Bicycle Days by John Burnham Schwartz

catching it just before it slammed into the wall. The stairs were almost too steep for him. He took his time, leaning forward, grabbing the handrail with his left hand. Midway up there was a small landing where he stopped to regain his strength and sense of balance. A wire bird cage stood against the wall, almost even with his own height. Within the cage, two lovebirds sat together on a perch, their beaks touching. He thought they looked very pretty. Tentatively, afraid of being bitten, he stuck his forefinger between the wires and touched one of the birds on the wing. The bird didn’t move. He touched it harder; both birds fell off the perch, landing with a thud at the bottom of the cage. He desperately wanted to put the birds back on the perch but couldn’t figure out how to get his whole hand in the cage to do it. The birds looked funny with their feet sticking up in theair and little tufts of stuffing sticking out from under their wings. Realizing that it might be easier in the morning, he started climbing the stairs again.
    At the second-floor landing, he kicked off his loafers, then glided in his socks along the short hallway toward the next set of stairs. A light was on in the eating room, its edge brightening the wood floor ahead of him. Mrs. Hasegawa was still awake. He could hear her harsh, openmouthed breathing, could picture her sitting at the low table, the house account books spread out before her. Often in the early morning when Alec went downstairs for a bath, he would walk into the eating room to find her asleep on the tatami, the account books still open on the table. He knew that she only slept a few hours a night and would try not to disturb her. But she would somehow sense his presence and awake on her own, like a bear emerging from a period of hibernation. She always stood up and moved slowly, as though her legs caused her considerable pain. They looked heavy and unused, her legs, and Alec worried that her circulation was not good. But he had once seen her riding a bicycle.
    She always wanted to talk in the morning. And she would want to talk now, too. She would ask him questions about everything he had said and done since he had left for work. She would try to feed him. Alec took the stairs guiltily, one at a time, trying not to make a sound. He held his breath: two more and he would be up and around the corner, home free.
    “Alec!” The voice made him jump.
    “Hai,”
he responded automatically, walked back down the stairs to the eating room. The scene was just as he had imagined it: Mrs. Hasegawa sat, beaming, on the tatami floor, the account books open on the table. She stood up when she saw him.
    “Come. Sit down.” She pointed to a spot at the table. He sat as close to it as he could manage. She peered at him, began laughing, her breasts shaking. “Alec! Have you been drinking beer again?” Then her mouth stopped smiling; she looked suddenly very wise.
“Mugi-cha,”
she said, and disappeared into the kitchen.
    Alec tried to remain seated but no longer felt strong enough to support his upper body. He lay back on the tatami. The white plaster ceiling and plain wooden crossbeams seemed unusually bright. Resting comfortably, he pulled at his tie to loosen it, began unfastening the buttons on his shirt.
    Mrs. Hasegawa came back into the room carrying a glass of dark brown liquid. Alec was lying on his back, half-undressed, scratching his stomach. She started laughing again, almost spilling the drink as she handed it to him. Propping himself up on one elbow, he took a sip. The cold, bitter tea felt alive in his dry mouth. He drank off the rest of the glass. Mrs. Hasegawa returned from the kitchen with a liter bottle of the tea, refilled his glass. Looking very pleased, she sat down at her place again.
    “Where did you go tonight?” she asked.
    Alec looked at her, sideways and up, from the floor. A response in Japanese wasn’t forthcoming, so he smiled at her until he could put together an