The evening before his departure to pick up his suitcase in, a small blue suitcase that formerly he has taken a few times on mission. New York. Turin. Ach, many missions he has now also been created.
He picks up not much of a pak, what shirts, two summer trousers. Long he will not continue. Ten days should be enough. In ten days you can do a great deal.
On a Saturday afternoon in August for half an hour or two state he on the point to leave the Van Eeghenstraat. The wife is in the garden a ladies sheet to read.
'I go forward to outside,' he calls from the kitchen, 'I have called a taxi.'
'Wait," she says, 'I have in front of you.'
She goes to the bedroom and comes back with a packet.
'What is this?' he asks.
'grasp but from.'
He makes the packet of open. There is a dress in a blue summer dress.
'For Tirza. He was in the offer, and he is precisely its size. I thought: a raised, they will be able to use it properly.'
He smiles. 'What nice of you. What kind.' He watches the dress. 'He will continue its good,' he says. 'It is its taste. She loves simple things.'
Carefully pick up the dress again.
Soon he opens the suitcase, under his bag is still fit for the package of the spouse.
'I call you,' he says, 'When I am there.'
He gives her a volatile kiss on the right cheek.
But it does not return to the garden, she runs to go with him to the front door.
'It will well," she says, 'it is good. It is that we have become old, therefore, we make it our concern for our children. Because we are old and our bored.'
'Yes,' he says, 'That's the. Because we have become old. Go back to the garden. Soon the rain starts again. Enjoy the sun also.'
'Here," she says, "it should also bring you.' She gives him an envelope.
Hesitant to pick up to him.
'What is in it?'
'a photo. I thought: it is good if you have a photo with you.'
He takes the photo from the envelope. Tirza, not long before her graduation celebration, a few days before, two weeks perhaps.
'Dank you,' he says. 'Dank you. Where did you find it?'
'In her room. You never know. Perhaps he comes in handy.'
'You know the never,' he says and stops the envelope in his pocket.
'Have you actually told Ibi?' she asks.
'I not,' he says. 'I am not. I have her the last few days not more.'
It goes back to the garden and he goes in the porch. He has his suitcase at his briefcase, containing the iPod, the charger, Tirza's agenda and its notebook, the manuscript of the author from Azerbaijan and its four pencils.
There will be at least ten minutes wait at the taxi. A neighbor says it in passing goodbye. He runs for his own house up and down as a beast in a cage. There are baggage is in the portico on him to wait. Such baggage appears to be something to say against him, but he does not know what.
On the flight to Zurich he has no one next to it and if it to sleep, but between Zurich and Johannesburg next to a he sits French couple. During the food is developing a call. They are going to explore South Africa and he? They want to know.
'I go visit my daughter,' he says in moderate French.
'In Johannesburg?'
'In Windhoek.' He cuts in his chicken. Bleed the call death.
After the food he retrieves the manuscript and his pencils and he begins to read routinely.
In Johannesburg he must wait nearly four hours. His head hurts of fatigue. He orders coffee, sit by the window with a view of the aircraft, but he has no rest for a long time to continue.
With the briefcase in his hand he runs on the airport, which is not great, especially if you compare it with Schiphol or Frankfurt.
A few times he retrieves the envelope from his inside pocket and he looks at the photo of the solar queen. In a shop he buys an adapter plug for South Africa and Namibia, and a hat against the sun. The sun there will be bright. He puts the hat and looks in a mirror, and decision to keep him. He takes pride of ship's steward not, he gives him a little extras.
Now he is a man with a hat.
He runs well in advance to the gate.
A ground air hostess says: 'We have not yet started with boarding, sir. About a quarter of an hour.'
He is doing a few steps back and remains so wait.
She looks at him, the air hostess than she asks: 'Are you going to spend your holiday in Namibia?'
He takes the envelope from his inside pocket. 'I go visit my daughter,' he says in reasonable English. He shows her the photo.
'a nice child," she says. 'Congratulations. And of that lively eyes.'
He looks itself again to the photo, perhaps to the liveliness of Tirza's eyes.
In the bus to the airplane is the human him at that have changed. Still blank, but otherwise blank than him. Other garments, other faces, even other movements. He hears German, Afrikaans, Italian, a little English.
In the plane to Wind Angle he sits next to an Italian who belongs to a group. The Italian examines a travel guide. With a pin striped he occasionally something.
To Hofmeesters surprise they also get on this short flight food. Meat with beans. He eats a few beans, he has not hungry.
'First time?" asks the Italian in almost inaudible if the trays again English are retrieved.
'First time what?'
'Africa? First time?'
'First Time,' says ship's steward. 'My first time.'
'To me,' says the Italian, 'second time. I hold of Africa.'
Ship's steward nods.
He will fall asleep, he wants to sleep, Long and deep. A winter sleeping which is gradually transformed in a total absence of everything alive of life itself.
The landing is accompanied with a great deal of turbulence. Ship's steward is not afraid, but the shaking back and forth makes him nauseous. Afraid if it has been that he will have to give in, he is securely fixed to the seat.
If they are landed almost looks out of the window in the expectation something of a city, or at least a few houses. But he sees only desert. Desert in different colors. A little red, a little gray.
The airport of wind angle is small, on the endearing af, ship's steward.
In the overhead baggage compartment he retrieves his hat. He let others lead courageously. He has no rush. The others do.
There is only one other aircraft at the airport, a large, gray aircraft on which 'Luftwaffe'. If a ship's steward the staircase is descended, he remains stationary. He breathes the warm air in. Here is landed Tirza, here she seized. This is Wind Angle. In the nearby area should they are, here they wanted.
He looks at the air. Sheep clouds, very many sheep clouds. The heat is still inform him. It is dry heat.
If it after a minute or ten waiting in a row is arrived at a regular sums owing, give it the form that was on the plane has already completed.
'What is the reason for your visit?' she asks.
'Tourists' he had nevertheless underlining it on the form? They believe him?
He takes the envelope from his inside pocket. He let her see the photo. My daughter,' he says, 'I come its surprise you.'
She looks not to the photo. They put a stamp on his passport.
At the baggage band in a small, somewhat cramped hall is only really him that he looks slightly different than the other passengers, with its neat trouser from Amsterdam, are slightly worn but neat required, his hat. He is the alien. It cannot be denied. It is a state that it is not concerned. The temporary that the alien is stuck him. The actions of the alien beyond never far, the consequences of his actions are limited, the alien is so gone again. He is naturally light. If a leaf. If a plastic bag.
When he has his suitcase, he runs and determination to the arrivals hall. On a determined step in such cases. In fact he always has been temporarily. A temporary man, so they could also him so easy on non-active.