Arnon Grunberg - Tirza

And if they are a wreck is, what is it? Why is he not succeeded in old to be as other people old? Quality and more or less gradually. With that as a matter of course that all animals. The fact that the same thing will happen, the own body and that of others.

'Pap.'

The voice of Tirza is so beautiful, he says.

They called on him, as very earlier when she was potty training. Or in her room and had a question about her homework.

'I come,' he calls back and he thinks: that will be the taxi are. That is why it is called him: the taxi has arrived.

He runs to the barn.

'You taxi,' he says against Ester, which is still in its bucket.

They are not. She looks at him do not agree.

'Have you money for the taxi?' he asks. 'How much is it actually to Amstelveen?'

They are silent.

In his pocket he is looking for his wallet. He takes a note from one hundred euro. He wants to give to her, but it is not.

'Dat is too much," she says.

'I did not less. Come and change but also along, if you coming to dinner. Or simply if you have time. Come and along.'

He lifts her on the bucket. And also state they are close to him in his arms. Also it smell its, an intoxicating smell. A smell that more than anything else young and healthy and feminine. Everything he is not and will not, therefore, he is so.

'Does not hurt your buttocks,' he asks, 'an entire evening at a bucket sit?'

'My buttocks do no pain. Not more than otherwise.'

As if they are injured, as though they themselves can not run, he brings her by the kitchen to the street. The last part he has its only by its upper arm. As you hold a child that is delaying when traversing. The father is afraid of the approaching vehicles. Something to securely, slightly high he holds the child.

Tirza state on the street with a boy and chat. They will ignore her father.

The taxi is not there yet. He has no idea why Tirza called him. But he dares to ask her. She is on a call. He must leave her with peace.

Mrs of mining comes out. She gets her bicycle of the lock. To swing Tirza they still have some time but they pretend they do not see a ship's steward and Ester. The contrasts him. The invisibility, forced invisibility.

'However, Mrs Digging Home,' he calls.

There is no response. They lock depends on its steering.

'However, Mrs Digging Home,' is called a ship's steward again. 'Thank you for coming.'

Again no reply. They ride away as if they were not at the Hofmeesters but at the neighbors.

This is not a calm and light sorrow, but hard pain. The pain of the redundancies, the rejection, the failure.

'a likeable woman,' he says to the girl as Mrs of mining the corner. 'And well conserved.'

As they wait on the street, ester and ship's steward. Its Street, the Van Eeghenstraat, the best of Amsterdam, and the best in The Netherlands. He has lived there. He still live there. But it has not helped.

If the taxi at last, and is already Tirza inwards.

He pushes Ester the carriage in.

'Where do you live?' he asks.

Again no answer.

An arrogant gaze. But not, how will it say so, love-free. In the eyes of the girl he recognizes something of his own desire, and as soon as he has recognized this desire he should think of her sex part, on his hands in that sex part how iden and grazing wet she was. For him. Wet and from him.

And it seems as if all the dignity and humanity that he still held is located in the damp sex part of that girl, as if he were in that moisture, in that horny, has found his dignity, as though he were Mrs of mining and the others is emerging, even if it is only for a moment.

'Where do you live?' he repeats. He squeeze in its upper arm.

'somewhere in Amstelveen,' says Ester without h.

'They must to Amstelveen,' says ship's steward against the driver. The man looks at him, dubious. Disparagingly for Hofmeesters feeling.

'Amstelveen,' reiterates Tirza's father with the smile of a man for whom nobody need fear.

The driver gas.

Ship's steward swings the taxi after without knowing why and without even thinking that will look at him Ester. He waves her after, as he imaginary passengers on Schiphol swaying, not to fall.

If he wants to go to the inside, he notes that the front door is closed and that he has no keys. He must ring the bell. First does he briefly, then if there after half a minute still no response, longer and harder. Impatient. Although he does not want to.

He shivering.

Tirza does open.

'Ibi sleep all," she says. Warning, but not unfriendly.

'Everyone is way?'

'Everyone is way.'

It is not one side. They lean with the side of her head against the tiles in the hallway.

'Did you a nice party, Tirza? You say that it was a nice holiday in spite of everything?'

There is no answer.

They only says: 'Despite everything', but they say it as if they were asked. 'How do you mean: despite everything?' sound.

'Papa.'

He wants to within, he has the cold.

'Papa," she says, "If I do not here more living, how should it be? I would like to know.'

'Let me to within,' he says.

"How?'

Ship's steward thinks of the time that he was in a guest house in South Germany lived and they were working in a clinic to cure. He thinks of her cello. The music stand. On the versions on the music school. He was always on the first row. And he looked at his daughter as if he had its hypnotising, as if he thought that they would play a wrong note if he would take to watch.

'Speel what to me,' he says.

'What?'

'On Your cello. Play what to me.'

'Now?'

'Now'.

They laughs. 'You're not good.' as if he has made a joke, to table, while two friends have continued to eat. A not very successful joke.

Always if friends or girlfriends were eating or play, he made jokes. According to a ship's steward of the father is a struggle.

'It is important.'

They must play for him, as previously, on her cello. That is what he is now still can think, that is all that can save him. His youngest daughter and her cello.

'I have not played for years.'

'Dat does not matter. You are not forgotten. Something rather imposes not.' You

'Everyone sleeps. Mama is also already up.'

'They sleep through it. They are used, of the past.'

'Papa," she says, and with the side of her head leaning back still against the tiled, 'You're not good point. It is true what Ibi me told years ago. You are really not good.'

Between all its other thoughts by he also wonders how it must have been a father that will not good point is, but because he did not reply to that question, he says: 'I am healthy, Tirza. Just as healthy as you. And I ask only or you what to me. A Sentimental question perhaps, a strange question in the middle of the night. But not not properly.'

She looks at him. Its lips curls itself. He has no idea whether it is a smile. 'Papa' whispers to them. She looks to love him, understandable. 'I want best one more time for you to play but not now.'

'No, Tirza. So immediately. This evening. Tonight.'

They are silent.

He does not understand themselves why this is so important to him is a neck now all other matters have been resolved, neck disappeared. What else could still be important in his life?

He picks up his wallet from his pocket. 'I pay you sure,' he says. 'I'll give you extra spending money for Namibia.'

It counts the most of what there is to paper money in it. 'Here,' he says, 'over five hundred euro. You can use the good in Africa.'

'Papa.'

They fingers with the back of her hand on his cheek.

'Papa, why do you want that i for your play?'

He is there with the paper money in his hand. More he has not. Perhaps he has never had more than that. Paper money had to conceal the fact that he had nothing else to offer. It pays. Pay is freedom. Pay is dignity. 'Because it makes me happy,' he says. 'Because it makes me so happy.' He wants its money in the hands push, but she still makes a defense gesture.