Milk(3)

            Istood a bit under the awning before I followed them inside. I opened the glass door and saw the innkeeper sitting at a table doing his books. I sat opposite him and waited for him to look up.

            —Any seals? he said

            —Yeah.

            He added a column of figures and raised his head.

            His eyes rested heavily on me as I told him about the sailboard. He put the pencil down on the table.

            After I had described the board pretty closely, he got to his feet without saying a word and went into the kitchen.

            I heard him talk on the telephone, and then I heard his wife begin to cry, at first softly, then louder. I remained seated at the table.

            In a little while the innkeeper returned.

            —Let me know if there’s anything I can do, I said.

            He shook his head and followed me to the door.

            —I don’t think so, he said.



            When I came home, I couldn’t relax. I thought about the young couple and the innkeeper’s son, and then I thought about Karen. I searched for my pipe, and when I couldn’t find it, I went out to the sheep. Rain drummed on the roof, and in a short while I heard the helicopter. One of the sheep came forward and licked my hand.

            They act like they have all the time in the world, I thought.





            What Is It?



            Jakob is my son from my second marriage. He must have heard me arrive, because as I backed the van up to his building, there he stood suddenly beside me. He looked smaller, younger; maybe it was the sneakers he wore and the loose-fitting T-shirt. He lifted his hand and made a 90-degree angle with his thumb and index finger, the kind of thing truck drivers do as they pass each other. Typical Jakob, I thought. When things seem their worst, he always has a gesture or a story to make you smile. I smiled and found the emergency brake, near the rear left side of the wheel, halfway to the pedals.

            I got out of the car and we hugged.

            —What a mess, I said.

            —Yeah, he said, grimacing.

            We stood looking at each other for a moment.

            —C’mon, he said.

            We went through the entrance and into the front hallway. Their apartment was on the ground floor, and the door was wide open.

            —Everything’s in here, he said, and I followed him into the bedroom. I recognized the heavy mahogany desk that had once belonged to my father. Around it were about twenty-five boxes stacked three or four levels high, and beside them: a light blue mattress, a stereo system, a TV, and a white wardrobe. I tried to picture it all in the van.

            —We’ll manage, I said. We’ll make it fit.

            —Helene will be back in about an hour, he said. Let’s try to be out of here by then.

            It was as if he stared at my right ear as he said it. I nodded—I couldn’t do anything else—and brought my hand up to my ear, then rubbed my earlobe between my fingers.

            We took the boxes first. One box, with medical books inside, was extremely heavy and we had to haul it out together. Otherwise we grabbed one each; he trotted, and I tried to keep up. It was autumn, the air crisp and clear, but before long I could feel the sweat trickling down my arms. My heart thumped so hard in my chest that I was forced to stop. After I’d carried out five boxes, I slowed my pace, and managed to carry out four more. Jakob got the rest.

            —Could I have a glass of water? I asked.

            —How about a beer?