The nature program had ended and the bird was staring at him. He tried to sip his whiskey, but the glass was empty. He got up and filled it. The bottle was nearly half gone. He looked at his reflection in the small circular mirror beside the television. He hated this hotel. He leaned in and looked closely in the mirror. Even in the dim shaky light from the television, he could tell his eyes had reddened. He had to do something with the bird.
He wrapped it in the newspaper again, sun and clouds facing him. Tomorrow would be more rain. He held the package in one hand. The drink in his other. He was warm in his chest and the bird weighed nothing at all. He could barely feel it.
With the hand that was holding the bird, he opened the door, pulling until it was wide enough to fit his foot in the crack of light and pull open.
The hall was empty. He held the bird close to his chest.
Next to the elevator was a shiny brass trash can with a large plastic bowl on top that had once been an ashtray. He would put the bird inside, go back to his room, pour himself another drink, watch television until he fell asleep.
Before he could, the elevator bell sounded. He heard the car coming to a stop. The doors opened. Three people stepped out, a man and a woman and a young girl. A family. The woman took the girl’s hand and pulled her close, out of Lennart’s way, as they passed. “Excuse us,” the woman said. She said this in Danish, but Lennart could hear right away she was Swedish. He and Marie had talked about taking a family vacation, but it hadn’t happened yet. Maybe in the summer they would take the ferry to Åland to go camping. Lennart felt the bird and his drink in his hand, and turned to hide both from the family. He smiled at them, got on the elevator, and pressed the button for the lobby.
He left his empty glass on the floor of the elevator.
In the dark under the lip of the bar, one hand rested heavily over its tiny shape, he held the bird on his lap. He ordered a beer and drank it quickly. There was a soccer match on television and a crowd of people there to watch. He kept one hand on the bird. With the other he scrolled through his phone, aimlessly. He hadn’t checked his e-mail all week. Marie had written to say she was going to meet him at the train station in Stockholm when he arrived on Sunday. She missed him and hoped that his trip had been calming. He wrote back, briefly, to tell her he planned to drive himself to the ferry in Frederikshavn, get the train in Gothenburg, and be home before Tove went to bed. It was simple. He hoped whatever choice he made in the morning was just what he told Marie he’d do, or at least something like it.
It was late when the Germans arrived. The game was over. Lennart still sat at the bar, the bird on his lap, his hand on the bird. Anneke’s cheeks were flushed and Matthias was grinning widely. They approached Lennart, sat on either side of him. Matthias put his hand on Lennart’s shoulder and squeezed. “What a surprise,” Anneke said. “A wonderful dinner, and now this. Now you. Here you are.”
~ ~ ~
Thanks to Anna Stein, and to Ethan Nosowsky, Fiona McCrae, Katie Dublinski, Erin Kottke, and the rest of Graywolf. Thanks also to John McElwee, Alex Hoyt, and Mary Marge Locker, Steve Yarbrough, Ron Carlson, Jill McCorkle, Sabina Murray, Noy Holland, Chris Bachelder, Jack Livings, and Molly Antopol. Thanks to the editors who first published some of these stories, especially Valerie Vogrin, Drew Burk, Maile Chapman, Cal Morgan, Clara Sankey, Brigid Hughes, Lorin Stein, Cressida Leyshon, and Deborah Treisman.
As ever, thanks to my parents and family for their support. And to Anna, with love: thank you.
About the Author
JENSEN BEACH is the author of the story collection For Out of the Heart Proceed. His work has appeared in A Public Space, the New Yorker, Ninth Letter, the Paris Review, Tin House, and elsewhere. He teaches in the BFA program at Johnson State College and lives in Vermont with his family.