Arnon Grunberg - Tirza

And while he thinks he is still exists, while it up to him that he is alive and he is the content of that life seems to see, this is the life, this, nothing than this, this overcome despair, vingert he her. Not very good, not exactly, not gently, about basket by his own desire but then again not very bad for a man of his age, late in the evening, standing in the barn.

After some searching and gropings he has found her clit and now he is not loose.

It is as a type of error in a manuscript, he does not fall off until he has found him. As he has sought, as Esters clitoris a forgotten quote, a Missing comma. With its old has fingers he dug in her as in his garden.

'You will find me, Mr ship's steward?' she asks.

'Very nice,' he says. He has respiratory distress. He is talking about as someone who has run too hard. 'Very nice, more than Nice, much more than just nice, are not nice. Sweet, sweet, awful sweet.'

And he rubs her clit like he does more often, weekly. As if it were his work. As well as working in the garden. Rakes, seeding, caps. Manual labor he never shunned has not at all after the disease of his youngest daughter. It leads him of that calm, bright sadness that actually never has disappeared after that walks through the middle mountains. He thought that life was, light and calm sadness. But no.

And then he bending, He kneels, with its good trousers, in the dirty barn, and he begins the klasgenote Tirza kutje of's to lick. He licked and licked, and remember more of the party, the sushi and sashimi, the time, the thirsty openings, the hungry stomachs of the partyers. For the party he always seems to have forgotten now. Only for him is still Ester.

So you can forget: kneeling in the barn, as licking as a dog, your hands on the buttocks of a klasgenootje of your youngest daughter. And is not forgotten heal? He is now finally on the cure not? It is not turn?

He expresses his face more firmly against her sex part, he expresses his nose against the clitoris of Tirza's klasgenootje which no one nice is found, it rubs against it with its old, molded nose, and he smells, he smells, he pants. If someone is too long has been submerged in water, and which is now finally comes and to breath nibbles. The odour, which smell only, that is the life, the more he that smell, the more he sprinkles it, the more he knows that he lives. Only those scent consists, the rest: reflections on the death, detours, leads.

'You will find me nice?' requires Ester.

He lifts a. Out of breath, saliva around his mouth, on his chin, a part of his cheeks, his nose. The whole of his face is wet with his saliva and esters moisture. He looks like a barbarian.

'Mewe,' says ship's steward, 'more than Nice. Much more than beautiful.'

He makes his pants open, awkward and with trembling hands because of the haste and excitement. But he still exists. Anything other than that he does not feel, does he not, he takes not true, the sensation of its own existence which all predominant, which through anything calls, which no convention quite late. The own desire that nothing and no one protects, who finally claims its place in this God abandoned universe. And then, while his trousers and pants down Kate rolls up, he has this ridiculous idea: my desire, it is God. It is the only living God.

He turns to, they vacillate Ester, is fixed to the handle of the mower and to a wooden board. 'How nice you will find me on a scale of 1 to 10?' she asks and he rubs his sex on its pubic hair, looking for its opening. He can not find the opening.

'How nice you will find me, Mr ship's steward, how nice you will find me well?'

They whines. They keep harping. Its Ester without h. It proposes to ask him at the time that he has lost all his voice. No more words, finally no more words. Deeds.

They should help him. His act requires assistance.

She pushes him to go to inside.

She helps him because she wants him, he thinks.

When he fanatically her jeans down, so fucking he also. Snuivend, gasping for breath. And everywhere it smell her. The sharp smell of her sex part, and vague also the smell of relief. Fresh relief.

He will hear someone in the distance 'papa'. And once again: 'Papa, where are you?'

In a second, in a fraction of a second, is his memory back. At least a part of it.

'Papa,' he will hear again.

He let Ester, abrupt, alarmed. Something called up to him by. Where he is, who he is, what he is trying to do so.

He staggered the barn from, the trouser still on his knees, it for Tirza.

She was already closer than he had thought.

'Papa," she says, 'Lady Field Camp will go home.'

Tirza looks at him, her gaze slides on his body. Its eyes are as two instruments of torture. He feels them.

Still breathes it heavy. He sees now also lady Field Camp. It is they, and she looks at him, initially still smiling, now more serious.

The teacher and the father. Motionless. Two people in a garden, on a warm evening in the early summer. Equally powerless to bring a word. In the living room, the final exam party by

Then recovers lady Veldkamp itself. They will be the person who order in the class maintains, even if unforeseen things happen. It continues to maintain the order. Even here. Even now.

'Meneer ship's steward," she says, 'When I arrived here was you half-naked and you are now the weather.'

He bending, it lifts his pants, frommelt to the belt, he can not find the holes. Where are the holes? What has he thought? Where he was doing? Where are the holes of the belt?

He is panting and everywhere it smell Ester without h, everything smells like her, the whole garden, even lady Veldkamp smells of Ester without h.

But also a ship's steward recovers itself. Now cross hidden from view, it goes back to whom he should be maintained, the host, the man of the sushi and sashimi, Tirza's father.

'I will you outlets,' he says.

'Does you no trouble,' explains lady Veldkamp, 'You seem to have enough pressure here in the garden.'

Then run away. Faux Fur Hemline. In this way they.

She looks even once and to her look he sees now that they do not at all like it. She looks as to a horrible accident. He wonders where it has remained Tirza.

'Tirza,' he calls.

She is the sanding went inside. He hears her talk with Ester, but he cannot mean what they say. And still he seeks the holes of his belt.

He gets closer. He is uncertain. Wank Elend actually. Dizzy the pleasures that he narrowly missed is Always very little of it.

This is Ester. Still with the jeans on her ankles. They state that if a statue. And he would be inclined to swear that they triumphantly looks. Maybe even happy. He would dare to swear.

'Papa, what has been done?'

He shakes his head. 'nothing', 'nothing he panting slightly.' He pulls Tirza the barn from, takes her note to the back of the garden, to the dark area where no one can see them, he thinks.

'Tirza,' he says, 'my Tirza.'

'What happened?' she insists. She is not satisfied with the word 'nothing', while that it so summarizing.

He takes her face between his hands as he previously held face has been esters. She pushes his hands away.

'What happened?' calls on them.

'SSTT,' he says, 'sstt.'

But they will not allay. Tirza do not silence. Not more.

'I know what happened. I know exactly what has happened. I am not fond. Do you think I'm crazy? She is sitting in my class, dad. Ester is to me in the class.'

They reply on behalf of him, she speaks on behalf of the Father who with the best will in the world do not speak can.

He wants its grasp in order to soothe her but she pushes him away.

They cries.

At the very least it began Ester if laugh, as nibble to an imaginary cake.

He thinks it is terrible as Tirza cries. And now even more horrendous than otherwise, this evening much more horrendous.