. Graffiti, yes, was sticky and messy, but that was all. Rocks, yes, they chipped the brick and bruised, but that was all. Chalk, yes, it was dusty and dry, but it washed off in the rain, and that was all. Dirt, ball games, snow, debris, each was unpleasant, but it passed soon and that was all.

But never, oh not ever, had the wall felt this before. The very cement that held it together, it shook and rang, felt as if it would slide out any moment. It’s bricks they became hostile, vibrated and it really felt like they would pop out, one by one. The eye, it tried, to send a great wave of energy to her, to implore, to plead. It expanded it pupil, winced, fluttered the lids, flashed the lashes, anything to get a sign across. But she was so covered up, all her senses with cups and plastic rings, that if she were to ever hear the energy, it would not be now.

The wall read, ‘ICK’, and the torment went on. Only once did it stop, for her to readjust, push back the lock of hair, and then she was down on a knee again, Shunk, shunk, shunk.

Shunk, shunk, said the tool.

The wall said nothing. But it cried.

This tear was new to the world. How an eye on a wall could cry? Well there had been a storm that passed three days ago, muddied the grounds, rattled the roofs, and the wall had a small gutter which dripped some of its water right into the eye. That storm had much to release, the eye had much to fill. And so the eye was gorged with water when it came time for it to cry.

It cried and cried, long tears, rivers, caught by the inconsistencies in the brick, whip, wrap, left right, always down as gravity insisted. And to cry, why, an eye must close, the process is overwhelming – and with so much tear to flow it was tiring, too. So the Admiring Eye, sealed away, did not see, did not care, where the tears would go. All it new was to cry and cry until maybe, possibly, the shunk, shunk might cease.

And the shunk, shunk did do something: it changed. From shunk, shunk it became shonk, shonk, then hunk, hunk, on to unka, unka – for a moment it shunked again, but this was a glitch – and now it was at un, un, and hn, hn, and now she could not even hear it with her muffed ears: n, n.

It stopped.

The Admiring Eye, it was did not open for a while. Anything the wall felt, it had to see first, so it not seeing, meant it did not feel the shunk, shunk become n, n. The Admiring Eye opened not to admire, but to briefly patter its lids because it had run out of tears. Pit, patter, it did this twice to move water through, but stopped on the third patter because it saw something unusual: she was looking directly at it.

For so long had the Admiring Eye admired only – things like the way a cumulus formed – that for itself to be the target of admiration, well, that was unusual and it did not know where to look, what to do. What it did, did not matter, for she went on looking. Her red lock fell and she did not put it back in place. She took off the gear from her head, and showed the Admiring Eye her two eyes, too. Eye to eye, there was an understanding, for the eye breathes as much life as the lung. She put a hand to the wall, softly, over the patches she had made where the layers of brick had been cut away by her machine.

And then she spoke, and spoke this: Tap, tap, tap, tap. The Admiring Eye, first surprised, then understood, for this was its native tongue: Thdrum, thdrum, thdrum.

Tap, tap.

Thdrum, thrdrum.

Tap. Thdrum.