I am an engineer and travel the world.

I design and fit hydraulic equipment for oil companies and large cooperations all over the globe. It is an immersive and challenging job. I live mostly abroad, one year here, one year there.

It is a hectic life, but I am made for it.

I am now in South America and work for the state oil company in Venezuela. I live in a residential area for foreign workers. It is fenced off and guarded. It's like a small village of its own. Besides the large, well equipped apartments, there are shopping malls, restaurants, bars and every other conveniency. I feel privileged.

I like the gardens. They run in wide areas between the apartment blocks. They give you a feeling of being in the rainforest, with all its colors, smells and sounds. Yet they are well kept and maintained by a small army of local workers. They come in the morning, do their job, and by evening you can sit quite for yourself in one of the many hammocks and be in the middle of the strangest of forests, with fantastically colored rhododendrons, giant ferns, palm trees with their fans of pointed leaves, the local Araguaney tree with its yellow flowers of nectar that attract hummingbirds, the incessant hum of croaking frogs and insects. The damp earth.

Along the paths in the garden are artificial pools. They are painted blue and lit from below water. Green and orange floodlights light up the paths and surrounding verdure at night. Their strong but false light makes the whole place surreal. Often I have sat here far into the night, unable to break away from the spell, with the wild, pitch black sky overhead, darker than we can comprehend.

Glimpses. A girl in a car that passed by. Later I saw the same girl in the large underground garage we have here. She sat in the back of a sedan.

Hardly any young live in the area. They are all back in their home countries. Safer that way, I guess. It therefore made me extra happy to see a girl of her age here. She had to be the daughter of a couple who both worked here.

I noticed that she always came by herself. No brothers and sisters, then? Plenty of playmates and friends at school, I thought.

A woman sat in the driver's seat, her mother likely. I later saw a man, too. I never saw both parents together.

And then the girl disappeared. She never showed up in the mornings anymore.

I saw her parents now and then, but she herself was gone. I practically gave up hope of seeing her again.

I hadn't even said hi...

I make the equipment the modern world can not do without. I simulate oil flows and build pressure valves and pumps. I scale pump heads, decide stroke rates and volume output.

Right now I am building a system of pumps and pipes. The pumps have a cylinder capacity of between 300 and 400 tons, with an effective cylinder area between 70.71 and 86.79 square inches. There must be a 0.004 inch accuracy over full stroke.

Some of my design work and simulations can be done on my laptop, and it gives me the opportunity to work at home. Then I leave the office and sit in the garden from early afternoon till late night. The nightfall is spectacular here. The sun simply drops down from the sky. For a moment there is a fiery glow on the horizon and then it gets completely dark. The orange and green lights take over. It never gets cold.

One day the girl came out from Entrance C, just like that. She was accompanied by the man I took to be her father.

She carried a large sheet of paper under one arm and her school bag. Her skin had paled. So that explained it. She had been to rainy, dim Europe for quite a while.

What a beautiful girl she was. Long and well groomed hair, cut very straight from ear to ear just above the eyes. And what eyes. Two calm, clear and intelligent eyes in a beautiful face. My heart thumped.

She was quite the young lady with a fine blouse, a matching skirt and a pair of smart shoes. She carried a small shoulder pouch across her chest.

Shy of nature, I was unable to say hello or anything. She hadn't looked at me either, for that matter. She didn't remember me.

I drove to work in a happy frame of mind, though.

I wanted to get to know her a little, or at least find out her name.

I came home at an unusual hour one day. When I passed the gate, I noticed a car in front of me. In the back seat I saw the head of a girl. It had to be her. But it was not the car she usually rode in. I would have paid no attention to it otherwise.

I made a quick decision. I parked close to Entrance C and got out quickly. She had been dropped off and came towards me.

I said hello.

She gave me a short, confused glance, then lowered her eyes and passed without saying a word. The door closed behind her.

I didn't believe it! Here I was, supposedly fond of her, and all I could do was scare her!

