The Somnambule's Crime
A
Novel About Vermeer
We are forced to observe an uneventful afternoon through a small garret window. The washing machine in Vermeer’s apartment contains a tightrope dancer who is really a burlap bag full of sand and bird bones. Vermeer’s blue slacks move in and out of the light tempting the exhausted horses at the box office window through which we see that it is also an uneventful evening. My unassuming hand moves from the roof of another building toward Vermeer who is looking the other way permanently. Oh my when will Love arrive. Ah. There’s a policeman. Good enough.