Ordinary Love: Sourness

Ordinary Love ② · Sourness

[Part ① · The Lingering Fragrance of a Hand]

"Sam Walker."

The county policeman came in carrying a cassette recorder. He seemed to take this conversation very seriously. I'd seen him before—

—we always started work at the same time, and the post office was right next to the police station.

His name was Tom. He was thirty-seven, had a wife seven years younger than him, and no children.

Three years ago, in 1972, I believe, he'd complained to me about it. I remembered it very clearly.

His wife, Naomi, couldn't get pregnant. He'd mentioned it more than once.

"Mr. Tom." I was very nervous, afraid the county policeman would notice the severed hand in my pocket.

"I got a call about a situation, so I came to take a look." Tom's expression was complicated. He didn't immediately bring up Margaret. "It was so hot that I overslept a little. I'm really sorry."

His long-winded, pointless remarks made me inexplicably anxious. Tom had never acted like this while working a case. Little Neusiedl was sparsely populated, and in this community, even if someone lost a dog, Tom would do his duty and get straight to the point.

"Mm." I could feel the severed hand in my pocket struggling. Margaret gripped my thigh. I didn't dare move, or say anything more.

"I remember you two were getting married soon, right?" Tom continued. "Next week?"

I answered at once. "We haven't settled on a date yet. It depends on the church's schedule. If there's a fast day—or a choir performance or a sermon, we'll have to put it off."

Tom said, "Ah."

I continued, "I can't help it. I'm short on money."

Tom said, "You didn't send me an invitation?"

His words struck me as inexplicably offensive.