I was hungry. I felt like I hadn’t eaten for days—which was almost true since I’d thrown up what I’d eaten the day before. I was relieved to see my pack leaning in the corner of the room. I stood up and looked at myself in the mirror. My hair was matted to one side and my jaw was dark with stubble. I opened the door and walked out into the hallway.

Leszek was in the front room reading a book. He set it aside when he saw me. “Oh, Mr. Rip Van Winkle awakes.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“It is almost seven o’clock.”

“I only slept five hours?”

He laughed. “No, it is seven o’clock at night. You have slept the whole day.”

I rubbed my eyes. “Really?”

“It is true. How are you feeling?”

“Better than I was.”

“Is your dizziness gone?”

“Mostly.” I rubbed a hand over my eyes. “Seventeen hours. No wonder I’m so hungry.”

“I made dinner. I was waiting to eat, hoping you would join me.”

“I’d love to.”

“Come to the dining room. I must heat the soup. I think soup would be good. And some bread.”

I followed him into the dining room, which was separated from the kitchen by a laminate bar. “Please, sit down,” he said, walking to the stove. “I just need to heat the soup again.”

The table was already set with two bowls, soup spoons, a butter dish, and two teacups. As I sat down a single loud chirp came from a cuckoo clock above the oven, then music started playing as a group of figurines waltzed in tight circles, followed by seven distinct chirps from the cuckoo. The cacophony stopped as abruptly as it began.

“It is seven,” Leszek said.

“Your grandson has a lot of trophies.”

“He likes to ride his bicycle,” Leszek said.

“It looks like he’s good at it.”

“He rides his bicycle in races around the world. What good is that? He should get a wife, not more trophies for riding a bicycle.” He stirred the soup. “You know Rapid City?”

“I walked from there.”

“It is a long distance from here, almost three hundred miles. He rode his bike there in one day. He started at four in the morning and arrived in the evening.”

I was thinking, It took me two weeks. “He is fast.”

Leszek brought the soup and bread over to the table. “He is crazy. He rides his bicycle everywhere. You don’t get a good wife riding a bicycle.”

He ladled me three helpings of soup then pushed the bread plate toward me. “This bread is good. It is fresh this day from the bakery.”

“Thank you.”

The bread was cut in thick, airy slices. I took a piece and slathered it with butter, then dipped it into my soup and ate.

“This is delicious,” I said.