The Square on the Hot-Water Bottle

A few heavy drops fell with a plunk, then stopped. Even after the sound ended, I did not lift myself from the lap. I remember the sunlight resting in a square on the back of the hand of someone holding a hot-water bottle, gazing out the window. Each time the curtain stirred, that square trembled, and I watched it quietly. When the sunlight trembled on the back of the hand, I turned my head from the lap. My eyes followed the warm square that came back whenever the curtain stilled, and then it settled onto the windowsill. Dust lay in layers on the sill. Across it the square slowly tilted and, before evening came, touched the wall one last time. The hot-water bottle was lukewarm by then. When I laid a hand on it, only the firm ridges of its surface remained. After the sun went down, I finally got up to boil water again. The smell of the scorched kettle lingered in the room.