After ten minutes on the Independence Avenue has fallen, do his feet so'n pain that he must be stationary. To his joy he sees an ice cream parlor cum pizzeria, Sardinia called. Also here. The Italians were everywhere. Even in Windhoek.
He staggered toward the inside the most tables are empty. The operator is seated in a corner. He chooses a table from near the counter.
It is pleasantly cool. With a paper servetje rubs his forehead and his neck. Then he rummages servetje paint to a ball and stops in his pocket.
A guys like girl that for an Italian can continue to be asked what he wants.
He orders an espresso and a glass of white wine. Maybe it is Italian. It would be a nice start for a calclass="underline" 'Are You Italian?' and then pull out the photo and ask 'Do you know this girl, have you ever seen her?' How are you looking for children if you have never previously done, adult children, in another country?
Until long after he has drunk it remains stuck. He realizes that he will have questions. He will have to start somewhere, why not here? It is precisely here, in pizzeria cum ice cream parlor Sardinia.
Of the table next to him he picks up a paper towel and rubs on the back of his neck, his forehead, his neck.
He rummages in his briefcase.
Than he is on and runs as normal as possible to the counter.
'De account,' he says. And then immediately he retrieves the envelope from his inside pocket and shall submit to the photo on the counter. 'Are You Italian?'
'I am born here.' She responds to him without him to look.
'Ah, I understand. Have you ever seen her here?' he asks.
'Who?'
He points to the photo.
The girl that as a little boy seems casts a glimpse of the photo. She gives a ship's steward the bon.
'No," she says, 'who is it?'
It counts the money, clears his throat. My daughter,' he says. My youngest daughter Tirza.'
And while he says, even while he is speaking is feels he said that they will not believe him.
'MAM,' calls on them.
He wants to store the picture. But he waits. Maybe something the mother.
A woman with bleaches its comes to him.
'How can I help you?" asks them.
Again he emphasized the photo.
My daughter,' he says, 'Have you seen happen to her?'
She shakes her head. She takes the father of Tirza in itself.
'tourist or businessman?'
'I am here for my daughter,' says ship's steward emphatically. The awareness that he does not like father forces him the Father in him what heavier. It stores the photo again. First time in the reply envelope, than in his pocket. He still needs to have something to ask what the people reassuring. For example: 'There is a large Italian community?'
'Are you looking for fun?' The voice of the mother sounds sharp but inviting.
It shakes of no, he walks slowly to the output.
The mother is chasing him.
'Are you looking for fun? Special entertainment?'
He is now outside on the street, the mother also.
Ship's steward must declare itself. He understands the. You can people not just a picture of your child show and say: 'I find my daughter.' They have explanation is necessary. Otherwise they do not trust. Background information.
'I am here for my daughter. She has never been in Africa. Three weeks ago, they moved to Wind Angle. Exactly three weeks ago. And since then we have heard nothing of her.'
The woman looks at him now as if they understand everything. He is relieved.
'No call, no e-mail. My wife says: "It is because we are so old." But what is the sense in your home to eat of the nerves if you also want to Namibia can? What is fourteen or eighteen hours fly in this time? And what is the cost of the well at all? How is this? With the tourist? You are here. There are many tourist?'
He speaks a little excited, but she smiles. Ach, mothers understand that sort of thing. They will help him. They will explain to him which he must go.
'Are you looking for special entertainment," she says, "is that it? I can help you.'
He begins to walk away from her. If he is also fit five, he turns to. They state for its case and looks at him after.
Ship's steward takes his hat. 'Thank you,' he calls, 'thank you for the trouble. I will certainly come back, but i am here for my daughter.'
Than he begins to walk up the hill in the direction of the Heinitzburghotel. Each step takes him now trouble. His shoes seem him four sizes too small. His underpants rubs unpleasant. He must be anus threads with oil. Everything is rough.
From the moment he has left Independence Avenue, is the quiet street has become. Occasionally he hears steps behind. He has the feeling that someone behind him follows several people, perhaps, but he does not dare to look.
He concentrates on each step to feel less pain. He clings to the briefcase. He has the feeling that Tirza in that bag, that he has taken her in his briefcase. The bag that he only have to open and that they will gain the upper hand.
3
When he finally reached the hotel, he seems a heart attack near. With a red and wet head and chest pain he calls at the reception are room number.
'How do you want to dine, Mr ship's steward?" asks the receptionist.
'eight, nine and a half.'
'One person?'
'one person.'
As soon as he is in his room, he himself in bed. He does his shoes off, closes his eyes, rubs gently over his feet.
Certainly twenty minutes he remains so. Half asleep, half-watchful.
It is the noise of the wind to him on his watch does look. Somewhere a flap clicks or a door. Almost seven hours al.
Soon he must eat.
Hastily he goes away, leaving the bath flooding and within them.
In the warm water if him to relax. Also seems this is a basic travel, as he ever made. A visit to an author in his native country, a book fair, a few times a conference. Especially at the beginning of his career he visited them just might, conferences.
Only when his mobile phone in the bedroom tone, urges the purpose of his journey back to him by. Without having to dry off he comes the bath.
As soon as he can he walks to the telephone. He glides almost off, but know to keep his balance.
It is the wife.
'And?' she asks.
'And? I am. That is all I can tell you now. Tomorrow I am going to draw up a plan. At the embassy. Along the youth hostels. But wind angle is not dangerous. Small, especially small. I do not think that they have remained here long. Tourist go to the coast or the desert, I heard.'
She takes the information without much comment to itself.
'call me if you hear anything," she says. 'and read your e-mail from time to time, perhaps sends an email they you'
'I will.'
'And Jörgen.'
'Yes?'
'No, nothing. Let but. Here I am waiting on you. I will keep the garden for you.'
Then he weather in bath. He has time before he to table must be.
In the room next to his he will hear people talking. He tries to mean what language they speak, but the sounds are too far away.
The talk is about in howl. But if he is listening carefully, he hears that it is not, it is crying gehijg.
Before he goes out of the bath, shower he the foam away and here are favorite song. 'bei mir bist du schön, please let me explain. Bei mir bist du schön, means you are grand.'
With a large white towel dries he thoroughly and very briefly he thinks of the worker in Amsterdam.
Only now he opens his suitcase.
The gift for Tirza he embodied in a la. The rest of the clothes he let in his suitcase.
He decides to withdraw a suit, aftershave. You never know who you encounter.
Only when he wants to attract his shoes, he notes that this is not good for more. His feet are battered. The shoes are not set on this heat, they are not made for swollen feet. With pain and difficulties" squeezes his.