A Day's Wait

He came into the room to shut the windows while we were still in bed and I saw he looked ill. He was shivering, his face was white, and he walked slowly as though it ached to move. “What’s the matter, Schatz?” “I’ve got a headache” “You better go back to bed.” “No. I’m alright.” “You go to bed. I’ll see you when I’m dressed.” But when I came downstairs …

…this kind is ninety- eight.” “Are you sure?” “Absolutely,” I said. “It’s like miles and kilometers. You know, like how many kilometers we make when we do seventy miles in the car?” “Oh,” he said. But his gaze at the foot of the bed relaxed slowly. The hold over himself relaxed too, finally, and the next day it was very slack and he cried very easily at little things that were of no importance.