8. Old Man, Plenty of Time
Old Man, Plenty of Time
Since the apology outside the Kellers’ apartment, Karl Seifert had almost become a shadow.
He stood quietly behind his own door and left it open only a crack, just wide enough to peer into the hallway.
In the mornings, Markus usually left the apartment in an impeccably ironed shirt, the worn leather bag in his hand.
Nadja stood at the threshold, flawlessly dressed, and handed her husband his lunch box.
They kissed goodbye. Markus smiled, visibly more confident than he had during the gray months before.
Nadja reached out, carefully straightened his collar, and quietly reminded him to come home early and eat on time.
Karl didn’t open the door another inch. He simply stood there in the semi-darkness and watched in silence.
The cigarette between his bony fingers had nearly burned itself out.
Gray ash fell carelessly into the chipped ashtray.
Karl pressed his lips tightly together when Markus bent down and kissed her.
His gaze didn’t linger on the satisfied face of the unsuspecting husband.
It fixed greedily on Nadja’s slender hand resting gently against Markus’s chest.
Markus’s footsteps receded down the stairs. The Kellers’ door fell shut. The old hallway sank back into its usual musty silence.
Karl remained motionless for several more seconds, swallowing the humiliation of a man who had to stay outside.
There was far too much empty time in the life of a sixty-six-year-old retiree.
During the day, Karl brewed himself weak tea, smoked one cigarette after another, and kept glancing at the old wall clock. Then he pulled a chair over to the windowsill and listened.
He could recognize the sound of Nadja putting her key into the lock without even seeing her. He knew the dull thud of grocery bags being set heavily on the floor, the steady spin cycle of the washing machine, the clatter of dishes in the sink, even the rush of water from the apartment next door.
At night, the sounds became livelier. He heard Nadja seducing her husband.
It took almost an entire week before Markus finally responded. Then came the creaking of the bed. Karl heard Markus’s heavy breathing. Between it came Nadja’s very quiet, carefully suppressed moans.
Most of the time, it was over quickly. As always. Karl would laugh softly and curse Markus for a pathetic swine.
But what came after that? Afterward, he sat motionless in his dark room again, the cigarette glowing red between his fingers while loneliness gnawed at him.
From those silent days of watching, Karl came to understand that Nadja was doing everything she could to piece her clean little family happiness back together.
Karl understood that things had changed.
Nadja was no longer the frightened woman who had been backed against the wall by debt the way she had been at the beginning. Nadja was much harder than she looked.
She was a woman with an abyss of desire in her, but her mind was ice-cold.
Karl blew a thin stream of smoke into the air. He clicked his tongue softly, listened to the deep silence long after everyone else had gone to sleep, then gave a quiet laugh.
He had something Markus didn’t. Time.
Markus had to go out into the world, earn money, chase contracts, keep track of bills, and constantly hold himself together to prove he was a good, dependable husband.
Karl could wait. He could stand like a spider behind a crack in the door. He could pay attention to every tiny sound. He could wait for exactly the right moment to appear again with an old, dirty, but useful hand.
And Karl never would have dreamed that his golden opportunity would arrive on a boring weekend.
Karl had holed up in his apartment. The old television played quietly, showing some dull movie. The tea on the table had long gone cold. The ashtray overflowed with cigarette butts. The rusty toolbox sat untouched beneath the chair.
Suddenly, there were three knocks.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Karl frowned. That wasn’t Frau Schneider from the floor below pounding loudly on the door. Not the mailman’s regular, brisk knock either. This one was lighter.
He shuffled to the door and turned the bolt.
Nadja stood outside.
Her white T-shirt was completely soaked and clung so tightly to her body that it mercilessly revealed the dark outline of her bra. Water droplets ran from her wet hair down her neck and disappeared into the deep, damp neckline that heavily emphasized her full breasts.
Karl’s eyes widened instantly. His gaze stuck to the wet sight in front of him.
Nadja saw it and grimaced in disgust.
“You really are a horny old pig.”
Karl laughed hoarsely deep in his throat. The boredom vanished.
“Is there a problem, Mrs. Keller?”
Nadja clenched her teeth angrily. “A pipe is leaking.”
Karl understood immediately. The opportunity had arrived.
But his pleasure dimmed again the very next moment. It was the weekend. Markus might be home.
He tilted his head slightly and cast a searching glance toward the Kellers’ apartment door, which was standing wide open.
“Is Markus there?”
Nadja nodded, visibly even more irritated than before. “He’s buried in work. And we don’t have any decent tools in the apartment.”
Karl remained silent for a moment. He didn’t want to agree too eagerly. Just a little, he wanted her to feel that she needed him.
He casually braced one hand against the doorframe and said, taking his time:
“It’s the weekend, Mrs. Keller. Technically, I’m off too.”
Nadja refused to play along and immediately turned to leave.
“Fine. Never mind, then.”
Karl flinched. Instinctively, he leaned forward and grabbed her arm to stop her.
Nadja froze. She turned her head and stared coldly down at his hand gripping her bare arm.
Just one look.