I walked quickly back to my car and started the engine. What kind of a harebrained idea was this? I had been too much on my own. I was not able to interact with girls. All I could do was frighten them. I should well have known the effect a stranger suddenly placing himself in front of her would have. Hopeless.

That was the end of it. Under no circumstances would I want to repeat this.

From now on I carefully avoided being in the garage at the same time as she. I didn't see her anymore. I was ashamed and very unhappy.

I came home one afternoon, was about to go to my favorite seat in the garden to do some work, when I saw a girl standing somewhat hesitatingly in front of the main entrance to Block C. It was of course her. I had never seen her outside like this before. I bit my lip. Immense amounts of tenderness flooded my heart. But I didn't even dare to look at her. But why was she standing like that? She seemed lost.

Ok, about turn. I had to find out. I approached her carefully. I caught her eye. I saw no hostility.

"Hello, what is it? It there anything wrong?", I asked gently.

She didn't answer right away. Looked down. I went down on my heels so she didn't have to look up.

"I have no keys", she said timidly.

"Have you lost them? Can I help find them?", I asked.

"Dad was supposed to drop by and give them to me today, but he didn't show up. Finally Manuel couldn't wait any longer and drove me home."

"But then it will sort itself out. When is your mammy back?"

"Don't know. Late, I guess. That's why I was supposed to get the keys."

"Do you have her phone number, or your dad's?"

"Dad is very busy. He is the head of a big department. Get's lots of calls and stuff. Sometimes he's away for days. He left today, but I was supposed to get the keys."

"Ok, something unexpected might have occurred. But I am sure he is worried about his beautiful daughter and wished he had been here. Can you call your mother? I can call her for you, if you wish", I said.

"She works in a bank. She has a big desk. I've seen it."

I gave her a smile. After a few more questions, I was told what bank her mother worked in and what the mother's name was. I took out my laptop, searched for the bank, found its phone number, used my cellular phone and in my broken Spanish asked for the mother. I then handed over the phone to her and she spoke. The mother was upset and promised to be home in no more than two hours. Afterwards it crossed my mind that I should perhaps have used the opportunity to speak to her myself, but the moment didn't present itself.

The girl's unease was gone. The calm and clear eyes I had known before returned. Not quite knowing what she was going to do for two hours, I said I knew of a very nice spot in the gardens. I took her to my favorite seat, which actually was a sitting group with two chairs, a table, a hammock and a pool in front.

The emotions of the afternoon had been more than enough for me. I was not inclined to use the situation to talk to her more. I therefore said goodbye and went back to my flat.

I was, to my own surprise, a little disappointed. About what? I had sobered up in a way. The romantic dream I had carried was gone. Her distress had purged my erotic feelings. Now I was just a little sad. Sad about a lonely kid.

But I was also happy. She had not been afraid of me. Good. My rather unreal idea of her had been replaced by an actual and living girl. She had become a person. That was good. That was necessary.

The day after I made sure to come home at the same time, and to my great relief I saw her again, just as she was leaving the car. She looked at me, and I went over and said hi. She told me that she had her own keys now. Her mother had decided that. I said that was great. She was certainly old enough to have responsibility for a pair of keys, I told her.

The conversation dropped off. I asked her if she had been around the gardens. Would she care to be shown around a little? Ok, she said straightforwardly.

We followed the old path. I showed her the special flower that attracted bright blue butterflies. I then pointed out the parrots in the treetops. Then we went to a special pool covered with a beautiful collection of water lilies. They had let out red and orange fishes in the pool too, and we got a few glimpses of them. Finally we were lucky and saw one of the unbelievably colored hummingbirds, and I explained to her that they move their wings so fast they can hover in the air, like a helicopter.

She politely thanked me for the guided tour and left. I sat down relieved, but totally unable to concentrate on my work.

