I stay in my room for a while, but grow bored and restless and decide to check out the bathroom. It is small, but pretty clean. It has a tile floor, bathtub/shower on the far wall sideways to the door, a thin, cream coloured curtain is pushed to one side. The toilet is about two feet away and the sink another two after that. A medicine cabinet with a mirror beginning to rust hangs above the sink and a small shelf to the side. I turn to leave, but freeze.
The dog stands in the door way, eyeing me. Unsure whether to move forward or wait for him to leave, I decide to assert my dominance. I move forward and shove my way past his muscled, furry form. He turns to watch me leave into the kitchen, then follows.
Hans is working at the stove, something sizzling in the pan.
"Where are the cups?" I ask. He answers without looking up.
"In the cabinet above the sink."
"Thanks. Where should I get the water from?"
"The fridge is fine." I get a glass of ice water and sit at the table, the pale, waxing wood showing me my reflection.
"How much longer to dinner?"
"About ten minutes." He is being so curt; I want to yell at him. It's terrible enough being here, but to have him completely shut me out as well is too much to handle. The silence stretches for a while.
"Anything I can do?" This time he does turn to look at me.
"You could stop pestering me." My mouth drops in shock and I smash my glass down, water sloshing over the sides. I pound out of the kitchen and into my room, slamming the door. God damn him! He forces me to come here, and doesn't even bother to make it slightly decent. It's not like I'm not lonely or anything.
A small alarm clock on the dresser tells me I spent fifteen minutes cussing him out in my head and punching a pillow. Dinner must be ready and the bastard didn't even call me. I am so sick of him and we haven't even spent four hours together. I thud out of my room so he knows I'm coming. The dog is lying at his feet under the table and Hans has a plate of Canadian bacon, sausage, scalloped potatoes, and corn.
"Thanks for letting me know it was dinner time," I say, glaring and picking up a plate and getting the food out of the pans. He rolls his eyes.
"After your angry departure, I assumed you would not want me to speak to you."
"You assumed incorrectly. In the future, please let me know when food is ready."
"Fine," he says. I sit down at the place I put my water glass and begin to eat. The dog comes over and puts on a begging face.
"Can I feed the dog?" I ask.
"He has a name."
"Can I feed Ardal?" I ask after a slight hesitation where I racked my brains for his name.
"A little bit is okay."
"You could have said that the first time," I point out, just to be a smart ass.
"Yes, I could have, but I chose not to." I just roll my eyes. I strip off the edge of the bacon and dangle it in the air for the dog. He snatches it up and I repeat it. Hans watches me carefully, and it unnerves me so I quickly stop and feed myself. He finishes before me and turns on the TV and plops down in a Lazyboy chair. I can tell by the set up, backgrounds, and emotion behind the words that it is the news, but it is in German and I don't bother to try to understand it. I finish and lie down on the loveseat.
"Do you get any channels in English?"
"A few." I wait for him to say more. He doesn't and is very fixated on the news.
"Would it be possible to watch one of them?" In response, he holds up the "one moment" finger. I wait. After the news report switches, he turn to me.
"I don't know why you think being an American snob is going to win you any points in my book, but I suggest you stop it." I am alarmed by his blunt hatred. So much that I jump to my feet and start spouting out my thoughts.
"Hey! You made me come here and abandon everyone I know and love. Did you ever consider I may be just a tad pissed off about that?" I wait for him to say something. "No, no I suppose you wouldn't. But if you don't want to spend the rest of the time I'm here, however long you force me to stay with you, keeping me inline and fighting me, may I suggest that you start behaving a bit kinder towards me. Miserable people have nothing to lose," I carefully threaten him.
"Channel 5, 12, and 29," he barks and gets up, the dog following on his heels. I glare at his cold back and flip the television to the first one. I sigh. It's in English.