Arnon Grunberg - Tirza

Ship's steward sweat. Under his armpits he sees wet spots. The moisture of a long night.

'What possessed you?' The voice of his daughter sounds not accusing but inquisitive. Almost curious.

'When? What I would have had to revitalize?'

'Met Ester. A short while ago. What… What about you?'

He rubs his cheeks, his mouth, his forehead. He would like to say something, but there is nothing in it. The beast in him had spoken, and the beast speaks without words. The language of the beast is speechless. The bite and licked, as well as spitting out and tearing open. But such as people speak, no, not.

'Date you think is bad enough, but that you do. To my party.'

He looks to the balcony. The doors are open.

'It was a nice party,' says he slowly. "Everyone has being entertained, i to all guests are concerned. Nobody is something deficit. There was enough sushi. And also the sashimi is not yet.'

'Papa, give answers.'

'What was asking you?'

'What you possessed? What you thought? What you came about? About did you something?'

He picks up his shoulders, a typical motion for him, and while he that for the second time, as though this movement must be sufficient response, they sit on the bed. In addition to him, but with distance, they do not touch each other.

'I WANT not," she says, 'i not more to you can think about when dad. Mama already exists. Not for me at least. I do not want to be rejected. I want you to papa continues. I am too young to be stressed.'

He would like to scream if a downed soldier who can only hope for a final shot but by his comrades is not found. Nowhere is a ship's steward. And to be honest: nobody is searching for him.

'I remain who i was,' he says with hoarse voice. 'Everything remains as it was. There is nothing has changed.'

'But I think you really dirty. You are dirty for me.' Despite these words she explains her hand in his neck and also does he think he dies, also does he know what it is: die.

'I,' he says, 'we are going down. We will go together to the bottom. It is not very. Ester and I played it. And it ran out of hand. That can happen. Certainly at a party.'

He tries to get up, but he must gather strength and courage. And while he is doing, he tries the word 'dirty' to understand. It is for him that he had always been dirty for themselves and for others, and that its attempts to come closer were nothing else than attempts to be less dirty. In that one word, expressed carelessly, it seems, at the core of its existence. The constant factor.

'What did you?'

'a game,' he whispers. 'a game, Tirza. Sometimes you have to play that you are someone else. That is healthy. You must be flexible dealing with your identity. Only lunatics continue all the time who they are. I am your father, and you are my daughter, my love and my youngest daughter, my love most daughter. But sometimes we play that we have someone else, that you for example the solar queen are and i the high priest. In order not to be completely crazy should we play. To make our sense not to lose. We have no choice. How savvy you are, the better you can play. You are very intelligent, therefore you can play so well.'

When he thinks of the word 'dirty' he thinks of the degree of fear, he thinks of itself: a man with the degree of fear, a man who has his own body looks like a filthy public toilet. And as the expiration of that body shall recover the fear, who actually nothing else than censure, larger.

'I understand you not," she says. 'But that does not matter. I think. It does not matter that I do not understand you. If you get it all but would not deny it. You can also say: "I'm sorry."'

'Yes,' he says, 'you understand me. You understand me very well.'

Still has its hand in his neck and much more than he has just now need a glass of Italian gewürztraminer, bacing alone would provide a solution, the smell, the opening of the bottle.

'I need you when dad," she says, 'you understand? I need you when dad.'

'I need you too,' he whispers, 'Tirza, I need you too." And he pushes his fist in his mouth and he bites. He bites as the beast he reports to have thought, the word dummy beast that lives in him.

Still he will hear the music from downstairs.

'Was you have drunk?' she asks.

'Yes,' he says relieved, 'the drink that was it. The drink.'

Now he can get up. Now he has the force. A simple yet powerful response.

But they do not leave his neck.

'DUS I do not need to worry when I am in Africa?'

'Of course not,' he says, 'Why should you care? To whom? For me? Why?'

'It all goes well, even if I'm not there? Even if mama weather goes away? That makes no difference? You stay here just for yourself?'

'Of course,' he says, 'i live further. As I have arranged for you, I will make for myself, even if you are in Africa. I have heard no necessary. I live there is simply a loose, you know that yet?'

'But papa," she says, 'You can't. Life. Manage that you not at all.'

To her hand in his neck he notes that they cries.

He is still a part of his fist in his mouth. It soothes. The tines in the own meat moons are thoughts for calm.

'Why have you actually made us?'

He has bitten hard enough. The printing of his teeth are in the meat of his hand. 'It was an idea of your mother,' he says, 'but as soon as I saw I was sold. I was sold — sold at all.'

'O.'

He is on, iron are smooth and stops the shirt better in his pants. Also he has the feeling that he has under control again. Now he is the father he wanted to be the last few years, the man who paternity as appeal, in which all its ambitions lead. Distant, but charming. In the word joke about the tenderness, in the flauwiteiten and mops which he and his daughter and her friends to confront is the love that must remain legally.

'And what happens,' he asks, 'if you go in Africa with that Mohammed Atta and you come to a two meter long negro against which you will find very nice? What then?'

'DAN I write you a ticket," she says. 'Dan i write: "Hey pap, I am a two meter long negro encountered which I find quite nice."'

In the distance they hear the sounds of 'bei mir bist du schön'.

They have started again with the music. Everything starts from the beginning.

He runs to the door. 'I,' he says, 'come.' on the ground still the scale with sashimi, but he let him.

Caution If a gray nature he goes down the stairs.

There are five or six people in the living room. Mrs of Mining is in a corner and talk with a pupil. Glass everywhere, serv plants with remnants of raw fish, on the basis of many rice, still more glass, beer bottles, remnants of garnish with which he had drawn up the shells. Against the wall, in the vicinity of the dining table, the wife against a boy printed whose face for ship's steward is hidden. They are involved in a kiss. Mohammed Atta he sees nowhere.

Everything in the room smells of celebration. Old celebration.

He turns to Tirza. 'Where is Mohammed Atta?' he asks.

'Choukri,' says they emphatically, 'Choukri is to house. I have said that he had to go but. I would not that he should have longer firsthand.'

She points to her mother. And in which one eight-free movement is the declaration for many. The mother who cannot. The parent who has never wanted to.

On the table next to the bank is a half full glass of wine. Ship's steward picks it and drank the hastily empty.

'I install your path,' he says. 'I bring you there. You fly from Frankfurt? I bring you to the airport.' It is a coincidence, but one that it gives energy. Suddenly he has hope.

'Dat do not need. We can also with the train.'

'No, no,' says ship's steward, 'let me well. And then we are still a one night stay in the Betuwe, in the house of grandpa and grandma. Then we still a weekend under each other. For you to leave. I mean that of Mohammed Atta did not so bad. It seems that he may be of little use to do so. Do not take it so heavy, take it all with not so heavy.'