Wings (from the Munich Tales)

WINGS
By Michael Kroetch

The thin man is an angel. He is sure of it. He had parents and they were not angels, but today and most days he can feel wings growing out of his back. He doesn´t tell his wife or his children. They would not understand. It´s not something he completely understands himself. Mostly his life is not anything out of the ordinary. His job is not the job an angel would have. He designs bridges. Not even fancy ones. Just simple ones to replace bridges that are too old on little highways winding around the countryside over little rivers. Last year he did two bridges and his boss was overjoyed by his productivity. But he did not think much of what he had done. It was his job, nothing more. His wings were of much greater interest. You might think he would always be looking at them in the mirror or reaching his hand back to feel them and assess each day or even hour their development and growth. But he did not do this. Never did he do this. He was not a man of superstition, that was not his way. Nonetheless, worried that by actually looking directly at his wings he might injure them in some way or stunt their growth, keeping them from becoming the full-sized glorious ones he knew they could become. At night in bed he often lay awake fearing that in her sleep his wife might reach over and touch his back. They were not close and barely shared the bed, let alone anything like real meaty heartfelt conversation, but still, in sleep, she might reach out. One never knew. One night she almost did. Her arm flopped over, her fingers almost-almost touching his wings. He had squished himself flat up against the wall to avoid the sleeping fingers. This was why he stayed up so late, watching his wife´s every motion. Likewise with his children, he could no longer behave as freely and playfully as in the past, taking them up on his shoulders and parading them around the apartment or out onto the street for ice creams. They would understand, later, he knew. Later when it became clear to them and all what he was becoming. This morning he stood on the balcony early before anyone else was awake, staring out at the morning sky, seeing the sun curve up through the trees. On his back he could feel the wings. He could feel them unfurl a little more with each small bit the sun climbed into the sky. Soon, he knew. Soon.