Arnon Grunberg - Tirza

She puts one hand on his shoulder. Together they looking at the garden in which he Africa sees, what he does not even feel uncomfortable. He thinks it is at most strange that he has not previously noticed that Africa in its garden begins.

'We are going about a quarter of an hour away,' he says. 'He is punctual, which…'

Would he say Mohammed Atta. He gulps in.

'Yes, papa," she says, 'very pünktlich, for a Moroccan extremely pünktlich.'

They rent to top, like they forget something. Ship's steward serves a cup of coffee.

In a small leather bag has he what underwear, socks, two shirts and trousers that attracts he if he works in the garden stopped.

He is nervous as if he, himself, on a trip around the world.

For the umpteenth time that morning it counts the money in his wallet, the flight schedule of his daughter by, and consider a list of activities which it intends to carry out in the garden that has ever been of his parents.

If he is ready, the wife in the kitchen. She has her dressing gown. A new. She buys a lot. Still. They cross the arm out.

'goose bumps," she says, 'you see? So cold i. The heater can not?'

He becomes unemployed its arm idea, embodied his wallet again than

'When you are back?' she asks.

'Sunday night. I drive in one flick through from Frankfurt. Their aircraft to eight hours in the evening, so I will be at 7 p.m. the children have waved goodbye.'

'To seven hours you will they have waved away," she says. 'How long does that uitzwaaien gone completely? And then we are under each other, Jörgen. We have to face up to the two of them have to rescue.'

'What do you mean?'

'As I say, than we are. Than we are again à deux. As in the past.'

'As in the past? À deux?'

He runs to the corridor. Tirza comes down the stairs, retrieves its luggage from the kitchen and tighten who already outside.

'Your boyfriend is not there yet,' he says. 'Why should you today outside? On the street, in the rain?'

'I am not in the rain.'

He picks up Tirza's backpack and bring them to the Volvo. 'Jesus, what heavy,' he calls. 'What have you been stopped? A funeral?'

He opens the tailgate, and after he the backpack as good as possible in the boot has eliminated, he remains a bending. As if he were a little to the amicable settlement is, the saw that are not well located, a plastic bag with the seed for grass. But he does not want his daughter sees how he goes down. That is what he is doing, if a machine: failed.

After he has restored he runs back to the kitchen and now also brings its own leather case to the vehicle. An old, worn bag that still of his father.

The wife is to the outside world.

Than they were three in the porch. If a unit as a — there is no other word for it — family. The family is just one more time in the porch.

I get the cold,' says the wife. 'It is not summer. Is this summer? I would like to mention the winter.'

And Tirza replies: 'Go but to top, I am now saying goodbye to you.' She coast her mother once on each cheek.

It is a step back as if they were its still as good wants to watch, the woman from whom they eighteen years ago is playing it. The woman who hated them for many years.

'Write down something,' says the mother, 'or call. Collect call may also. You will find that father laid no problem.'

She goes back to the house and ship's steward looks at her after. Not very elegant is, in spite of its age. By all the expiration back does she always think of the woman who they long, has been a long time ago: the woman who does not wrongly thought that the world was at its feet. Its got to know when a ship's steward, instructed the world on its hands. And now? The hands were tired of wearing. As somewhat abrasive is that world.

Now they are together in the porch, father and daughter. The father more nervous than the daughter, playing with the car keys, friemelend to its required, searching in his trouser pockets. He picks up between the hand of his daughter and squeeze.

'Can you not call him?' he asks.

'He does so.'

So they remain there, two minutes, three minutes, ten minutes. Silently. The man who is to be filled, the daughter of a trip around the world.

Until they called upon: 'You have him!' She looks to the right, the side of the Jacob Obrechtstraat, and ship's steward looks with her.

He sees a man in a tracksuit by the rain, a sports bag casually on his shoulder. Mohammed Atta, he thinks. There you have it. He is back. He is there. That they do not see it.

Tirza rent him meet. Ship's steward remains in the porch and looks at how it discloses. He follows her movements, he is studying the basis of Atta that on the back of his daughter remains lie. He'll wince.

Then walk them together in the direction of a ship's steward, just next to each other.

Atta indicates the father a hand.

'I have you not to wait too long?' he asks.

'A QUARTER,' says ship's steward. 'More not.'

He opens the tailgate of his car and crams the sports bag of Atta in addition to the scoop.

'You have not much to you for someone a long journey. Not even a backpack.'

'What I miss i can always buy, and drying clothes fast in Africa,' explains Atta like he is perfectly aware continent.

'That's where.' ship's steward nods. 'In Africa dries quickly everything.' He remembers vakantiewasjes in Italy. He remembers the holidays when they were a family, a family that was more or less intact. More or less.

Ship's steward crawls back the steering, he put the windscreen wipers. Tirza does alongside him. Atta remains only on the rear bench seat.

The call is cumbersome. To Utrecht they have but two sentences changed. Tirza has set up its iPod. Atta doze off intermittently, ship's steward in his mirror.

The last piece is the better. There is developing a civilized debate on the pros and cons of development aid.

Install After Arrival Tirza is in the room that has already been used as guest room at the time was Hofmeesters parents still lived. Atta runs through the garden and smells like a flower to sporadically. After a quarter of an hour he is sitting in the living room. For the fireplace he plays a game of Scrabble with Tirza.

Mohammed Atta scrabbelt. Interesting. Who would have thought?

Ship's steward itself works in the garden. He must be the tension of the drive to see the voltage of what feels like an unnecessary and dishonorable rest: the last part of his life.

Occasionally he raises a look in through the window and sees his daughter and her friend embroiled in a party game. It allows him not reassured.

Now his children are out of the house, he must learn to die. But he does not know where or to whom he les can take.

Half an hour or two he goes to within and asks: "Have you hungry?'

'hunger is not really,' says Tirza, 'but cold we have it.'

'I will create the fireplace,' says ship's steward. 'I actually had hoped that we were able to dine in the garden tonight. It is more winter food.'

With some effort he receives the fireplace. The bending, causing him to pain in the back. Pain is probably exaggerated, he is aware of his back. A consciousness that he knew not earlier.

If the fire is lit at last, he has good must revive and pokers, he remains a few minutes with the gear lever in his hand. It is nice. He forgets his surroundings. He is a man who, while he is busy trying to enter the, to fire watch and that fire calls memories with him at the time, vague and onsen tele memories of his parents, his youth, his study time.

Only when he his daughter pap hear it said, if him in extricating themselves from his mind.

'Papa," she says, 'I'm a sandwich, I will also make a for you?'

'I do,' he answers. 'Keep you but sit.'

He is the shift lever in the standard, wipe off his hands on the old trousers that he used for in the garden and looks for a few seconds for the word that his daughter is to impose on the board.