The Brother. Rein Raud

      I bet it’s a telegram, or else a catalogue big enough to not fit in the mailbox, sent from some department store, for example, the woman thought while rushing down the stairs—for who else would ring their doorbell at this hour? Passing by the kitchen, she glanced in and noticed a scrap of paper lying on the table—but she’d have time to deal with that later; as usual, her husband had left her a grocery list and instructions on what he’d like for dinner. Right now, she adjusted the folds of her bathrobe, brushed her hand through her somewhat messy hair, and opened the door.

      Standing on the front steps was a complete stranger, muscular and tanned, far from unimpressive, wearing knee-high boots.

      “I understand that you’re in need of a gardener here,” the man said.

      “Yes, that’s true—my husband and I have discussed fixing up the garden a couple of times,” she said. “But we haven’t settled on anything more specific than that,” she added immediately. “We mow the front lawn here ourselves, but it’s awfully overgrown out back, and there really is so much beautiful land there.”

      “That’s exactly why I’m here,” the man said. “May I come in?”

      “Of course,” she nodded, instantly forgetting everything her husband had instructed her about talking to strangers.

      “I’m not interested in long-term employment,” the man explained. “But if you’d like, I can restore the Villa’s garden to its original state relatively quickly, so that if you employ someone to maintain it more permanently afterward, it’ll be extremely easy for him to handle. Don’t worry—I’m experienced. I’ve managed to get by at a number of countryside manors in England, and then we also fixed up a couple of hunting lodges near Wittenberg—although I worked together with locals there, since Germans don’t trust foreigners all that much with those jobs. I learned quite a lot of new things from them, too, I might add.”

      “Very impressive. Perhaps you’d like some tea or coffee . . . or maybe something else?”

      “A glass of water, if you’d be so kind. If I may, then I’ve got a piece of paper here—a contract—that I’d leave for you to look over. You’ll certainly want to discuss it with your husband, too.”

      “Absolutely—we always make these kinds of decisions jointly.”

      “Just as I thought. And I presume he’s the Villa’s actual owner, is that correct?”

      “No . . . in truth, the house and assets are in my name. My husband is an entrepreneur, and he thought it would be better that way; I don’t really understand that much about it.”

      “Whatever is more convenient for you both,” the man said, and smiled. “If I may, then I’ll stop by tomorrow at the same time, we’ll fill in the blanks, and I’ll get to work.”

      “I’ll expect you then.”

       The days when I also have some piece of unexpected news to tell my husband are so pleasantly uncommon.

      She remembered it later that evening, when her husband returned home.

      “You know, Mikk, an odd man came here offering to be our gardener.”

      “Great,” Mikk said without lifting his eyes from the newspaper.