Читать книгу The Brother - Rein Raud - Страница 16

Cloves always came on Thursdays, and Thursday it was.

He had already managed to empty the bottle of beer he was carrying with him, and had already managed to place the flower he had brought into a vase with water. He had already managed to go grocery shopping and to buy everything he always did. And while Laila made dinner, he had already managed to check and see whether the bathroom faucet was still leaking, and it was, and he had already managed to fix it, so that now it should definitely hold. He had already managed to read through both today’s and yesterday’s newspapers, and to listen to the radio a little on top of that. He had already managed to eat his favorite cabbage rolls, as many as he could stuff down, and this time was unusually somewhat astonished by why Laila had made so many of them. He had already managed to ask what news was to be heard, and without waiting for the reply, had also already managed to say how fantastic it was that at least one person—he, Cloves—hadn’t left Laila alone to wilt in bleak solitude. This time, unusually, he had already managed to start to feel somewhat incredulous over why Laila hadn’t already made the bed and gone to wash up.

Then, the sound of footsteps made by knee-high boots echoed from the stairway, and a knock sounded at the door.

“Good evening,” Brother said.

“Hello,” Laila said.

“Good evening,” Cloves said.

They stared at each other until all was clear.

“It appears it’s time for me to go,” Cloves said, and stood.

How could he have known that once, long ago, the flower he brought would stand in the vase for the entire week, but then, little by little, it started to wilt already by Monday, then it barely lasted until the weekend, and now it was thrown out with the Friday-morning trash? Laila strove to remember what kind of a job the man even held. Director of the post office’s delivery department? A clerk at the stationmaster’s office? Bookkeeper for the brass band? She couldn’t remember.

“I’ll get going, then,” Cloves said at the door, his flushed cheeks sagging, his spine slightly arched, and his gut hanging slightly over his waistband. Laila realized that she was seeing the man for the second time in her life today, as something obviously had to have impressed her the first time; but maybe then, long ago, each time before he looked at her, Cloves himself hadn’t always known exactly what he saw.