Arnon Grunberg - Tirza

Ship's steward entered the room which served as the living room. The door was open. There did not have to be beaten.

The lessee was behind Ibi. The trousers to the ankles.

Hofmeesters daughter was with her bare upper body half on the dining table that he had ever looked into and that it seemed extremely suitable for an apartment that had to be furnished. Its nail skirt was up poached. Poached, that was the word that was left sitting in Hofmeesters Main. Poached. Poached.

The scene made him think of certain movies that unsavory channels afforded after midnight. And then that music.

All about his respiratory distress were gone. That he just in the stairwell was still think about a premature end he could already do not remind me again.

One second he continued to his Ibi to watch. Then he did a step forward. With his left hand, he hijgde still somewhat, handle a small stalamp he laid the wife had investigated, but that unfit for your own house. Hand-me-downs moved to above.

His daughter was fucked if a beast. A scene that you expected to take action on a farm, in a stable. Not in the best part of the Van Eeghenstraat.

Hofmeesters breathing squeeked.

He grip the stalamp more firmly. He could not move in this direction. It felt as if he was, hard and fucked deep. As if the impact is not intended for his daughter, but for him. As if he was humiliated, the landlord, the owner of this property, in his own house humiliated. His body was pain. His body was dying for breath.

He had the strange sensation that he was torn open. The longer he looked, the more he became convinced that he was the person who by the tenant fucked was, hard and indifferent. With dedain.

Finally we heard them.

At least, the tenant heard it. The man turned around to saw his house boss, showed Ibi, his hands slid perilously of its submission.

The architect did something ship's steward could not hate: he grijnsde. With his pants, a gray trousers, on its knees. He grijnsde as though it was a joke, an unfortunate but still funny meeting. The grin of the hilarity was firmly on the face of the architect. It was a tad uncomfortable, it was actually to prote hours. That he gleamed. Hilarity, nothing but hilarity.

No shame — no fear, a grin.

The stalamp ship's steward grip even more firmly. He did a few steps in the direction of the lessee, looked at him in the eyes and hit when, while Ibi broke away from the dining table as if it were only now its realized that a provisional end was copulatie, hard with the stalamp on the head of the lessee. The sound of breaking glass still insisted to ship's steward and then he saw stains, as if he had stood up too quickly. He felt dizzy, but he did not in each other. Did the tenant.

Without too much noise to make the tenant fell on the ground.

Perhaps it was also the music which was so hard that all the other was drowned out. How could you music as loud? There were sometimes no neighbors? Had the ears are not enough to suffer from street noise?

The architect was cases and ship's steward was standing here with the stalamp in his hands while he heard his daughter shrilling: 'Papa.'

Around him was glass. The small, round lampshade was shattered by skipped. And he was there with the remnant of a stalamp in his hand. A stem, more there was really not about. One moment he did not itself more exactly where he was. And why he was here, what he came again. He had to grip, he had to stop and think.

They krijste. Ibi krijste as a child. If a hysterica.

They ran to the corner of the room and then back again. They covered her breasts. They withdrew its nail skirt downwards. That they forgot not. She was so worked now again not. They continued to pull down the, she loved it, they goldsmiths clung to its own nail skirt set as if it was a life jacket.

If you only to its screeching listened, you would say: a psychiatric case, advertisement in the Valerius Clinic. Then maybe you could say: the madness has its invaded, the madness has its won.

Her face made a older impression than her body. By the makeup probably. By so often and thoroughly that they play an adult it was a bit grown up. In her face. In her eyes. In the way in which she looked at.

But her body told a different story.

Her upper arms were thin as a scharminkel. As a child. There was no meat on its buttocks. That was all yet to come. The story of her body was childish.

No reason to screeching, no reason to be so worked up.

Its trainers, of a mark that is currently very popular but whose ship's steward but not the name could remember, were under the endearing spijkerrok This shop requires.

Everything he saw everything he took in located on, while his daughter ran back and forth by the living room of the lessee, as if they did not know what was her, what may also be so. A beast, in panicking by the storm on a summer evening.

But the father was a word. He was there with the remainder of the stalamp in his hands.

On the table he saw an envelope. The rental.

This was Ibi come here. He was already ready for her, the envelope. But something was between them and then it was that remain envelope. Innocent and immaculate.

The money brought him again at risk phrases. Money was just a todo cold water over your head. The thought of the rescued rent it from the overriding feeling of paralysis.

Slowly came a back to life in the body of the lessee. He moved. He called on end. crab He addressed the Commission. He pulled up to the table edge. From a wound on the top left of his forehead droop blood.

His trousers was hanging again on his ankles.

The grin on his face was fortunately disappeared.

When understood exactly where he ship's steward was. The hoped for by him. He was looking for Ibi. His Ibi. That was why he was here. Ibi was not returned.

He had listened to Elgar and an evening sheet read, to him too long until he had received suspicion.

The stalamp, at least the remainder thereof, he put down and he schraapte his throat.

The tenant looked at him, confused, as though he did not understand what had happened, as if no one here understand what exactly happened.

But a ship's steward recalled the humiliation, the tenant standing behind Ibi, triumphantly and hungry, as he had been there. The Triumph of the beast, that he would not forget in a hurry. The Triumph of the man. Because that is sex for the man, a victory. I have her, I take her, I use her, I take her in use.

And by who knew a ship's steward again reminder he went to say. What he had to say, what he already had a long time ago had to say.

'Turn music from,' he roared just up.

That he remembered now again, he did not speak, he went roar. He could harder than the roar music, he could everyone and everything about screaming.

The young architect week reverse, and it was only when he tried to walk, he seemed to note how difficult the situation was. How unpleasant it was the landlord with trousers and underpants on the ankles.

He drew up the pants, hastily and inconvenient. On his forehead was that large bloody place. The blood was not yet solidified, it was still fresh and only trickled. But the nakedness annoyed him apparently more, the nakedness was more urgent.

The architect wore a boxer shorts saw a ship's steward. He hated boxer shorts.

And he saw something: the man had no condom around.

Ship's steward really was disgusted by the architect. He had him from the outset should not have been adopted. To nice, slimy, to kowtow to, and if it came to the crunch, too difficult. When his daughter was not there, he had his hands now to the throat of the architect and the life from him, as you squeeze life from a tiny kitten squeeze. Also by pressing, also persist, also the attention closer and road is life.