Milk(13)

            —It’s beautiful here, Tobias said. His teacher turned his head and smiled at him. He was tanned. His eyes were narrow; his blue irises hung in a net of small veins.

            —Come on in, he said.

            In the kitchen the table was set, and they sat down. Erik poured tea and offered Tobias a piece of honey cake from an oval plate. Tobias caught a glimpse of his poems on the counter in front of the breadbox.

            Erik asked what he was up to, and Tobias explained that he’d dropped out of the university; that he was at work on a collection of poems. Erik told him he’d retired five years earlier.

            —I was lucky, he said.

            He’d retired because of back problems, but a year later he’d had an operation.

            —I got a chance to start a new life.

            He went on telling Tobias how he’d found the house, and how the deal was made; Tobias drank his tea and glanced now and then at the breadbox.

            After some time, Erik rose and placed his cup in the sink.

            —Let me show you around, he said.

            The house was sparsely furnished. In the living room there was a loveseat and a coffee table. The second floor was divided into two rooms of equal size. In the first a bed stood along one wall; in the other a telescope was set up under a skylight.

            Tobias put an eye to the telescope and looked up into the blue spring sky.

            —There’s too much light, Erik said.

            They put on their jackets and went out to the driveway.

            —I’m planting flowers.

            Erik made his way to the southern end of the house. There was a cardboard box with white and blue petunias inside, five of them already planted.

            —Pretty, aren’t they?

            —Sure, Tobias said. Absolutely.

            On the eastern side of the house was a little garden with a few fruit trees, and bordering the garden was a low stone wall. The grass was yellow, in some patches almost white. They went through an opening in the stone wall and walked along a path that ran near the foot of the hill. Tobias asked Erik what had happened to his book collection.

            —I’ve sold it, Erik said, calmly.

            He explained how he’d tried to donate it to several libraries, but none of them had any room for it. He’d made an offer to the county that they could buy his house and move the library there, but they’d politely declined. So he’d sold the collection to an antiquarian, and it had taken two men a whole week to empty the house.

            They came to a green building behind the hill; it resembled a garage or a barn. The path edged closely past it, and Erik stopped and shoved the door open. He turned on the light. The room was about twenty by twenty feet, and, in the middle of the recently swept floor, underneath fluorescent bulbs, there was a ping pong table.

            Tobias looked at his teacher.

            On either end of the table lay a paddle; under one of the paddles was a ball.

            —Do you want to play? Erik asked.

            Tobias went over to the table. He took up the paddle and felt its weight in his hand. Erik had taken position on the opposite side of the table. He stood ready with the paddle and ball.

            —Okay, Tobias said.

            Erik played. His serve was short and low, and Tobias sent it directly into the net.

            —1-0, Erik said.

            He served again. This time Tobias struck the ball over the net, but it came back immediately.