Sometimes I am terribly depressed. Then I take long drives around Caracas after dark. There are certain districts I drive through, slowly, but I never stop, and keep all doors locked, there is a crime problem here.

I know this guy at work. We took a beer once and he began to tell me about what you can get in certain districts in Caracas. He boasted about what he had experienced. He then looked incredulously at me and asked why I hadn't done it, I, who weren't even married. I said I wasn't interested in that thing, certainly not with the women you find there. I like them younger, I said rather bluntly. He smiled and said it could be arranged. It would cost more, but it could be arranged. He had contacts. It could be arranged, he assured me.

After this I got into the habit of driving around Caracas at night. I played with this dream, but I could not get myself to do it. Perhaps I was simply too imaginative? What did I see? I saw someone you could mistake for a dwarf, doing something mechanically to me in a room with a naked light bulb, while her adult brothers and father were watching.

If I had been able to carry through this, if I had gotten some satisfaction from it too, I wouldn't have loved girls.

But when I am depressed, I don't believe in this, and I drive around certain districts in Caracas at night, while the lights glide, run, dissolve over the hood forever and ever.

An unexpected problem occurred at the office, and we had to work intensely for two days to solve it. I had to go out to one of the oil installations. When I came home in the afternoon on the third day I was exhausted. I had taken off my jacket because of the heat, and held it lightly over one arm while carrying the briefcase in the other. I went straight to the garden, rather distracted.

Was I followed? I seemed to hear light steps behind me. Oh, well. I went up to the edge of the pool, and my cellular phone rang. I carry it in the inner pocket of my jacket. But as I put down the briefcase, I leaned forward and the jacket slid a little on my arm, enough to make the phone slip out, and with a plop it went straight into the pool!

Seven thousand devils.

I just stood there amazed for a few seconds. The pool wasn't deep, a little over a foot or so. I was about to roll up my sleeve, when somebody slipped past me, went down on all fours, inserted her arm right into the water and within seconds fished up my phone and proudly gave it to me.

It was her.

"Well, eh, thank you", I muttered, taken totally by surprise.

She looked gaily at me. "You shouldn't lose you phone, mister", she said.

I laughed. "But your arm is completely soaked. You'll have to change."

She took off her blouse and handed it to me. I lay it down on the hot tiles. It would dry quickly in the heat. I gave her my jacket to wipe herself on. We sat down in the hammock.

Now I suddenly realized what had happened. I looked over at her. She sat there in her white underwear top and had dried her arm. Was this an angel that had appeared?

We had our first real talk. I told her my name. She told me her name and how old she was. She was one year younger than I thought. Well, that only proved what a smart and clever girl I had here. Hmm.

I spoke about myself, my work, why I was here. She told me about school, about a school project she was working on, her class mates, mum and dad. When the blouse was dry, she said she had to go.

An angel had passed by. I sat there, more happy than I had been in a long time.

She showed up the next day, and now she had brought her home-work. From now on we shared the seat in the garden for an hour or two quite often. We didn't speak all that much, mostly occupied with our work.

In warm climates you get a special relationship to cold drinks. I had become quite adept at making sodas.

I take ice cubes and crush them with fresh, frozen strawberries in the blender. I pour this into tall glasses, add a spoonful of vanilla cream, some strawberry mousse and lime, and stir. Or I make chocolate syrup by whipping cacao and sugar with milk, add some chocolate ice cream and some corn syrup and mix.

The tall glasses are put in the refrigerator to cool over night.

Next afternoon, right before I go down to her, I take them out, fill them up with chilled club soda, add whipped cream and strawberry halves on top or grind Swiss chocolate over. Finally it's the beverage straw, red striped or brown, and a long spoon.

She wore sandals without socks.

"I would like to paint my toe nails," she says. "Just like mum. But she wont allow me".

"They are fine just as they are", I said.

She thought for a while. Then she took off her sandals, leaned back and put her feet on the seat.

"Don't all grown-up men like girls with painted toes?"

