Milk(27)

            I was standing beside the window and suddenly felt the need to take a walk. It was gray and windy outside, and I had no errands to make, but I felt such an urge to get out. I turned to Emma sitting at the dining table reading a magazine.

            —I think I’ll go for a walk.

            She glanced up quickly, then down again.

            —It’s raining, she said.

            —I know, I said.

            —You’ll get wet, she said.

            —Yeah, I said.

            I’d stopped whistling, but the melody hung on the edge of my lips.

            —What’s wrong, Olaf? You’ll get sick if you go out, you know that.

            I turned back to the window.

            —Yeah, I said.



            Ihad my coat on, ready to go, when Emma stepped into the hallway.

            —You’ll catch pneumonia, she said.

            —Give it up, I responded with a sharpness in my voice that surprised us both.



            Iwaited a bit for the elevator. As it crawled up from the first floor, I could see the numbers light up one by one. It made a rusty clang, and the doors opened. I stepped on and pushed L, but the elevator continued upwards. At the 12th floor it came to a stop, and a short, fat man stepped on. He smelled ripe, of body odor and beer. I’ve not grown handsomer with age—I’ll admit as much—but I maintain a certain level of hygiene. I could see that my disgust was reciprocated; he was just as annoyed as I was at having to share the cramped space. As the elevator lowered us down the shaft, we didn’t exchange a single word. About halfway down I thought of my theme. I hummed it carefully, and after a few irritated sideways glances from my companion, I began to whistle. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and cleared his throat, and I simply whistled louder. Six floors down the doors opened, and we got off. The little man hurried away.

            Outside, rain fell lightly. The cars in the lot were gleaming, their colors clean and sharp. Large puddles of water lay on the lot; here and there were grates in the curb, and I could hear the water gurgling beneath my feet. The weather was good for a walk, the risk of meeting someone minimal; for someone my age the risk is minimal to begin with, but in this kind of weather it’s as good as zero. I followed the sidewalk along the parking lot, past the neighboring block, past the playground, and past the supermarket with the red signs.

            I’d reached the last block when the rain started coming down hard. I walked along a narrow drainage ditch; there was a bank on the other side of the ditch, and on the other side of the bank was the freeway. Through the rain, I could just hear the cars whizzing past. The path I walked on was muddy, and I moved forward in short steps and with my vision focused on the ground. The rain made my neck and back cold. When I stopped to orient myself, I discovered something strange. The water in the ditch had changed color. It had a white sheen. At first I thought it was because of the stream, but as I continued along the path, I noticed how the water became increasingly murky.

            After I’d walked around 300 feet, I came to a pipe poking out of the bank. The white liquid was spewing here; the liquid running from the pipe resembled undiluted paint. I managed to squat down and put a finger in the water. I held it up to my nose, and because I couldn’t smell anything, I tasted it cautiously. It was milk. I bent forward and put my hand under the pipe, pulled it out, and drank. I don’t usually drink milk, not since I was a child have I done so—not even in my coffee—but it tasted fresh and good. I stood and continued walking. My knees ached, but I ignored the pain. I didn’t feel like going home.

            The noise grew progressively louder the farther up I went. I climbed the broad steps one at a time, making short pauses along the way. The railing was slick with rain, but it was better than no support. I reached the top and moved out along the narrow bridge. There was no one here, no one except me. From here, I had a complete view of the freeway. A number of emergency vehicles were parked there: two rescue vehicles, three ambulances, and a police car. Lying across both lanes was a sixty-foot tanker truck. Its oval, steel tank was leaking in several places, and milk was gushing out. A smaller car had driven into the overturned tanker, and two rescue workers were cutting passengers out of the car. A passenger of a third vehicle was quickly covered with a blanket and rushed to an ambulance.