The Passport

THE COCKS

The bells of the church strike five times. Windisch feels cold knots in his legs. He goes into the yard. Above the fence, the night watchman’s hat passes by.

Windisch goes to the gate. The night watchman is holding on tightly to the telegraph pole. He’s talking to himself. “Where is she, where has she gone, the fairest of roses,” he says. The dog is sitting on the ground. It’s eating a worm.

Windisch says, “Konrad.” The night watchman looks at him. “The owl is sitting behind the stack of straw in the meadow,” he says. “Widow Kroner is dead.” He yawns. His breath smells of schnaps.

The cocks crow in the village. Their cries are harsh. The night is in their beaks.

The night watchman steadies himself against the fence. His hands are dirty. His fingers are bent.