Adam and Evelyn Read Online Free PDF Page A

Greetings, Adam.” He had time, he was all packed. He had canceled the newspaper clear back at the start of the year. The mailbox was big enough for all the rest. He pushed the sign back into its slot between the heavy shoes.
    No lies, no need to hide, he told himself suddenly, stood up, and locked the door from inside. For a moment he thought of leaving the key in the lock—but then pulled it out as always. He was used to Evelyn coming home late. Out of the wardrobe Adam grabbed her straw hat, which he wore sometimes himself for work in the garden, and laid it atop his packed suitcase. He padded the turtle’s box with a few fabric remnants and added a water dish.
    There were lights in several windows until a little after midnight, Adam included in his imaginary police report while he brushed his teeth. Quickly rinsed and gargled, and went to bed.

6

THE MORNING AFTER
    ALTHOUGH ADAM hadn’t used an alarm clock for years, he woke up as he always had just before it rang. As on every other morning, he imagined his own death. Today the thought was more unsettling than comforting.
    Still in his pajamas, he went down to the living room, opened the old writing desk, took out the jewelry box, and put on his wristwatch, a Glasshütte, Evelyn’s present to him on his thirty-second birthday. To make room in the suitcase for the jewelry box he had to remove his extra pair of loafers. He had more stewed quince for breakfast and rinsed out the empty jar. He dried the spoon and laid it back in its slot in the drawer.
    When he had finished packing the car, he unscrewed all the fuses for the house.
    As he turned into Martin Luther Strasse he spotted the red Passat hatchback from a good distance away. Evelyn’s bike was no longer parked at the front of the house.
    Adam stopped, rolled down his window, and gazed up at the open windows on the second floor. Compared with those rooms with their high ceilings and fine plasterwork and art nouveau sliding doors, his little house from the thirties looked humdrum, a dump. Adam drove to the end of the street, turned around, and maneuvered his car into the nearest parking space, three down from the house. To keep an eyeon the front door over the top of a hedge, he had to sit up straight. The turtle hadn’t budged. He got out and lit a cigar. Except for some distant traffic, all he could hear was birds.
    Adam inspected the Passat. The backseat was strewn with candy wrappers and crumbs. Adam scowled when he saw that the cover over the driver’s seat was made of little wooden balls. The seat was pushed so far back that there was room behind it for a kid at best. From the sidewalk Adam gave the front tire a kick. All he had to do was flip open his pocketknife and do two quick knee bends, and they would be stuck here. He twirled his car keys—one for the door, one for the engine—on his index finger, strolled up the street, tossed the stack of postcards in the mailbox, walked back, and, leaning against his Wartburg, smoked the rest of his cigar. He dropped the butt, it vanished down the storm drain without touching the grate.
    Adam pulled the cup from his thermos and filled it halfway. He sipped cautiously, blew on the coffee, took another sip, held the plastic cup to his nose, and smiled. This was what vacation smelled like. Had smelled like for ages now. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d drunk coffee from a thermos. Although there was no smell that was more a part of him. It meant fresh air, a girlfriend, freedom.
    He felt the pressure ease at his temples, he could breathe again. “It’s gonna be a long ride, Elfi,” he said, clapped on the straw hat, and then pushed it back with his index finger. Suddenly it all seemed very simple.

7

UNDER WAY
    THE KNOCK woke Adam up. “I told you I could smell it.” Simone and Evelyn were looking in at him. Although he was sitting up straight by now, Simone kept on rapping at the window. He had no idea how long he’d slept.
    Adam took off the