This morning I’m driving to work, the roads are empty, but at the exit for the Pentagon I’m joined by a group of bikers. I drive with them escorting me, which is quite an unusual situation. Alone on the road with the bikers, each one with the American flag sewn onto the back of his jacket or jeans. In Rosslyn, they turn onto Route 66, toward the airport, while I carry on over Key Bridge, my Taurus is the only car on the bridge, its electrics are faulty, on the dashboard the green digital numbers say that it is 9:45 in the morning, while my phone says 7:25. I enter Georgetown, go down into the garage, where there are a few cars. I emerge from underground back into a cloudy morning. The board under the inscription BLUES ALLEY is not displaying the usual name of a musician, which means that there’s no concert in the jazz club tonight. I go into our building, darkness, there’s no one around. I switch on the computers and hurry to check our monthly timetable because I believe that I’ll find the answer there. And there it is: today’s a holiday, Memorial Day, I should have remembered that as I drove with the bikers. I would have known if I’d taken notice of the news over the weekend. But I simply routinely repeat actions in which my consciousness participates only superficially. My reality is her paralyzed arm. Time is measured by the short intervals between her medications. I’m so close to her that forgetfulness is settling into me like a narcotic.

I have tamed the alarm by no longer locking the car door. I’ve discovered that for some reason unlocking the door confuses it. The car doesn’t recognize my key, so it thinks I’m a thief and that’s why the alarm goes off. We got the Taurus as a gift from Kendra a year ago. When she offered us her old car, I was hesitant, because I didn’t like the look of it. I remembered that, at the turn of the century, the American auto industry began to be dominated by a fairly unappealing design, all vehicles were a bit egg-shaped, while the Ford Taurus, with its rounded and curved parts, stood out particularly for its ugliness. Had anyone then offered me a new one, I would certainly not have taken it. I wouldn’t now, either, in all probability, but we needed a car because we’d moved to a building some distance from a Metro station, so that on my way to work I would have had to change my means of transport three times. I accepted the gift. Otherwise, I always give my cars names, and when Sanja asked me: “What’s it called?” I said, with a smile: “Corto Maltese!” But I think that I only really accepted the car after she became ill, because everything would really have been much harder without transport. This morning we went to buy fruit. On our way back we went down to the shop’s garage in the elevator, with our bags of blackcurrants and strawberries. When the door opened, among a dozen nondescript cars of various colors I caught sight of our Taurus. And it looked good! Among all the others, it looked to me convincingly better-looking.