"Nooo", I said hesitatingly. "I certainly never have that much. I guess it's just me. We guys are different, you now."

"Why aren't you married?"

"Eh. Well. Uhm, I have not found the right one, I suppose. Why do you ask?"

She didn't answer. She was quiet for a while.

"We have been taking about you at school", she said slowly.

My heart sank. What did this mean? She had a very serious mien. I knew she had something on her mind. Her large and calm eyes were unwavering.

"Are you like that?", it suddenly came.

I felt helpless. For a moment I thought I would try to play ignorant, that I had no idea what she was talking about. But that's how cowardly adults always behave, and I had no intention of going down that path.

"Look here", I said, "I like to be together with you. I like very much to have you here, more so than I would a grown-up woman. That's true. I get along better with girls. That's why I don't marry. Now, eh, your class mates may perhaps think it strange that I like to spend time with you. But actually, that's not strange. If you want to be here with me, an adult, then why shouldn't some adults, like me, want to be together with you? But there is one special thing about it: all girls must be asked first. I mean, the adult must ask for permission. Most guys, not all guys perhaps, but most guys do ask, and are gentle and considerate. That's what makes us feel we are together. That we share something, right? So, yes, I am like that. I prefer to be together with girls, like you. I hope this answered your question."

When I was finished, she didn't answer, only looked away and into the air, then let her feet down on the ground again and sat listless with hanging arms. But then a wrinkle appeared on her brow.

"Is it true you have seen Amy?"

"Amy? Is that one of your class mates? No, I have not seen Amy! Or any of your class mates. How could I? And if Amy says she has, she is not telling the truth. Ignore her."

She yawns, but does not close her mouth.

"Tired?", I ask.

"No", she says.

Amusing ourselves now, are we? I think that girls, especially young girls, generally speaking (although I am not a general) but generally speaking, should be more considerate to a man's feelings, especially when he has admitted to her that he is like that, especially then, I think.

She invites me to tea.

We meet in the garden, then go over to her parents's apartment block. She assures me that nobody is at home.

We ascend the stairs. She unlocks the front door with her key and holds it open for me. I am uneasy. I step in. In the hall there is nothing but silence. I get a strange recollection. I recall a different visit to a different home, a long time ago, a visit also done in secret when I was hardly more than a boy. And I get the same sense of wonder, now as then.

The apartment gives the impression of being larger than mine. It is well furnished and very tidy. I catch a glimpse of the living room. It is dark. The lights are out and the curtains are drawn. I am led into her bedroom.

In front of the windows are draped large sheets of white cloth, billowing out and covering the whole area, blocking most of the light. The windows themselves must be slightly open, for a faint noise reach in from outside. In the semi-darkness she turns on a foot lamp. It immediately gives the room a warm feeling. She also turns on a small, red-hooded lamp on a low table. I go over to it.

"No, you are supposed to sit there", she says quickly, and points at the opposite end of the table.

I sit down on the floor and looked around. In the ceiling there is a big fan, necessary in hot climates, the type with four rotating blades. They turn slowly and noiselessly. I look over at her bed. Around the pillow and on a shelf above stands an impressive collection of teddy bears and stuffed animals, in all sizes and shapes. They are arranged neatly and, it seems, according to some scheme.

She leaves for the kitchen and comes back with a large saucer and a big cup. Inside it is not one but three tea bags, each with its own flavor. She brings me two cookies as well, and proudly tells me that she has saved them only for me.

I notice her writing desk. It is full of drawings, picture books, pencils, pieces of a puzzle, papers and more, the only untidy spot in the room.

She returns with a coffee percolator full of boiling water.

"How much sugar does the gentleman take?", she asks precociously.

I smile, and say: "Half a tea spoon, thank you, miss."

She pours me a cup, then sits down on the floor by the table, and in typical female fashion watches every bite I take and every sip I drink.

