Amongst the alcove dwellers we have quite a diverse and eccentric set of London denizens, my mentor Mr. Hubbard being the quintessential curious inhabitant. There is however one other local figure, who could be regarded as a human being of a rather different sort. I am speaking here of Mr. Leng, who lives in the attic above Ms. Grub's store. If I were to write words like colorful and peculiar then I would not do Mr. Leng's person justice. Not that the man is in any way dangerous or harmful, on the contrary the man is the very model of politeness and kindness. Perhaps his mother or father worked at an Asian court, because Leng's ability to talk your problems back to you wrapped in a soothing balm of silk is an experience you will not quite easily forget. Especially since once your encounter has passed you will most likely not remember what the man had actually told you.

If you had walked past the entrance to our community, some two months ago you would have seen an old Chinese man hobbling along slowly, wooden box strapped to his bent back and leaning on a walking cane. You would have seen the man walk closely to the walls as if his ear picked up unusual sounds and whispers of great importance from somewhere within. Every few steps he stopped, adjusted the weight on his back and weaved left and right slightly as if testing the continued existence of gravity under his feet. Upon reaching the corner entrance of the Fleet Street entrance to our square he stopped. He raised his head and sniffed the air. With a determination about his demeanor he entered the enclosed area with a resolved tread. Leng squinted, his eyes always hidden by a veil of eyebrows, falling over his face like a waterfall. The man had pure white hair of a thin silky kind. Other than the prominent eyebrows, the man did not have much facial hair, save for a thin long beard of the same whitish color. If he was a hundred years old I could not say and if someone had said a hundred more I would not have disagreed. It was impossible not to be endeared with the man, who would contort his bony face into a wide smile, pushing all of his face into two round cheeks, when an amusing thought had entered is skull. He wore a skullcap, made from thick leather that fitted his cranium perfectly.

That day two months ago, the man was at the end of his tight-rope. No walking cane or acrobatic act would keep life alight in the rattling frame for very long. He stumbled across the square and tried to reach the door of Welder's wine emporium. Perhaps the faint aroma of alcohol had driven the miniature Methuselah towards this particular house. He did not reach the shop however and collapsed in front of Ms. Grub's door, where she found him covered with snow.  Dear Ms. Grub could not help but take the man in. She called for me and Helen immediately, when Mr. Leng was still sitting downstairs in her store wrapped from head to toe in thick Brocade. "I didn't know what else to put around him", she said when we asked why she chose that particular roll of fabric. "It always looks so warm when I use it", was her explanation. Leng did not say anything at all and wouldn't for an hour. He shook his head when we put a bowl of hot soup in his hands. People often freeze to death, in this metropolis of vice and verse. It is the homeless and elderly who sometimes do not make it through yet another British winter season. However, the small man (even by Chinese standards) sitting in Ms. Grub's store somehow fell outside of both these categories. Although the man was old, he certainly did not appear helpless. Homeless he also did not fit. Most of his clothes were expertly maintained and mended and there was a general air of self assurance about him.

We could do nothing else but sit there amongst the fabrics and rolls of textiles, watching the elderly alien slowly breath. "I am very sorry to have bothered you. I mistook one of these houses for the dwelling of one of my relatives", said Leng with a clear accentless voice. "If you can spare me a few more minutes I will be on my way", said the old man. "Nonsense", said Helen, now quite endeared by the scene, "You can't go out like that you'll freeze to death!" "My dear, I have braved many worse predicaments than this minor period of low temperatures", came the steady voice from somewhere inside the fabric roll. "Where were you going?", I asked, curious as to where the man's final destination was. "My brother lives around here somewhere in an enclosed area such as this. He owns a barber shop where I hope to work soon", came the happy reply. "I wonder if he means that Chinese gentleman who had a barbershop in this house before my parents moved in", said Ms. Grub, "That was a long time ago. My parents told me old Mr. Leng had owned the shop for many years. When he died he did not leave any relatives who could take over." All this time the old man had not spoken a word and was quietly listening. It was difficult to tell if the news about his brother made any impact at all. The only sign of grief was a slight lowering of his head and a more pensive look.

I nudged Ms. Grub and indicated I wanted a private word. We went into the back of the store leaving Helen with the old man, who had taken quite a liking to the rumpled mount of clothes containing one miserable old man. We retreated amongst the large rolls of newly arrived fabrics and closed the door. "This man is most likely the brother of the man who owned this house, the one who had a barber shop in here. The very same man your parents told you about. If the person has any proof he is indeed directly related he will have every right to claim this as his property", I explained. Ms. Grub put her hands over her mouth. "Surely not, he can't do that. I mean I've lived here all my life, it is my home!", she exclaimed. "Now, Ms. Grub that old man in your store does not seem to me the type who would kick anyone out of their home, but nevertheless it would not be such a bad idea to offer the man something", I said. "You mean a bribe Jeremy?", Ms. Grub asked wide eyed. "No not exactly, nothing of the sort. Why not invite the man into your house. Let him live in the attic. You always tell me you could use some help around the house and I don't think this man has a fixed address." This made the spinster frown. She scratched her head with one of the knitting needles she was still holding in her hand. "He does look a decent sort. Completely harmless in fact. It would be nice to have some company, although I can't see what work he could do."

