Tirza

Atta hesitates.

'You are going to Africa? You are going to the jungle? A fruit tree in the Betuwe is no obstacle. Beginning but with these small branch.'

Ship's steward pointing upward, to a branch which he can just as well. Not what you would call a dead branch.

Atta hesitates, he saw to the machine.

The weight is not him. So much is clear. But anyone who is such a thing for the first time in your hands, must get used to the weight. With tool that you, like with a man, slowly to be intimate. The better you know the, the more it does what you want.

Ship's steward shows how the saw on. How to get it off. The emergency button. How you must hold him.

'It is a Stihl MS 170,' says ship's steward, 'in its kind the best available.'

The young man climbs the ladder. If he is above, he calls: 'Is this a good idea, Mr ship's steward?'

'It is an excellent idea. If you get the hang of it, have you got your whole life fun of. The MS 170 is very safe.'

Tirza's father stresses once again the branch on which must be cut off. 'You need not be afraid,' he calls. 'You need just your wits.'

Safe, that they had told him, in the shop where they were selling the saw him. Safer than an electric with a cord, easier to use.

The friend of Tirza condition on the ladder and he saws. Soon the branch on the grass. It is a little one.

Atta climbs to below. He is found.

'Was you afraid?' requires a ship's steward hopeful. 'did you think of the death-eng?'

'a little,' says the man who now more on a boy seems than ever. A friendly boy, all with al. If you do not know better. "I believe that I simply not so nice am. And also tired.'

'It is a question of exercise.' ship's steward takes his cutting back on. Satisfied he looks at the tree. His life is in the epilogue, but he knows how a fruit tree has to deal with. He knows how he must face with a garden. That nobody can deny him.

'My parents,' says ship's steward, 'loved fruit trees. They kept more of the trees than of each other.'

'And they had a tool shop?'

'Yes, as approximately,' he says, curt now. 'De shopping was of my father. My mother sang in a choir.' I regret that he has extended the call unnecessarily. What are the boy his parents? He bending is to what weeds under the tree road to reap the benefits. The last thing he needs is that this man is approached. No proximity. Everything except that.

'And they wanted to not that you would take over the shop?'

'They wanted that i went to study abroad,' says ship's steward with the weed in his hand. 'they found important. That their only son would go study. Therefore they worked. And I studied héb.'

'Yes, yes,' says Atta. 'I know. German and criminology, yet?'

'I have never killed criminology. By circumstances. I was offered a job as an editor at a very reputable publishing. I could not refuse the offer. It was in line with expectations that i would be publisher.'

He runs to the dustbin and throws it.

When he comes back, Atta still at the apple tree.

'Is this really the time to saw?" asks the young man.

'Not,' says ship's steward, 'but I am now, therefore i saw. I must take the opportunity. I saw when I am there. Where is Tirza?'

'Die sleeps. She was also tired.'

Atta runs back inside, but just before the House he turns once. 'Meneer ship's steward, can I will help you in the kitchen? With Dinner?'

Ship's steward shakes his head. 'Date i do all itself. The most has already been done. The only thing you need to do is to eat. You are my guest. Remember.'

He remains a look at how the young man to walk in. Through the curtains he sees how Atta in the living room with its open fireplace. The bright euphoria that ship's steward just felt is again disappeared. He has not won, he has lost. And win is the only thing that counts. Everything not win is an excuse, a skillfully disguised as an excuse, but an excuse. Ach, almost everything high is famous in the world, art, politics, is an alibi for losers.

Ship's steward has the dining table for the open fireplace and three steaks baked — for him and Tirza red, for Atta well by baking — which he serves with bread, lettuce and fresh fruit.

The fire crackles, ship's steward opens its second bottle of red Bordeaux from that day. 'What do your parents actually,' he asks to Atta, 'dat you with my daughter to Africa?'

'You mean that I go to Africa, or that i with Tirza go?'

'Both.' ship's steward cuts a piece of bread and dab it carefully in the gravy on his plate is a lie. In fact this may not, but in such a different rules apply outside the home.

'I have not much more contact with my parents. I see very little.'

Ship's steward chews on the bread. It tastes like him.

'Choukri has broken with his parents,' says Tirza and they squeeze her boyfriend in his shoulder.

Broken, the word calls him, but would Ibi has not broken with her parents, who has just pulled back. That is easier than break.

'And why I ask you?'

'They had other ideas,' says the boy. 'Other ideas than i.'

'Other ideas?' ship's steward has its bread. It cuts a piece, offers the Atta but which refuses to polite.

'Other ideas?' reiterates ship's steward.

'Other ideas. As that. Other thoughts. About the life. You will also have other thoughts have than Tirza. About the life. About what is good. About how one should live. About what you need to do a good man.'

Ship's steward looks his daughter. What will they have told that Atta? About him, the wife, the lessees that he has worn, such as the wife lovers.

'I have no ideas,' he says. 'I look like a man with ideas?'

Atta vist with his fingers a last leaf lettuce of his board. 'Well, ideas, I mean that you might be a representation of the life of your daughter. What it would need to see. Later'.

'a representation? Later? If I am dead? I look like someone who knows how you should live?'

Atta laughs nervous.

Ship's steward feels that he is the boy in the close to float. It drives people would like in the closely. Because he fears for them. Because he is not a council with them know. Also his children has he previously in dire straits. Agreed Minute, only minutes, they should be strong. Their vocabulary to extend their the art of argumentation. For it is language is first and foremost a tool to get people to encircle them in the close to float, their to deprive the last resort. The language, one large attempted humiliation. Perhaps he is therefore also going to mention. Out of respect. By way of a refund. The silence is its white flag.

'Dus you think that I have made a representation of the life of my daughter?' ship's steward purports a gentle smile. 'I know what to do to get a good man?'

'I mean… what I wanted to say is that all parents have expectations. Sometimes a little too much. Perhaps sometimes also wrong expectations.'

Tirza has already said nothing time. They still on its beef chews.

'Wrong expectations? How do you know whether expectations are wrong?'

Atta shrugs. 'Well,' he says.

That is why a ship's steward itself but further. 'I have had expectations. I have drawn them back. As your soldiers to withdraw them, because I have time for claiming that expectations were not as good for Tirza. Also a father learns. I have no expectations, not of Tirza, not on its behalf. I do not expect anything.'

'I want some bread.' The voice of Atta sounds now even reroute arising.

Ship's steward cuts the. 'You're a good eater,' he says, and Atta begins at the bread to chew without the dipping in the gravy.

'And now?' requires Atta.

'And now? Now part i Tirza's expectations. In so far as they have. I have perhaps occasionally a View. Often not even. Why should I? I trust in its opinion. How to get a good man should be, I know it is not. I doubt whether even must aspire to. Is it not more important to remain a live human rights than a good man be? And you? What are your expectations of Tirza actually? Except on the sexual plane?'