Arnon Grunberg - Tirza

A few evenings talked with the ship's steward sociologist about sociology, Adorno, Expressionism, the middle mountains, Tolstoy, the small boat of the sociologist with which he in the summer on the Baltic Sea enter again and again the small boat of the sociologist, because sailing was so wonderful. Everything was good enough if conversation subject, except the clinic, the child, the disease. But the fifth evening said the sociologist: 'You will find the well as I do not here this evening you sit at a table bowl?'

'Of course,' said ship's steward, 'no problem.'

He had obviously said something they did not like what the sociologist, perhaps too strong a shaded, but in the eyes of the sociologist unsubstantiated opinion about an expressionist closer. Or was his enthusiasm about the Baltic Sea is not large enough? Ship's steward did not know what had caused the separation, but it made him pain, this small, insignificant incident. The jar.

Also he had contact, as he had found someone, had for a long time the lasted not. And from the evening that the sociologist had said that he was not part of a ship's steward to table wild come together they knikten only, from a distance. Very polite, almost invisible knikjes for third parties were the. Failed fathers who each other on distance loved.

Weeks perished and what no one had expected, ship's steward altogether, happened. Tirza began to heal, slow, very slowly, with the occasional drop, but nevertheless, it was not to deny, they Genas.

All that time stayed in the guest house. ship's steward On his work they understood the. And if not, than they had bad luck. Two times per day he visited his daughter in the clinic. In the morning and at the end of the afternoon. Never long. Twenty minutes, a quarter of an hour. Gradually he dared to see her again.

And between by, whether it is raining or not, snowed or not, he walked through the hills. Now and then he came the sociologist against on a hiking trail and then they very briefly to the knikten together without stand still. These are the moments when I felt a calm and light ship's steward grief.

The clearer every day: Tirza did what her father is not willing or able to do, and he knew he felt. During the walks he thought sometimes I must ask: its how you do that, cure. Where you start and how do you know you are done. But he wanted her not to bother with difficult questions.

And after three months to have spent in the lovely, almost innocent landscape of South Germany, Tirza was acquitted. They should go home.

The father took her in reception and he had to think on its birth, when he her on a cold and rainy day in the hospital in Amsterdam of a sister in his hands had been pressed. A package. A bundle. A worm wrapped in blankets. And he had its cooperation with the wife in a taxi ride home. Was he been proud, but also anxious.

He had the idea that they are now as tar and was sensitive as an infant.

In the car back to Amsterdam she said not much. Only at the border she asked: 'denk you think I should do this year?'

'I don't,' he said. 'I think you all can catch up. Otherwise it is also not a disaster.'

He was no father for his youngest daughter in, that was what his wife had said. A friend, a colleague, a lover, a platonic lover perhaps, but nevertheless a lover, only no father.

Now he had to be father. In the world of the fathers he was a convert, and like all converts: a fanatic.

In the evening he climbed not more the stairs to read Tirza, he brought her more to celloles, it urged its not more to enter swimming competitions, he took away.

Sometimes he was just might for the bookcase, but now he was no longer in a position to read out her had Russian Library her charm for him to be lost. There was no one to communicate his enthusiasm and he understood gradually itself not what he ever to those books had been found.

It seemed like there a cheese cloth as it was implemented. As if the content had become dusty. As if the equal of Tolstoy now really up to him by urged. Eitle Kurzweil müßiger man. No longer a comical and at the same time also tragic conception of a writer on age, a mistake but a inescapable therefore truth.

Still less he went for his books box, there is a book in vain did he already fully never again. Read only he did for his work.

This was a ship's steward has become a man who was afraid to become what he never wanted to be more: the lover of the woman who was his daughter.

He wanted to paternity to properly fulfill, no parent evening he forged on, no call or letter of school he left unanswered, and yet he took measures is not all that much. If Tirza visit had he by the housing demolition, sometimes he went to the barn for its not to interfere in its privacy. He asked minimal where they had been and where they are going, he operated and cared for her, he loved her in silence and seclusion.

Only now can he that silence cannot be maintained. Even the most depraved father would say: 'No, baby, Mohammed Atta, it seems to me that this is not a good idea.'

Also he thinks that the bliksemt, he expects to hear a surprise. But he sees by the kitchen window that the lightning the light in the barn. To turn on and off the. On and Off. Than he recalls where he was doing. Ester a glass of orange juice.

He looks around because he no longer sure whether he already had a glass for pouring it. He can not find.

Ship's steward fill in a wine glass with orange juice. The light in the barn remains on and off. Would that child cause a short circuit? It is crazy?

With ferme steps, the glass in his hand, ship's steward to the barn.

He presses the door impetuously open. It is they, on the reverse bucket, the string of the light in her hand.

"Do you want to stop doing?' says ship's steward measured.

'Doe i something wrong?'

She looks at him sincerely surprised. As if they were never has understood that adults do not play with the light, like they are at home nothing else.

'Yes, you do something error. You play with the light and it has been a while. So we get short circuit.'

'I was in thoughts, sorry.'

She picks up the glass of orange juice from him. They point out, as if there sipping spirits is in.

'This is from a pak with pulp?'

'What?'

She takes another SIP.

'I believe the under a pak, it is the last remnants. Can that is true?'

'It is orange juice, if you do not like you leave the. Listening…' he does his arms akimbo. He thinks he radiates as authority. 'I do not know what you are used to at home, but as far as I am concerned, you now have long enough in the barn. Or you can go to home, whether you're in the party.'

They sigh. She looks tired. 'who are all on the feast?'

Strictly looks down on the ship's steward girl that in his barn on a bucket to sit down and have not more.

'Your classmates, your teachers, my daughters and my wife, Mohammed Atta. Go to see for yourself. Without you not so.'

That tired look.

'Who is Mohammed Atta again?'

Even of the history that they have experienced they know nothing. They have slept through it. The elderly who have not heard the call. Young eldery, that they are. To recoup before the start puberty.

'a rapper.'

'O Yes.'

'He rapte like a madman,', 'and further ship's steward he raps still. I escorteer Ester, you can now go to the living room and then you can take the call with your peers continue.'

It is found on the bucket. Slowly, tormenting dialog they slowly.

'I think nobody nice.'

'Dan you will learn the people but to find nice.' Now that he is in the role of educator shot, he is no longer there. In fact he thinks that role delicious. The character of the educator gives a ship's steward grip. The mild irony of the didactic tone is his stool, are reading glasses, hearing device.