Milk(10)

            Then I rushed down the stairs.



            For a long time I stood by the window in the kitchen looking toward the apartment on the other side of the square. Above me, I could hear his feet dragging across the floor. Then I heard the sound of glass or porcelain shattering, followed by a thump, and then complete silence.

            I stood listening for some time. I could hear a toilet flush somewhere in the building, and through the closed window I could hear the cooing of the doves on the roof.

            Maybe he’s dead, I thought, and wondered whether I should go up and check on him, but I didn’t.



            When Kaspar got home, I told him what had happened.

            —What a pig, he said and went upstairs. I could hear his knuckles rapping against Kramer’s door. Soon after, he came back down.

            —He won’t open the door, he said.

            —Maybe we should do something? I said a little later, when we’d sat down to dinner.

            —We could turn him in.

            —It sounded as if he fell. Maybe he’s hurt.

            —He probably just dropped something.

            After dinner when Kaspar turned on the TV, I went into the kitchen. I stood by the window looking over toward the apartment on the other side of the square. The sharp light tinted the trees blue and left a vague reflection on the wet square. I remained standing, watching. I let the light and the emptiness from the apartment seep into me, until I felt completely empty and free. I don’t know how long I stood there, but suddenly I saw something move, a shadow, an outline of a person. Nothing more than that, but it was enough that I stepped from the window and out of sight.



            The next morning, after Kaspar had gone to work, I went upstairs and knocked on the door. No one answered and I opened the mail slot to have a look inside; I could see the entrance and a corner of the kitchen.

            —Mr. Kramer, I said.

            Then I caught sight of him; he lay on the kitchen floor. I could see his brown shoes and a small band of his socks. I could see shards of green glass on the floor. Carefully I closed the mail slot and went back downstairs.

            When I heard the ambulance, I braced myself against my door and put my eye to the little round peephole. I saw a policeman, and then two paramedics and a man in overalls, who I guessed was the locksmith. The two paramedics carried a stretcher.

            In a little while they came back down with Mr. Kramer. A blanket covered his body and they took their time.

            —Well, the locksmith said, you guys have probably seen it all.

            —Oh yes, one of the paramedics said.

            The second paramedic added something that I couldn’t hear, but I heard the men laugh.

            The policeman came down the stairs and stopped in front of my door. I watched his hand rise toward the door, and I heard him knock, I stood completely still and pressed my body against the door. My heart thumped so loudly that for one moment I was afraid the policeman would hear it.

            He knocked two more times, waited a moment, and then he left.



            That same evening I told the story to Kaspar. He sat on the sofa, and I was standing.

            He said:

            —You know, he probably would have died no matter what.

            —You don’t know that, I said.

            —He was eighty years old.

            —So?

            —He was a pig.