"Jeremy!  Ms. Grub! Come see this!" Helen was shouting from the front of the store. As we walked back towards the front we heard a curious clicking sound. Perhaps it resembled more the sound pebbles make when they are washed downstream in a river. We found Helen leaning forward looking at the hands of old Mr. Leng who was rolling small marbles around, through and over his hands. It looked like sheer magic the way the pearl spheres seemed to be stuck whilst at the same time moving quite rapidly around his hands. Sometimes the balls made small circles or would follow each other, while at times they seemed to scatter and move all over the man's dexterous extremities. We must have sat watching this miracle for what seemed an hour. It was very difficult not to stare and watch the miniature spectacle of endless patterns.  "My hearing is very good and I heard what you said back there", voiced Mr. Leng suddenly. "Do not concern yourself, I will not claim this house as my property and I will not bother you with my presence any longer." Ms. Grub and Helen were now both quite endeared with the white haired wizard. "You suggested that didn't you Jeremy!", said Helen with fire in her eyes. "I didn't mean it that way", I tried to explain, "I just wanted Ms. Grub to understand that Mr. Leng here has certain rights." "Do not worry yourself young man, youth is often right although a bit direct and insensitive", said Mr. Leng.

"I do have a nice large attic that is not used at this moment, you are more than welcome to stay here if you like", said Ms. Grub. "Of course he can stay", added Helen "I do not want to be an inconvenience of course and I will pay for my room and board", said Mr. Leng. Ms. Grub agreed and with the aid of Helen who was still giving me dirty looks helped the old man into his new abode. Thus is how the upstairs attic became the home of the now famous Mr. Leng. Why famous you may ask, famous perhaps for entertaining Ms. Grub's customers with his finger tricks? Not quite, although on certain occasions Leng could be coaxed into mesmerizing the urchins with displays of small wonders. The nature of his wide spread fame came after he had settled himself in his new home and started decorating the vaulted attic as if it were the receiving hall of a palace. He would help Ms. Grub with some of her sowing and alterations. With the spare scraps of fabric he created elaborate decorations, all in the strangest color combinations. We still do not know where he found some of the materials he used to create the furniture in his domicile,  but however he did it the results were spectacular. Welder, the next door neighbor and wine merchant came in to pick up a set of monogrammed serviettes, which he had ordered to accompany a rather expensive bottle of Bordeaux. The wine was going to a customer who could, if treated properly provide a constant stream of orders. It was rather early, even for Welder who normally gets up before the baker. Ms. Grub had not even opened the store yet and was busy making breakfast for herself. Leng who doesn't appear to sleep at all was rummaging around the front of the store looking for scrap fabric when he heard Welder knocking. With a deep bow he let the merchant in and politely offered his assistance. "Are the serviettes ready?", asked Welder quite surprised to be assisted by a very short Oriental man with a pleasant smile on his face. "Yes indeed sir, but I will let lady Grub prepare those for you, she will be ready momentarily. In the mean time is there anything else I can help you with?", asked Leng. "I don't think so unless you can shave my face", laughed Welder who all of a sudden realized he had forgotten to shave that morning. "But of course, that happens to be my specialty. If you will follow me sir?"

Not knowing if the man was making fun of him or was being serious he decided to see what would happen and followed the Chinese man upstairs past Ms. Grub's quarters into the attic. Many times on did Welder tell Hubbard and myself about the strange and mysterious attic and its contents, which I'm sure I will tell you about in detail later dear reader. When the merchant had gathered himself he found Leng standing next to a rather large chair, which seemed to be completely made of stuffed fabric. Somewhere in the center of the contraption must be a wooden or metal frame of some sorts but that could not be seen or felt anywhere. "If you please sir, have a seat", said Leng, gesturing towards the chair. Welder carefully sat down wondering if the chair would swallow him whole. Instead the piece of furniture enveloped and supported him like no other chair had ever done. "Comfortable?", asked Leng. "Well yes, yes I am", stumbled Welder. "Please close your eyes, it helps to focus", said the old man. "Close my eyes? For a shave?", asked Welder, "Why in heavens name would I have to close my eyes?" "I will guide your head in various poses and if you close your eyes it makes it easier to concentrate and hold still", mumbled Leng, now sounding a bit further away. "Very well, but no tricks you hear! and careful with the moustache", replied Welder far more confused now. He closed his eyes and for a while did not hear or feel anything. "I will put my thumb on your cheek and my index finger on your nose. Don't be alarmed", came the soft voice of the barber. He did as he told and lightly placed the fingers of his right hand on the man's face. "You will follow the moves of my fingers without resisting", added Leng, most definitely hypnotizing the poor wine seller. Welder did so and felt the fingers guide his face towards the left. He heard tiny scratches, no more than mice would make when dismantling a match under the floor boards. If the man was shaving him he couldn't tell, he certainly did not feel much. All the while Leng murmured soft commands in his ears: "Relax your chin. Lower your cheeks. Rest your lips."

When Welder came round he could have sworn he had have fallen asleep and with some sense of urgency consulted his pocket watch. Only 20 minutes had passed. He reached for his face, which was now clean shaven. "Please stop by again and let your customers know of Leng's shaving experience", said Leng, who was now standing directly in front of him bowing deeply. Still a bit dazed he made his way down to the store where Ms. Grub was wrapping the serviettes. "Now what were you doing all the way up there?" she asked, "Leng only told me you wanted to see his attic." "Yes indeed quite remarkable", Welder said. "I simply can't imagine how he can walk around there without a cane", added Ms. Grub "Without a cane?", asked Welder, "I did not see a cane. Why would he need a cane?" "Well he's blind of course, didn't you notice?" "Blind? He just shaved my face and you say he's blind?", asked Welder, now quite red in the face. "Yes, I'm sure you had noticed. He shaved you you said? How remarkable", replied Ms. Grub. Welder walked out of the front door where he bumped into straight me as I was sweeping the area around Hubbard's store. "Jeremy, did you know that old Chinese man above Grub's store is blind?", he asked. "No sir", I replied. "Remarkable, simply remarkable", muttered Welder as he entered his own store.