After a night of sleepless torture in the youth hostel of Burg, a cursed stone’s throw away from Putgaarden, I had no choice but to go to Holland. With my heart bleeding I arrived in Hamburg and found the situation for hitchhiking simply impossible: the through traffic used the left lane because the exiting traffic ‘was in’ the right. Immediately behind the exit was a life-size billboard: ‘Verboten an zu halten (no hitchhiking)’. Moreover every 5 minutes a police car drove by. Still I did wait for someone very reckless with whom I would rather not travel.
Finally I went into Hamburg and pawned my watch. I used the money to travel to Groningen by train.

I had to ‘reculer pour mieux sauter’, go back to jump farther. I went to the Job Centre and surely they had something for me: outdoor waiter at the pastry restaurant ‘Bommen Berend’. I went, all right, but my hair had to go. They say you don’t feel a thing, but that hurt so much. At once I was cut off from everyone I felt close to and found myself partaking in the stepbrothership of the servile anonymous. I persevered, thanks to ‘The Lord of the Rings, the natural growth of my hair and my salary, which allowed me to travel to Copenhagen by train.

The border was no bother at all. In Copenhagen I went to Karen’s address in sweat. I had written to her, but had received no answer. She might have had second thoughts, maybe she had moved house. Would we still hit it off, it was almost exactly a year ago since we had said goodbye. Only one way to find out.

With trembling finger I pushed the bell. The door opened and there she was, in all her big-bellied glory.

My face caved in and inside my head an out-of-tune barrel-organ ditty whined. So this was her endgame, she wanted a father for her child. Something heavy fell from the stairwell, glass was scattered all over the place and all around me voices were shrieking. I must have turned around and taken the stair in three leaps. For how long I ran, I don’t know, I kept running until it mattered no more.

The next day I joined ‘Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band’.

The End

I wish to thank Sarah for saving my sanity, Willem for the linguistic treasures we dug up and planted, Carola for all the days and nights she spent on the site and Anne Linde for being my daughter.