Milk(4)

            —No thanks. It’s too early. Water will be just fine.

            He returned with a glass, and I could see how he studied me as I drank. I turned and smiled at him.

            —That hit the spot, I said.

            I looked for something that wasn’t too heavy, and caught sight of a brown wooden box beside the stereo. There were black, hieroglyph-like letters on the lid.

            —That’s Igor, Jakob said.

            I could see a few yellowed bones and the crown of a skull. I pushed the lid in place and carried the box out with my arms stretched, carefully, so that it wouldn’t rattle.

            When we got to the wardrobe, Jakob glanced at his watch.

            —Twenty minutes, he said.

            I grabbed the bottom, and as we wedged it through the door, our eyes met. It occurred to me that it’d been a long time since I’d seen his eyes lit up this way. It must be the shock, I thought. Right when it happens, you don’t feel a thing.

            —Watch your fingers, I said as we angled the wardrobe around the corner and into the entryway.

            Finally there was only the TV left, and I took that. I saw Jakob getting out a notepad and I guessed he would write a note to Helene. There were only five minutes to go, so I made sure that everything was securely fastened, and stayed by the van.

            He ran out carrying his windbreaker.

            I had just started the van when he remembered the keys. He worked his fingers feverishly to slide the keys from the ring. Then he got out and ran back to the apartment with them. I glanced up the street, but Helene was nowhere in sight.



            We reached the first light. We sat waiting and suddenly I could sense it. I followed Jakob’s glance until I saw her on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street. It was striking how much she looked like herself; she wore a short, red jacket and tight blue pants. I saw how she pulled the hair from her face, how she shook her head very lightly, her curly blond hair bobbing up and down. Neither of us said a word. We passed within a few feet of her and she didn’t see us.



            This is rather unexpected, I said.

            We had driven in silence for a few minutes. Jakob turned and looked at me. It was rush hour, and I kept my eyes on the traffic.

            —Yeah, he said.

            He sat with a foot propped up on the dashboard.

            —Is it…your decision, or…is it hers?

            —It’s mostly mine, he said.

            I looked at him, curious.

            We drove on for a while without speaking. Then I looked at him again. His eyes were squinted into slits because of the sun.

            —How’d she take it?

            —Watch out!

            A bus squeezed in ahead of us, and I hit the brake—harder than it was actually necessary. I could hear something shifting in the back, but nothing crashed down. We both turned to look, but with the piles of boxes blocking the little cab window, we couldn’t see anything. Jakob said:

            —I think it’s all right. Let’s just keep going.

            We continued, and soon after I said:

            —How’d she take it?

            Jakob turned his head and looked at me. Then he looked out the front window again.

            —All right.

            I veered into the left lane, then shifted gear and turned the corner.