Page 121 of My Boss

“Four hundred and forty-five, four hundred and forty-six, four hundred and forty-seven,”

“Jan, what’s going on?”

He doesn’t answer. He continues to lean against the wall all tense and counting.

“Put on your coat, or you’ll catch a cold.” My first instinct is to stroke his back, but I recall his earlier reactions to my unexpected touch. “Do you want to drive home? I can drive. I will drive slowly and carefully,” I speak to him in a soothing voice, but he doesn’t respond. “Jan? What do you want me to do? Tell me, what do you need?”

I wait patiently, staring at the big man, who now looks like a small, wounded child.

“I need peace and quiet,” he finally speaks up.

“Should I leave you alone?”

“Yes,” he replies in a voice devoid of emotion.

“Then why don’t you at least take a coat because you’ll freeze.”

“No.”

Fine. I have no idea what’s going on, and I’m a little freaked out, but Jan gives the impression that he really needs to be left alone right now. I reach into his coat pocket and take out his car keys.

“I’ll wait for you in the car. Don’t stay here too long.”

He doesn’t answer. I walk away toward the BMW. My head is spinning. I need a cigarette to organize my thoughts, but I shouldn’t let Jan out of my sight now. This is the first time I’ve seen him in such a state, and I’m really worried about him.

I get in from the driver’s side, start the engine, turn on the warm air and heat both seats. I’m sure Jan will freeze to the bone if he stands longer without an overcoat.

And he stands like this for a good twenty minutes. In the same position, motionless, as if frozen. His lips move in rhythm with the sequentially uttered numerals.

I suspect he has already reached two thousand.

Okay, I will give him five more minutes and then I’ll try to get him back. After all, he can’t remain motionless for an eternity. It’s seventeen degrees Fahrenheit, he’ll get pneumonia.

I’m about to get out of the car when Jan pulls away from the wall, straightens up and walks toward me. At first glance, he looks normal: he even has rosy cheeks from the frost, but this is only an appearance. The longer I stare at him, the more withdrawn and absent he seems.

He gets into the passenger side of the car and, without a word, fastens his seat belt. He sits upright, seems distant, looking ahead with eyes emptied of any emotion.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“No,” he answers dispassionately, like an android.

“Is there anything you need?”

“I want to go home.”

“Should I drive?”

“Yes.”

The car is filled with silence for the duration of the ride. Jan sits in an unchanged position, looking as if he is in a completely different place with his thoughts. I don’t forcefully chat him up because it’s obvious that he doesn’t feel like talking. Maybe when we get home, there will be an opportunity to do so.

However, when we get home, Jan is still silent. He takes off his shoes in the foyer, washes his hands and face in the bathroom, drinks a glass of water in the kitchen and heads straight for the bedroom. He gives the impression that he performs each activity very mechanically.

“Can we talk about what happened?” I watch him as he strips down to his T-shirt and boxers. To my surprise, this time he doesn’t fold his clothes into a cube, but throws them carelessly on the chair, as if he doesn’t have the strength.

“No.” He pushes back the quilt and, with a heavy sigh, gets into bed.

“Can I get you anything?”

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