Karl released her immediately as though he had burned himself on hot metal. He shot both hands into the air. His old face looked theatrically embarrassed, but his eyes still refused to leave the wet T-shirt outlining her breasts.
“All right, all right,” he said quickly. “Just a joke. Wait here. I’ll get my toolbox.”
Nadja gave him a razor-sharp sideways look. Those eyes said one thing perfectly clearly: No fucking games.
Karl turned around, bent down, and pulled out the toolbox.
The iron box was scratched, the paint flaking, brown rust eating at the edges.
Inside was a hopeless jumble of old tools: several water-pump pliers, a heavy adjustable wrench, a roll of white Teflon tape, several black rubber seals, tarnished screws, and a greasy, oil-stained rag.
As his bony hand closed around the handle, a dirty memory slid through Karl’s mind.
The last time, he had carried this exact toolbox into the Kellers’ apartment to fix a small problem beneath the sink.
While he was there, he had noticed an already weak connection in the trap.
And he remembered damn well that he could have replaced the rubber seal that day with almost no effort and made the whole thing watertight for good.
But he had deliberately chosen not to. He had tightened the slip nut only enough to stop the dripping for the moment. Not enough to actually hold.
Back then, he had done it out of some dark instinct, with the dull, horny hope that someday he would have another excuse to be allowed into that clean apartment. To get close again to the woman who was now standing in front of him, wet and irritated.
And now that deliberately sloppy repair had opened up a golden new opportunity.
Karl closed the box. One corner of his mouth lifted briefly, then he immediately suppressed the revealing reaction. He picked up the toolbox and obediently trailed Nadja into the Kellers’ apartment.
The young couple’s kingdom lay open before Karl’s eyes.
That pure lavender smell everywhere. The glass table in the living room was dust-free. The sofa cushions smoothed flat. The kitchen bright and immaculately clean.
But directly beneath the sink, a growing puddle of water was spreading across the floor. Several terrycloth towels had been thrown down in a hurry. A plastic bucket sat crookedly underneath, catching the dripping water.
Karl only glanced around briefly, yet greedily absorbed every detail.
As they crossed the hallway, they passed the partially closed door to the study. Markus was wearing comfortable casual clothes, bent low over his laptop and surrounded by disorganized papers.
When he heard the footsteps, he looked up. When he saw the old neighbor carrying the heavy toolbox directly behind his wife, Markus stood almost guiltily.
“Mr. Seifert, I’m very sorry we’re bothering you on the weekend.”
Karl immediately put on his familiar harmless mask. “No trouble at all, Mr. Keller. Really.”
Markus looked at Nadja’s soaked T-shirt, then over toward the puddle of water in the open kitchen, and scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
“I’m stuck dealing with a few urgent things right now, and stupidly, we don’t have any tools in the apartment at all. Good thing you can help us.”
Karl forced an excessively friendly smile. “You just keep working. I’ll take care of the pipe.”
He put the slightest emphasis on the word pipe. Not enough for Markus to become even remotely suspicious, but with such a filthy double meaning underneath that Nadja immediately frowned.
She shot Karl an ice-cold warning look.
Karl knew exactly when to keep his mouth shut. The harmless smile remained on his lips, but some of the greasy triumph disappeared from it at once.
Markus noticed absolutely nothing beneath the surface. He simply exhaled with gratitude and relief.
“Thank you. Really. Thank you so much.”
“Neighbors help each other out.” Karl nodded politely.
The words matched exactly the hard agreement Nadja had forced on him: Neighbors only.
Markus turned toward his wife and asked with concern: “Everything okay?”
Nadja answered quickly because all she wanted was to get him back into the study.
“Everything’s fine. Just keep working. I’ll take care of things out here.”
Markus nodded, still looking slightly guilty, and sat back down at the desk. He didn’t close the door completely. It remained slightly ajar.
And that blind, careless trust instantly made the air in the kitchen feel thicker and more tense.
Markus was only a few yards away in the next room, yet he trusted completely that his wife was safe alone with the harmless old neighbor.
Karl and Nadja continued into the kitchen.
Karl hunched his back and set the iron toolbox directly beside the puddle. The metal landed on the tile with a dull, heavy clank.
Nadja folded her arms defensively across her chest and remained close behind him. The wet T-shirt clung to her body like a second skin. Her face was hard, filled with irritation and extreme vigilance.
Karl didn’t turn toward her immediately. He knew those gray eyes were following his every movement with hostility. He also knew Markus was sitting in the next room and could hear everything.
This time, he had to play his role as the kindly handyman absolutely cleanly.
He knelt in the middle of the puddle, opened the rattling toolbox, and pulled out the heavy adjustable wrench.
Water continued dripping tirelessly from the leaking connection into the plastic bucket.
Plip. Plip.
Between the falling drops, the rapid clicking of Markus’s keyboard could be heard clearly from the study.
Karl lowered his head and examined the white plastic trap beneath the sink.
He immediately saw the loose connection he had deliberately failed to tighten properly a few months earlier.
The corner of Karl’s mouth twitched. A secret, filthy smile flashed across his face and disappeared just as quickly.