When I moved in, the garden had a fountain. I assumed this was normal. I connected it to the water supply and it worked. I thought no more about it until autumn 2019, when the pipes froze and the water supply was cut off.
The fountain continued to flow.
I called the property agent. They said the previous owner had never mentioned a fountain. The land registry shows no record of its installation. Planning records for the property do not mention it. I hired a contractor to look at the plumbing. He said: "The fountain isn't connected to your pipes. It isn't connected to anything. I don't know where the water comes from." He refused to come back for a second visit.
qui bene latuit bene vixit
// Latin: "one who has hidden well has lived well"
// or: "to hide well is to live well"
// source: Ovid, Tristia — but the carving style predates Ovid's rediscovery in this region
// I cannot date the inscription. I have tried.
I drank from the fountain today. I have been meaning not to do this, but it was a warm afternoon and I was gardening and I was thirsty. The water was, as always, cold. It tasted like water. But afterward I felt — this is not scientific language, I am aware — I felt as if I had been somewhere else for a moment. A long corridor. Very quiet. I was walking toward something I couldn't see. Then I was in the garden again, holding my hand under the fountain's stream.
I am going to stop drinking from the fountain.
I have not stopped.