Milk(15)

            He called out again.

            When he returned to the boat landing, the sky had begun to darken. He made his way back the same way they had come. He saw light in the neighbor’s house; he shivered a little when he passed the darkened barn.

            There were no lights on in Erik’s house. Moving swiftly, Tobias went up to the front door. He grabbed at the doorknob and discovered that it was locked. He tried again; then he turned and walked to the car. He leaned against the driver’s side door.

            He couldn’t have fallen in the lake, he thought.

            He remained standing. In a little while the moon rose behind the hill. It was almost full and seemed unnaturally large. The light was so strong that he could see the box of flowers at the end of the house. He could see the stone wall and the path that led to the barn. The moon spilled light into the car, and Tobias spotted something white on the front seat. He opened the door and gathered up the five pages. They hadn’t been touched. There were no corrections, no commentary. They hardly even appeared to have been read.

            He climbed into the car and sat down.

            He watched the house. Through the window on the second floor he could make out the telescope. He couldn’t see Erik, but he knew he was there.

            Then he started the car.





            Intercom



            Jess wakes up because Maria is talking in her sleep.

            —Yeah, she says, followed by a stream of words he doesn’t catch. He watches her turn on her side and then on her stomach. Now she clutches the pillow, her black hair matted and spread across the white pillow cover. Jess observes her in the dark. He can just make out her lips, which sleep has made big and soft. She swallows, and makes a barely audible lip-smack.

            —Oh, Markus, she mumbles.

            Jess drops his head on the pillow. Soon he throws off the duvet and sets his feet on the cold floor. He goes into the living room and sits in the green chair. Then he stands and goes into the kitchen. Maria’s purse rests on the table. He unclasps it and carefully removes its contents. He opens her date book, skims a few months back, and finally examines her list of telephone numbers. He studies a little compact with mirror and powder. He unfolds wrinkled-up papers and presses them flat, telephone messages, receipts, and a napkin with an impression of her lips. Then he puts it all back in the purse and goes into the living room and sits in the green chair.

            Jess remains seated for an hour. When he’s ice cold he crawls back into bed.

            Next morning he gets up before Maria and goes to work.



            Jess spends the morning at his office. He moves the stack of papers around and starts over on the same letter three times. At 9:30 he sees an older woman waving a yellow cloth from a window in the building across the street. A little while later, in the neighboring apartment, the curtains part to reveal a young woman talking on the telephone; when she opens the window and leans out, the light dazzles Jess for a moment. Still talking, the woman glances down at the street. In the apartment on her left, the older woman vacuums. At 1 p.m. Jess calls the switchboard and tells them he’s sick.

            When he steps out on the street, he notices that it’s still cold, even though it’s the middle of the day. It’s early spring; the light is sharp but brings with it no warmth. Two glaziers balance a shop window, and Jess stops to watch. He stands there until he’s emptied of feeling, completely overwhelmed by the light, and then he goes on.

            Jess walks into a café and finds a table by the window; the waiter walks past with a clinking tray filled with glasses, and Jess orders a beer. Two girls sit at his right; one has short, dark hair and gentle eyes; the other is blond, with sharp eyes. The blond girl has a little silver heart around her throat and leans over, confiding in her friend in a hushed voice. Jess opens the newspaper that’s on the table. The waiter serves his beer with a prissy smile, and Jess reads and drinks. Then he stares out at the square. He gazes at the bare benches and at a few transparent plastic bags lazily swept up in the wind; he watches as they’re emptied and filled with air and shot through with sunlight.