'Must i a contact ad?' he asks. 'Is that what you say?'
'I do not know. I think that you know someone must search. That is surely mom continue. You just love again be, as I.'
Atta is downstairs. He has a green paper in his hands. What a ship's steward still wanted to say but He gulps.
'De bilingual edition,' says Atta. 'Special purchased for Tirza. In fact I am also agnostic.'
Browse the father also in, reads a piece. 'Nice,' he says, 'quite nice. But it is not a Tolstoy.'
And in an attempt to be less hostile he asks: "What can I do for you?'
'nothing' says Tirza. 'You can also nothing at all for us.'
He picks up his shoulders, then goes to the garden, starts again in its work. In any case it is dry. He picks up what browsing, pick weeds, retrieves the cutting out a few branches to pruning which he has seen over the head. The time goes quickly if you concentrated in the garden are at work.
Occasionally he thinks of the epilogue that his life is, to the worker from Ghana, which is naturally not as a friend can apply. A friend is someone with whom you have more than just what physical handling on a fixed date. But still.
It was gradually, unexpected and to everyone's satisfaction. On a day she was not only Hofmeesters lady, but also his mistress. It goes without saying that he had from that day also paid a little more. The woman from Ghana did not only Hofmeesters home clean, they also liked his body in order, they regul characterised the juices.
In addition he had her brought in contact with a lawyer who he knew from his students. The lawyer could mean anything from its. She was illegal, as all women in Ghana, but they made good clean. Ship's steward realized that there is a correlation between her willingness and its not completely legal status, but that didn't bother him not further. It is the illegality which people willing. Maybe it was he himself also called illegally, without knowing it. A certain willingness could not be denied him.
At sixes it starts to rain. He brings all the tool to the kitchen. He must tomorrow packing and travel. First to Frankfurt, then back to Amsterdam. This is also something that the garden maintenance. The grass, trees, shrubs.
He opens a bottle of wine and drinks a glass. 'Tirza,' he calls.
Ship's steward drinking his second glass. 'Tirza,' he calls again, 'Where are you?'
He runs to the living room. His daughter is now on the table.
A FRACTION OF A SECOND he needed to the scene. They have heard him nor given.
In the door opening tail to the animal, to the terrible, to the incomprehensible. The Koran is still on the table, and a bowl with the remnants of a bunch of grapes. The Monopoly game. He knows that he should go away, but he can not beveled, it seems as if he is highway hypnosis. He also understands why they cannot see him or hear, why are they not that there someone else in the room. It takes him effort in his daughter is still to see his daughter now with them as is, used, open is being torn. They Keep murmurs something.
He must hold. He is queasy as if he ate something wrong, a damaged oyster, a acute food poisoning. He is dizzy, he does a step backwards, is fixed to the gear lever next to the fireplace in its standard depends. Jörgen ship's steward pants as a cold dog.
The room is running him for the eyes, but they do not hear him. They do not see him. They go on to their game. So hot it yet? Love game.
Eventually he sneaks back to the kitchen, where he three glasses of wine and his face and hands.
Then he walks to the garden and despite the rain he begins to weed out the earth. Especially among the trees and along the edges of the lawn is a lot. He works as a madman, as though he were twenty. Without a pause to award contracts without wiping his hands. So he worked when his parents still lived, when he was still living at home, he worked as a dog, because his parents had taught him: only work makes happy. After a half hour he is wet of the rain and the sweat, everywhere is earth. Even in its ears.
He is the kitchen within, wipe off his hands on a tea towel, which black immediately. It does not matter.
Now he will hear them anymore. The game is delayed. Can it be called sex game? Is that not a mistake, begins where the not correct sex game ceases? Yes, that's it. In the event of sex keeps the on, there begin something else. The fact that what is no game more can be called. The death. There is sand in his ears.
'Tirza,' he calls. 'Tirza.'
He is going to the living room.
The iPod is on the table, the Koran, a dice yesterday evening that he has to appear to have forgotten mountains. The Monopoly game. He picks up the book, scroll back in. He shall submit the dundruk, which all the holy texts own but also some older parts of the Russian Library, back on the table.
Let his shoes large, muddy spots. He must pull them. But he does not work. From his hair dripping water. His shirt sticks to his back.
'Tirza,' he calls again.
He is going up the stairs, but halfway he remains. In the bathroom he hears the shower running, but it can also be the sound of the rain. They will have to take a shower. After the love game showering. The wife will always immediately jumped in the shower after he had practiced her love as if a ship's steward a kind of mud bath was. Tirza is even nicer than the wife in its early years.
He drops the stairs. In his hand he holds the die of the Monopoly game. That touch you always lost. Especially the earlier Ibi still was playing. Who could not do against hair loss. If they were lost them with the dice, and months later they did you than under the heater against.
In the kitchen he opens a new bottle of wine. This does he tastier. Italian gewürztraminer. He drinks two glasses of wine, makes his shoes clean. He drinks detached and think also, although he did not understand why, Ester which love wants to abolish.
Ship's steward decision to go and get food, he has no meaning to cook this last evening. He wants to be with her, with Tirza, only with her, enjoy the time that they were together. Still he will hear the sound of the shower, they do not stop with shower and they want to be hot. That you get from that fuck on the dining table.
'No,' says ship's steward soft against himself, 'it is the shower not, it is the rain. They are doing an afternoon siesta.'
He washes himself in the kitchen, his face, his hands, he feels so dirty. Top clothe he still quickly. He pulls a shirt of his father.
With a plastic bag over his head to the car he runs. Soon he drives to the village. It travels by ponds. The water splash high.
Although it is in this time of the year until ten hours dark, he drives with large light. The roads are deserted. In some he sees opblaasbadjes gardens. It has on something else.
The woman behind the counter at the Indonesiër recognize him.
'You are Mr ship's steward?' she asks. 'I know you have been in the past.'
He nods.
'What do you out.'
'I have worked in the garden.'
'In this emergency again?'
He ignores its note.
'I have for three people eat necessary, make it something tasty from, a little of this and a little of that and what additional Prawn Chips. My daughter loves Prawn Chips. And they will be back tomorrow to Africa. Namibia, Botswana, Zaire, they want to see everything.'
'Oh, Africa.' itself must to see they not think, and rightly so. There are so many beautiful things to see in their own country. If you have an eye for the small. The ants, the beach tents, the roads. The houses. The Birds, the dunes.
'I make it a small rice table of. Always Nice.'
'They are but a few months away. Next year she comes back to study.'