She is suddenly on her feet again. Fetches one of the stuffed animals, a round, grey elephant with large ears, a sizable trunk and two kind, brown eyes on a broad forehead.

"He looks like you", she says smilingly. "I often pretend it's you. He has soft ears to whisper secrets into."

I smile broadly back.

She brings a rather tattered, old teddy bear. "I have had this one since I was a little girl", she says solemnly.

I feel the importance of this fact. It must be loved.

But she has more to tell. A whole family of bears pass my hand. They are all unique, everyone has a story of its own, and she is glad to tell me. I look on her, and suddenly realize what it is like to have no brothers and sisters, no cousins, a remote father? only a strict mother? no real friends? I become deeply sad inside of me all of a sudden, but try not to show it. She finally brings me a special bear, a baby bear you can hold in your palm. I hold it so gently. But this bear is different from the others. Each of its ears has a different color and it has a small scarf wrapped around its neck to protect it from the cold.

The cold?

She looks at me. Will I understand?

She says this bear has a secret name. She comes close and whispers it into my ear.

From now on I will improve myself. I will try to live a better life. I will pay attention to others, be of assistence and help my fellow human beings.

She showed up in a wide overall and a baseball cap. Her hair was tied underneath.

"I want to be a boy", she said.

"You want to be a boy??"

"Yes, boys can do more, and it's cooler."

"Boys are immature, say rude things and understand nothing", I declared.

"But how is it to be a boy?", she asked.

"The only good thing about being a boy is that there exist girls! You say we can do more? Well, perhaps we can. Or at least we brag about it. Actually, whatever a boy does is only for bragging to girls. All we invent, all we do, all we are, has only one purpose, to impress girls."

"But boys are, like... free."

"Not free when we have a girl to love", I reply firmly.

"And remember this", I added, "we can only be someone else by being together with that someone else. When you are alone, you will always think that everyone else is so much better."

She is wearing a skirt. She leans forward, grabs hold of the soda glass and puts her mouth to the straw, then looks at me.

I feel the application of some girl power.

She faces me in the hammock, sits on her feet and pats her skirt. I look over at her timidly. She goes up on her knees and rests one hand on my shoulder, then drums her fingers. Definitively some girl power going on here, yes.

I have on a short-sleeved shirt. She pulls out the pen I carry in the breast pocket. I fear its fate. Fortunately she puts it back.

She tries to grab my nose.

"Ugh, calm down now, I am trying to do some work here", I say.

"You sound like dad!"

"Well, grown-ups have responsibilities, you know..."

"It is all so boring", she says and sits down again.

Then she faces me again. "Are you alone?", she asks.

When I do not answer her right away, she continues:

"If you are alone, then perhaps you wear a skirt?"

She narrows her eyes. I smile at her cleverness. I say:

"Ok, I am lonely sometimes. I forget about my loneliness when I work. But yes, I feel alone. So there. But skirts on men look strange, and besides they will not make a real girl, like you...", I look softly on her, "...be closer."

I put down my work and turn towards her.

"Once we did not live like this. We were together, young and old, all of us, always. Mums and dads didn't work at some far away place but close to home. And if the parents were away or hadn't time or weren't around anymore, then there were grown-ups, special people, who took care of the young, gave them attention, looked after them, taught them the important things in life like love and togetherness."

"I don't know why we are not like that any more", I continue. "We want too much, perhaps. And then we arrange our lives by the rules of the machine, forgetting that we create a society unable to cover basic human needs, and a society not in harmony with the rest of life on this planet."

She listens attentively.

"But if we don't want to be alone, then why do we do it... that's stupid!"

"We do it", I say slowly, "because we are afraid of letting go, afraid of being the first to let go, of what the others might then say..."

She thinks about this for a while, then sighs and resumes her home-work.

She is to have a school project in natural science. Her class mates are competing for the best idea and presentation. Can I help?

I suggest that she should explain how a siphon works. It is physics and actually not so far off from what I am working on.

