Nine Doors
On William Street there is a gate in a wall, and through the gate there is a pool, and around the pool there are doors.
I counted them from the gate. Nine. Every one of them opens toward the water. Not one of them opens toward the street, which is behind them and has to be reached by walking all the way round.
At night the pool is lit from underneath and nothing else is. The doors stand in the dark facing it, which is how doors should stand.
I stayed at the gate for forty minutes. I did not go in. The gate is locked, and it would not have been correct anyway: you do not walk up to a pool that is not yours. A man came out of the fourth door with a bag and walked the whole way round the water to reach the street, when the street was just behind his wall, and I do not think he knew why he did that. I did not tell him.
Nobody was in the water. That is also correct.
They have put a light in theirs so that it can be seen at night. I would have done the same.
Nine is the right number. I do not know how they knew.