Arnon Grunberg - Tirza

'Pap, do not be so weird. You have never met Choukri. You can have still not seen him.'

'Maybe here in the neighborhood?'

'Choukri never come in here. Choukri resides in another area.'

'In which area?'

'In the near the Central Station,' says the man. 'On one of the islands.'

Ship's steward nods. On one of the islands. He makes two further glass of Kir Royal, for the man and for his youngest daughter self he holds the at white wine.

'Dit,' he says, if all glass is full, 'dit here, where we are now, is the best part of the Van Eeghenstraat. Later, after Jacob Obrechtstraat, begins the lesser part. Also nice, but i would not want to live. In fact this place, these few square meters, the best place in Amsterdam and in the Netherlands.'

It rejects his glass against that of the man, then hit it gently against Tirza's glass. 'On this evening,' he says. 'On the feast. On your happiness and that of all the people. In accordance with Spinoza you can not be happy when your happiness others disappointed. You Know Who Spinoza was, I take it?'

'Pap, also no Spinoza tonight. And no Dostoevsky, no Tolstoy. Also not, ok. Please, pap?'

He are empty glass of wine and gives the right back full.

'You see,' he says. 'You see, Choukri, my daughter has me in the pliers. My daughter is my boss. That she was when she was born. From the first moment. And do you know why?' he begins to whisper, as if there is now a secret, something further nobody should know. 'As they are the solar queen. Tirza is the solar queen. Be careful they just now you also in the pliers.'

Ship's steward takes a large sip, puts his glass on the worktop, retrieves the champagne glass from Tirza's hand, drink that empty, switch the also on the worktop and lifts her.

He raises his daughter high into the air. As high as he can. And with difficulty, with smoky voting, because the breath is difficult, he says: 'you see? I can still lift her, my solar queen. If the must, I am wearing her by half Amsterdam. Not, Tirza?'

He then turns a round with her in his arms and another, and even a. He turns around in the kitchen, as a trophy, if a false goddess. He continues to rotate until it is no longer possible.

He puts her back on the ground. He is dizzy, he must hold on to the worktop. The kitchen is running for his eyes. His daughter is running for his eyes.

There is a silence. No one knows what is to be said. Tirza grabs Choukri's hand.

As they were three in the kitchen.

Ship's steward clears his throat. Slowly rotate the kitchen less. He will recover.

But still nobody knows what is to be said.

The silence is continuing. The silence is painful.

'come, we go inside,' says Tirza finally against her friend. 'We go to the party. My mother is there also. That you know it. But I do not you to its proposals.'

'It was fun with you to create knowledge, Mr ship's steward,' says the man. 'But we can see each other again later, I take it?'

'O certainly, we still see each other,' says the father. 'Later in the evening. Or another time.'

She leads the way, his daughter, and the man follows her, his hand in her hand. Also still swings Tirza to Jörgen, she winks at him. He is only in his kitchen.

And at that moment to fire him within what he has forgotten. The sushi. He has not offered their sushi.

He looks at his watch. It is almost a quarter to eleven.

Ship's steward keeps his head under cold running water and he takes a racket where in that head of him, the buzz of an insect, but he now knows what that buzz is. It is a prayer.

Without his face to dry it remains in the middle of the kitchen are dry. He can be against, he is refreshed. Tirza has arrived. Now you can start the party.

From the fridge he retrieves a dish with sashimi, he removes the foil and putting the fish from on the specially procured plateau. He says to himself: 'If the eleven hours, i go again sardines buckets.'

The wife has the boy on whose name is unable to come to the ship's steward but pressed up against a wall, they talk to him, the table is moved to the side, the exposure further attenuated, but the sashimi continues to do it properly. The people drink and eat eagerly. Hunger and thirst go hand in hand.

Tirza and her boyfriend speak with lady Field Camp. A girl, he is already forgotten her name, says to him: 'Come, Mr ship's steward, ga also dancing.' He shakes determination of no. 'I am tonight for the catering,' he says with a very friendly smile.

She listens hardly. The girl is already forgotten him. She pulls the economy teacher note. And Hans will also let pushalong.

In the middle of the living room is a ship's steward with the plateau in his hand. He has the feeling to be invisible. No unpleasant sensation. He is there without being there. The man that nobody stands out, so he can be mentioned. And he is strangely enough proud of. Not previously. Then a colleague said: 'I was on that book presentation and you know what happened?' And after a few minutes when there is a small quiet fell, noted on ship's steward: 'I know, I was there.'

He was been there, he was present, but no one had seen him.

He is studying the party. Tirza and her boyfriend are still in conversation with lady Field Camp. Never knew that lady Veldkamp as animated can talk, she is loosened. Mrs of mining seems also well entertained. Yes, this is the time the people come loose, and if the people come loose, ship's steward like his sashimi. You must have some in your stomach have for you make contact with your deepest and most hidden drifting. He looks at the friend of his youngest daughter he loves him in the holes.

Someone collides with him and asks: 'There is also tuna?'

If in trance he points to a piece of fish and than he tail back to the boyfriend of his youngest daughter.

He continues to stare.

Ship's steward now knows why that face him as familiar, he now knows to whom the boy reminds him. He does not understand that he has seen straight away. Everything is now clear to him. Mohammed Atta. If two drops of water. The same chin, the same eyes, the same style. A Brother of Mohammed Atta. A doppelganger. Mohammed Atta themselves, would he say almost if he is not almost certainly knew that man was dead.

With the half-empty plateau he runs back to the kitchen. He drinks quick a glass of wine, leans with both hands on the refrigerator and think: Mohammed Atta is in my house. Atta has arrived. Atta is resurrected.

It converts a pan on the fire, the oil, garlic, salt, pepper and the sardines within easy reach. The pan must be hot. He touch with his finger at the edge. Please wait. It is still not the case.

Ship's steward know not what to do, he does not know how to stop this disaster, therefore he concentrates on the sardines. But that it is a disaster, doubt he no longer. Mohammed Atta is a disaster. What else?

He makes a new bottle of wine open. Italian gewürztraminer. The wine he has together with Tirza sorted out. He looks for all wine together with Tirza. For many months, for years. They tried it inspects, he is buying.

'Jörgen.'

He turns around.

His wife.

Her body seems even more from the textiles to grow than at the beginning of the evening.

He now has no time for her. He is going to sardines buckets.

'Jörgen.'

The pan is hot. Slow the, if only you wait. Very slowly. But now it is here. The oil can.

'Jörgen, I am talking to you.'

'I am to cooking. You can see that not? I bucket sardines.'

It is a few steps closer.

'I don't, I would just like to know whether there is still some rum is.'

The sardines in the pan. He is doing them one at a time. Of these moments enjoying. He loves cooking. More than on the food itself he holds of the cooking. He is the begin to appreciate, slowly, gradually.