The Tenant

“If the devil's in the details, then Christ is in the context.” Anton twisted the cap off of a bottle of Heineken in his grip as he spoke, gestured the tip of the bottle in Ben's direction, and raised his eyebrows with a sagacious glance.

“Well, God created them both, so what does that make God?” Ben engaged Anton calmly in the theological showdown, mildly annoyed that Anton was the only one with a beer.

Anton sipped his beer again and scrolled through Netflix titles on the 60- inch flatscreen. Ben stared at the side of Anton’s face, awaiting an answer. Anton sipped and scrolled, avoided Ben’s glare, darted his eyes quickly to the front door of the apartment, then focused again on the flat screen. He muttered, “God, God, God. Details, context...truth? No, that’s Bible talk. What is God in this?”

“Figured you wouldn’t know,” Ben huffed, glanced at his cell phone, caught a few of the titles that flashed past on the screen, then looked out to the moonlit night through a nearby window. Cold nights were scary to him; fewer people were out of the building, which meant they were very likely to get caught. He was no victim, but he knew some stakes were higher than others, and it was getting late. “How much longer do we have?”

Anton lifted the beer bottle to the glow of the television. “About four more sips, then we’re on to the next apartment.”

“Next one? How many do you have in a night?” Ben scooted forward to the edge of the plush mauve sofa.

Anton settled in deeper, crushing the back cushions as he forced himself into them, becoming a part of the plush. “Depends on the night. When most of them are at work, I can go through eleven or twelve apartments. Other nights are a little leaner.” Taking another sip, Anton let the brew sit in his mouth, relishing the moment like he could taste it in his ale.

Ben winced with calculation. Counting hours, he exclaimed his assessment. “If you start at 7 p.m., and end around midnight, you got, at best, an hour in each one. That ain’t nowhere near what you figure.”

“Who says I spend an hour? I get what I get from each one, and I leave a little something behind for their troubles. They get something, I get something.” Anton stood from the sofa, pulled a woolen cap and scarf from his coat pocket, and hung them on a nearby doorknob. The apartment was silent and cool as the winter night settled around the living room. “It’s gonna be colder tomorrow, and I saw this one out earlier without a hat on his head. Picked his favorite color, too.”

Ben noticed the mauve hat glowed softly in the moonlight cast through the window, similar to the soft hue of the sofa. “How you know? ‘Cuz of the couch?”

“And other stuff. Arthur likes clowns, Midge eats croissants like they’re manna from heaven. Sam and Ellie; a pair of rabbits, those two. I just make sure they have protection and other stuff they need to make things fun. They all need or want something, and I make sure they have it.”

“The details.”

“The context, stupid. This stuff ain’t random.”

“So, you got your own place here?”

“Naw.”

“Wait, how far do you live from here?”

“I don’t.”

“Stop half-sayin’ stuff. You ‘bout to piss me off.”

“Chill. It ain’t like what you think. I don’t live anywhere ‘cuz I don’t have to.”

“But you said you start your rounds at seven.”

“Yeah, seven in the morning. I go till midnight, sleep in Lucas’s, then start over. I don’t live nowhere ‘cuz I live everywhere.”

Ben slipped to the edge of the sofa again, eyes wide. He remembered rent and evictions, moving vans and signing leases. Anton seemed to have no need for any of those things. “That isn’t normal. I’m not sure how, but that's wrong. You’re wrong.”

“I can understand. There isn’t much to this situation for most people. For me, it’s all I know and need.” Anton pulled a thick leather pouch from his coat pocket and unzipped it to reveal a series of keys connected to small metal carabiners. Anton removed one key, then gestured to Ben. “It’s time to move on. Grab your shoes at the door, but don’t put them on until we get past the threshold. I respect the palette in each place.” Anton walked out into the hall, having nothing to pick up on his way out since he remained barefoot as he stepped across the next threshold. Leaving something, taking something, being something for these tenants that they could not be for themselves. It was a good life.