I go downtown and buy a clear plastic tube and a transparent tray that can hold water. From one of the labs at the office I get a small pulley, the type you can fix on a table, and a thin metal chain that can run over the pulley.

I show her. I first fix the pulley close to the edge of the table. I place most of the chain in a pile on the table, but let the other end run over the pulley and down a bit. When I let go, the bit hanging down falls to the ground and pulls the whole pile with it.

Then I fill up the tray with water and place it close to the pool's edge. I tell her to take the plastic tube and fill it with water. She must be careful and hold her thumbs over the ends so that the water does not run out. Turn the tube upside down and stick one end in the tray, I say. She lets her thumb go. The water does not run out! Then lower the other end down towards the surface of the pool and let go, I say.

She manages to drain almost the whole tray. She thinks that quite strange. How does it happen?

"Ok," I say, "think carefully about the two experiments we have done. Do you see a similarity?"

"Can water act like a chain?", she asks.

"Yes. The water comes in very small chunks, called molecules. They pull each other along the inside of the tube. Up and over the edge. Gravity is what makes the water move down, but the chunks is what pulls the water up."

She makes a chart on a large sheet of paper. She draws the pulley and the chain, then the tray and the tube, with arrows to show what happens. She also writes a paper where she explains the apparatus and what happens.

We are quite proud of what we have accomplished when we are done.

The days when she did not show up in the garden where unhappy. And they always scared me. I feared I would never see her again.

She would tell me that the day after she had to do so-and-so and would not come. But sometimes her mother came home early, and then it was impossible for her to come down to me.

Over the course of four months, our friendship grew and we got very close. She was no longer that timid, rather lonely girl who had shown me her collection of bears. She had gotten more sure of herself. I could sense growing powers in her. A deep physical attraction established itself.

We had our moments of tension. They would usually arise when she talked about her friends at school and what they had said. I never quite seemed to convince her that I had no contact with them. But what she was perhaps most afraid of was that I wanted to have contact with them, if I had a chance.

She complained that Amy had not believed her when she said that I had helped her with the project. I said: "Be careful with Amy. She can create trouble for us."

I wanted so much to take her out. I wanted to take her away from her gloomy room, her home-work, away from the guarded compound, away from envious Amy and the rigmarole of her school. She should see more. I wanted her to experience the world with me.

I took her to the beach north of Caracas.

I knew I took a risk by picking her up from school. She said I was her uncle. We got away with it because I was European.

Then we drove out to the coast. She sat in the front seat and had never done that before, or so she told me. She was happy and in high spirits. I had bought her a yellow bikini, a large towel and a pair of sun glasses. She tried on the sun glasses right away, and looked very cool.

At the beach we found an empty bathing hut. I let her change by herself.

We went down to the shore, teeming with people, and found a nice spot to spread out the towels and lie down on. But soon we were out bathing, splashing water on each other and having a great time.

We lay side by side in the warm sand, with the blazing sun overhead, and heard the shouts, the sounds and the laughter all around us, while we lay there with closed eyes.

She was up and around by herself. She played a little with a couple of boys her own age. She couldn't speak much Spanish, but you can communicate without words. I saw a man throw long glances after her. She even exchanged a word with an adult over at the showers. Hahaha. Well, I didn't own her body and soul. I was only there to look after her and make sure she was happy and well. That is the only thing we can hope for.

I put up the parasol to get some mercy from the sun.

Then she was by my side again. She kept turning round, not able to decide if she wanted to lie on her stomach or back. She snuggled close to me, then asked why I was so hairy. We compared arms. I said she too had down on her arm, hadn't she noticed? It is something we have left from the time we had fur, like the chimpanzees in the zoo, I said.

She wanted to go to the zoo. I promised to take her.

She inspects my body. She looks down at the bulge in my trunks. I become a little embarrassed. I hope none is watching. She giggles, comes close to my ear but giggles again, is unable to whisper something to me.

