The Passport

THE SHEEP FOLD

The new miller is standing on the veranda. “The mayor sent me,” he says. “I’m going to be living here.”

His small hat is at an angle. His sheepskin is new. He looks at the table on the veranda. “I could use that,” he says. He walks through the house. Windisch follows him. Windisch’s wife follows Windisch barefoot.

The new miller looks at the door in the hall. He turns the handle. He looks at the walls and ceiling in the hall. He knocks on the door. “This door is old,” he says. He leans against the door frame and looks into the empty room. “I was told the house was furnished,” he says. “What do you mean, furnished?” says Windisch. “I’ve sold my furniture.”

Windisch’s wife stamps out of the hall. Windisch can feel his head throbbing.

The new miller looks at the walls and ceiling in the room. He opens and closes the window. He presses the floorboards down with the tip of his shoe. “Then I must phone my wife,” says the miller. “She’ll have to bring some furniture.”

The miller goes into the yard. He looks at the fences. He sees the neighbour’s spotted pigs. “I’ve got ten pigs and twenty-six sheep,” he says. “Where’s the sheepfold?”

Windisch sees the yellow leaves on the sand. “We’ve never had sheep,” he says. Windisch’s wife comes into the yard with a broom in her hand. “The Germans don’t have any sheep,” she says. The broom crunches lightly in the sand.

“The shed will make a good garage,” says the miller. “I’ll get hold of some planks and build a sheepfold.”

The miller shakes Windisch’s hand. “The mill is beautiful,” he says.

Windisch’s wife brushes large circular waves in the sand.