He takes her hand but leave it loose again if the second bottle of wine and Kaisa's cola.
Immediately afterwards he grabs the hand. He caresses her hand. Soft, small and yet not toothless.
Ship's steward sees a tor walk, a large African tor in bright colors. He points to and cooperation are they looking at the gate. As if it were a popular attraction, specially for them there.
'I had,' says ship's steward, 'or better said: I have a worker from Ghana. A friendly woman. Illegal, but friendly. When my wife disappeared, I got a sexual relationship with the applicant ' s work.'
He loves the hand of the child. He has the idea that they can understand him, that they understand everything he says and can NATO remains. Better than others. They know him.
They cannot forgive him. That is the way it seems in any case, it felt, actually for the first time. They will forgive him in silence
'I can talk to you so well,' he says, "I have often said, but I can not say often enough. I can talk to you, Kaisa.'
There is still a remnant of cola in the first bottle. He empty, for he who fill the glass with the contents of the second bottle. No human being is more efficient, but is still a carefully man.
'It was slightly between friends. That between me and the worker. I arranged a lawyer for her, stopped her what. It was pleasant, very pleasant actually,' he says doorframe, searching for words, slower talking loudly than would otherwise, by the wine and also by the child that he understands. 'I took her on the bank, in the living room. Always from the rear. You know, Kaisa…' He leans slightly forward and back he takes her hand in his own. So small, so soft that basis. 'De core of sexuality between adults is the humiliation. In itself it is not so much, sex, not much good for. On the humiliation after. That is what it is all about, this is in fact the only.'
He delivers his head even closer to that of Kaisa. He can smell her breath.
'If its shit of my pik licked, i was all lost ballast, i had no awareness, and therefore no shame — no debt, i was nothing and everything at the same time, I was the beast. The beast that I always wanted to be that I have always been in. The enjoyment is in the humiliation. And the liberation is losing our disease, the healing of the disease, of our aids: humanism. And of everything that is stuck, still again and again, again and again. Do you understand? It is salvation. The redemption is in the humiliation.'
He delivers his mouth to her forehead, he kisses her forehead, on the table.
'You have already been redeemed,' he says. 'You are dead while you breathe, here in Africa. Nothing can be done you. You are the true onkwetsbaren, invulnerable as a machine, a product, a… thing. You are beyond all the future, that is beyond all the despair.'
Ship's steward drinking wine. He shall ensure that they consume. The other guests are already to their cabins. Also the control is going to sleep, but a ship's steward and the child should remain in place as long as they want to continue, they said. No problem. Though it is half the night.
And that is what they do. They make use of their privilege. They sit and they remain tight.
Hand in hand. Occasionally a ship's steward interrupts are words and he kisses her on the main. They allow the cushion to worry as his words: with much sympathy and silence.
Yes, they accept each other, ship's steward and the child.
'As we are,' he says, 'people will be, invulnerable and unreachable. The others will follow. But they don't know, they want to do not yet know, they will continue to be faded ideals. They still have hope and faith and they see that they do by that hope, by that faith reports will be. Reports, Kaisa. Reports.'
He kisses her again, on the table. Not only the forehead, also the cheeks. He picks up her face with both hands. Caution, as you pick up an expensive vase.
'When I was so old as you,' he says, 'No, a bit older, I worked with a project. God was already dead. When the love still. I have the love abolished. It is diluted, the project, dissolved in obligations, a job, a family, a house, a tenant. Children. But I had to mention the otherwise: the death of the compassion should welcome. I am a human Kaisa, without compassion. I do not know what it is, I do not believe it, compassion, I have got rid of me as an unpleasant, but a persistent cough. Not that I think we want to see others suffering, on the contrary. Generally we want others, not suffer, not really in any case. But compassion? What is that? I can rape, Kaisa, it could be, and just before I go you go inside, I would have thought, I could feel — because you seem to feel the, compassion, they say, they know that can — but then I would have thought: I will leave it at that. That is what I can feel comfortable. I got you the clothes of the corporal jerked, I have a couple of times in your face skipped, and I am now thinking, now I, suddenly, as from nothing, compassion. I think: further than this should i not continue. It is good. It is good that it is. You now understand why I want to have nothing to do? I experience the compassion as a personal insult. The insult me. It makes me livid.'
He let her face.
A few minutes does he, he drinks are only wine. And then he calls her name. 'Kaisa,' he calls. And again, hard and stark: 'Kaisa.'
She looks at him, alarmed. But not so shocked that they would like to stand up and drain. They do not want to drain.
'When my wife again for the door was, I left her within,' he says now, but softer, almost in a whisper. 'Mededogen? Let me not laugh. I have left her within because I accept everything. Also her return, even her home. Because I am willing to adapt me to assimilate, No wife, a wife. Tirza, that is a different story. She was sick and i was the disease. That is the story. Other people can say: "I am sick. I must cure" or "I cannot heal, how much I would wish that." But the disease can not do that. That is the difference between the adjective and the noun. The disease must remain disease. I am the noun.'
The wine is on, but its cola not yet. He picks up its glass. 'MAG I?' he asks. He takes a few swallow. It tastes like it. But he has thirst.
'The story. Yes,' he says, 'the story of the family ship's steward is the destruction of the family ship's steward. That is the story. That is my story. A world without compassion is onvoorstelbaarder than the own death, therefore, we are still on the back, therefore it should be depends. I had in several places in my life have thought: I must back. This road is not mine, this road is not the best. But I did not go back. O certainly, Kaisa, sure…'
He is on, he will stand beside her, puts his hands on her head in her dress, that part of the back of the dress is not covered. 'There are choices,' he says, 'die are correct, there are choices that are bad, there are cases of doubt. As the highest form of compassion consists that you and the other in life, I can only confirm: I am a man without compassion. I lost my control, perhaps. But only when I lost my control, i was who i am. That portion of Jörgen ship's steward that outside the law is his hard core. That is why I am here. So here I am. Because I no longer need to have doubts about who i am.'
The child is running her face toward him. She looks at him. She is not afraid, why? She seems even to laugh. She smiles at the man who say things that they do not understand, words to which they probably do not agree to listen to me.
From the kitchen is music. The German-speaking transmitter of Namibia. Again.
Both listen to the radio them in the distance, without any can mean. And they smile.