"What is it?", I laugh.

She calms down, then short of breath says right into my ear: "Susan in seventh grade says I have to suck your dick."

The whole expanse of the sea lies in front of us.

The hours go by.

We get something to eat at the snack bar before returning home.

We sit in the hammock again. She is bare-foot and wears sandals. I notice her toe-nails are painted. They have a shiny finish, the palest of pink.

"I thought your mummy wouldn't allow that", I said, indicating her toes. "Whose is it?"

"Borrowed mum's. She'll go mad, but I don't care."

She is glad I have noticed. "Do you like them?", she asks.

"Very much", I say.

And, hops, sandals kicked off, she places her feet on my lap. I sit frozen.

When there is no immediate reaction on my part, she guesses she has to be of a little assistance. She yawns, makes herself more comfortable on the pillow, closes her eyes shut (oh, so shut) and goes to 'sleep'.

A sleeping girl is a girl who knows nothing, will forget everything.

My heart beats. I can not breathe properly. There is a strange sensation in my stomach, a tingling.

I tap on all her toes, saying:

"Little toe. Big toe. Middle toe, too.
Right toe, Left toe, I love you.",

ending up on her leg.

Dreams come more often now.

Where will this end? She enters my sleep. I get no rest. Can't work. Can't talk. Can't think.

Was it on the sixth?

The breeze in the birch grove. The lush grass.

Did we meet?

I drew my hair back on an impulse borne by the wind,
the rush of leaves,
their dark green canopy broken by the dance of sunlight
beneath which we stood and felt the fresh life and the field beyond.

Once, it was cold. Come then. Hold my hand.

Events started to pile up.

Next afternoon I came down to the hammock and she was not there. I waited for more than an hour and then gave up hope of seeing her that day. It had happened before.

The day after I was prevented from coming myself. I cursed my bad luck and waited impatiently for the next day.

A storm was expected. When I finally came home, it had gotten overcast and a wind had gathered. I went straight to the hammock just to say hi and tell her it would begin to rain shortly. A man sat there.

It was the father.

I sat down in a state of shock. It was as if I immediately understood what had happened, yet it could not be for real.

He looked coldly at me, introduced himself and said I had to follow him to his apartment. I followed automatically.

I threw a furtive glance down the corridor to her room as I entered. Her door stood open and it was dark there. It seemed like an eternity since I had been served tea with three tea bags.

In the living-room the mother sat. It was the first time I saw both parents together. I seated myself, more dead than alive.

At first they explained certain facts to me. There had been a call from the international school she attended. A unknown man had posed as their daughter's uncle and had driven away with her. She had been back the day after and nothing had supposedly happened to her. But then one of the pupils had told them that the man was not her uncle.

I said straight out that it was me who had picked up their daughter.

"May I ask where you took her?", the father said in an ice cold voice.

"To the beach. I have become friends with your daughter and I took her to the beach."

"Friends with a nine year old girl?"

"Eh... yes, I see no harm in that", I said quietly.

"Why did you lie and say you were her uncle?"

When I had no immediate answer to that question, he continued:

"How long have you been following my daughter?"

"We have know each other for about four months", I said.

Here the mother broke in. She stood up, went over to a table and fetched a girl's yellow bikini.

"I found this in my daughter's bedroom", she said with a quivering voice. "I want to know where she got it."

"I bought it for her. She used it at the beach.", I said, and looked at that dear piece of cloth.

"My daughter had to change into this while you were watching, correct?"

"No, I was not watching. She had her privacy."

"My daughter had painted her toe-nails, even if I had strictly forbidden it. She said she had done it for you. Is that true?"

"She did it of her own volition, and yes, she knew she was not allowed."

"So you made her do it?"

"No. As I said, she did it because she wanted to."

"But why would my daughter disobey me, if she had not been made to do so? If she had not been compelled by you?"

I fell silent. I couldn't answer such a question.

