Chapters (43)
That night he wakes up. Something is different. There’s a sound, and the sound slowly attaches itself to a word, and the word is rain.
The first rain in weeks.
The patter of raindrops is loud; it drowns out the creaking of the floorboards. He creeps through the kitchen to the balcony. He wants to be closer to the rain. The trees sway in the yard. Suddenly the air is cool. He realizes there’s something his body is looking for, right here.
He leans against the wall, the cold brick at his back, and tries to draw the coolness into himself and hold on to it.
When he opens his eyes, he sees a light on in the bedroom. Has he woken Edith and Carl? He hears their voices. He can hear Edith.
“He’s a bachelor, Carl, he doesn’t know any better. He never had a woman to look after him.”
“Sure, you can prattle on carelessly like him when you haven’t built anything and you’re not responsible for anything or anyone.”
“Carl, don’t get so angry.”
He holds his breath. Before he can learn anything more about himself, he creeps on tiptoe back to his room.
In the morning, cool air blows through the open window. Reaches him as he lies half dreaming, half awake. Hands holding his. Musicians playing in a pavilion in the park. The taste of caramel candies. Carl in a bulky coat—it’s Josef’s coat; Carl, the younger brother, has to wear it. Facets of light reflecting in the tall glass of beer their father holds in his hand.
Operetta music drifts in from the kitchen. Carl’s whistling accompaniment sets in. Josef picks himself up, gets dressed, and walks into the kitchen at a quarter to seven. The glass eye is lying on the table.
“Good morning, brother of mine!” blares Carl.
Edith smiles shyly in her bathrobe. “Coffee?” Her voice is still thick with sleep. Both seem like they got a late start today. Probably the storm, the heavy rain and their conversation last night. Is that what kept them awake? He feels a twinge of jealousy.
“Can I come with?” he asks.
“Come with? Where?”
“Making deliveries.”
“You’re not registered yet. People could ask questions.”
Carl turns his back to him and puts his glass eye back in.
“That’s true. Maybe. I don’t know.”
Edith presses a coffee cup into his hand, instead of just placing it on the table like she usually does.
She can tell I don’t have anyone, he thinks.
“Tomorrow,” says Carl. “But you don’t talk to the customers. Not a word.”