The father had also gotten up. He was now becoming angry. I could see where things were going. From now on, I spoke as little as possible.

"We know everything about you. We know were you work, where you live, what your name is. I have spoken to my attorney, and the only thing that holds me back from reporting you to the police is the advice I got from him. He says that to file charges for kidnapping in this country would lead to nothing, even if you took away my daughter's freedom for five hours. I don't know what you have done to her. She was besides herself and crying. Have you touched her? There are people who take care of persons like you. You have managed to make her deeply unhappy. But you will never again see her and lay your hands on her. She has been sent away. We saw her off at the airport three hours ago. We love our daughter and will miss her, but it is far more important that she escapes a man like you. If you plan on continuing using helpless children to fulfill your selfish and perverted urges, you shall know that you are watched and will be reported."

He doesn't know what I have done to his daughter ... he is correct ... that type never does ... he loved his daughter ... or so he told me ... of course he does ... in his own way ... he is able to cover his daughter's material needs, but not her emotional ones ... how frightened he was ... yes, he was frightened, but he tried to hide it ... I could see that ... behind that anger and righteousness there was fear ... poor fellow ... but to what extent could I take responsibility for that ... he cared for her ... perhaps just now he realized how much he did care for her, after all ... but in what way did he care ... perhaps a man in his position always has to act like this in such situations ... perhaps there is some primitive mechanism at work here that I do not understand because I am not a father ... no, I refuse to believe that ... it can't be that all fathers must meet the unknown with fear ... doesn't love make strong ... doesn't love make you sacrifice ... doesn't love make you able to live with insecurity ... his own vanity had been hurt ... he was afraid I had made a fool of him ... my responsibility was limited to the mistake of not getting to know him first ... but if I had tried to do that, then the few moments of happiness I had shared with his daughter would never have been ... because he was not the type ... he said so himself: he didn't know what I had done to his daughter ...

He was afraid ... he made me pay for his fear ... he dragged my feelings through the dirt ... that's how it is ... I was lucky ... he had not filed charges ... or was that just an easy way out of it ... so that he wouldn't have to disgrace himself ... I see nothing but fear in this area, and it's getting worse ... children hold an edge here, because they are not afraid ... it will give them an edge in evolution ... in the constant struggle for survival ... they will survive because they are not afraid and can show honest feelings ... we others can either adapt or die ... hahaha ... what a joke ... how stupid it all is ... a necessary sacrifice ... now she is in an air plane high up in the sky ... bound for goodness knows where ... bound for the alienation and unhappiness of the rest of her life, I guess ... how did we get into this mess ... farewell my darling ... I was perhaps selfish ... our feelings dragged through the dirt ... seems everyone has a right, even feels it their duty, to drag those feelings through the dirt ... bah ... what do they know about love ... he who has sacrificed nothing for love does not know what love is ... and I would gladly have spent the rest of my life in prison to make that fool happy ...

Runs down to the seat in the garden. No one there. So it is for real. It is all for real.

The sky has become much darker. Scattered leaves fly about. But there, behind a pillow and covered in haste, is a bear. She had somehow found time to run down here.

I return to my flat.

On my desk are drawings for a pump system, with an effective cylinder area between 70.71 and 86.79 square inches and a 0.004 inch accuracy over full stroke.

The storm has broken. Outside the branches are beaten mercilessly by the wind, tossed to and fro in the chaos, undulating in the torrents of rain.

The windows are shut. Not a sound can be heard. Total silence inside. I recede to a corner. How dark it has become. The faint light from outside can not reach here.

By the back wall, behind the table, recesses of darkness lie, unfathomable, deep...

I don't want to die now... and besides, wasn't there a film on television tonight with a cute girl in it?

Turn on the lights. In the refrigerator there are a couple of sodas.

I have a bear. I know its secret name. Bears holds great wisdom. When you hold him closely to your ear, you will understand everything.

Everything.

There comes another time, there always does, if you know who you are.