Simplicity meets its riddle

All week I have been looking forward to going to the theater on Friday night. With my youngest sister. We have not spoken or seen each other in months. She is a patent officer at a large accountancy firm and had to go to New York for a big job. Two weeks ago, she returned to her hometown. And she finally found some time.

My sister is a lover of classical music. And especially piano music. She is a big fan of Chopin, Beethoven, Brahms, Schubert and the likes. Frankly, it's not quite my taste. I prefer modern electronic music. I mainly associate classical piano music with old age, passivity, nostalgia, insomnia and peppermint chocolate.

Because she has to work overtime as usual, we meet in the restaurant of the City Theatre. I am the first to arrive. Did I expect otherwise? I look for a place in the traditionally decorated coffee house. Oak tables and chairs, corrugated glass hanging lamps on the ceiling, old theater posters on the dignified walls.

What would it be like to meet my sister again? And how strange the strong bond is between brother and sister, between relatives, I think about when I order a drink. Although I prefer to be on my own, I cannot do without the heartily contacts with my family and friends. Relationships are like warm blood flowing through a cold body. Without that we remained cold and frozen as human beings.

Take the father and daughter who are sitting further down the table for example. She drinks ginger beer, he drinks tea. They chat, laugh, smile. It is clear that they are longing eagerly to this special evening with the two of them. No mother, no brother, no friends.

Then my sister arrives the stress of her work still hovers over the pale and sweaty face. We greet each other, I ask what she wants to drink and pick up a glass of white wine from the bar. A little later we talk endlessly about our private lives, about our dreams. My sister wants to buy a vineyard in France in ten years' time so that she can harvest her own grapes and bottle her own wine.

“You dirty bastard! You filthy pedophile! How dare you! Here!"

Out of the corner of my eye I see a man coming at us fiercely and swearing. But it soon turns out that he is not targeting me and my sister, but the father and daughter. He stops just in front of the couple. Big, menacing, roaring like a Belgian horse.

“How dare you show yourself here! And then with the child! What a disgusting creature you are! What a outrageous monstrosity!”

As is often the case with disturbances, a handful bystanders have gathered around the fulminating and uncontrollable character. Like all the action will not take place on stage but in the restaurant.

The father is in shock and wraps his arms around his daughter. He trembles, cries softly. She looks at me with wide eyes. Does she expect me to intervene? Like I have any idea what this is about.

The giant actually grabs the cup from my table and throws it on the floor with a lot of clamor and then shouts: "This will also happen to you if you don't get out of here right away, you understand?"

The father gasps but doesn't seem to want to give in easily. Then all of a sudden, I remember his face. It must have been more than a year ago. The man was accused of child abuse by local residents. It was featured in the regional newspaper. Headlines, accusations. Later there was a much smaller message that the man had been acquitted. Everything was based on a huge misunderstanding.

I look at my sister, but she brings the glass of wine to her mouth with trembling fingers. Meanwhile, the father tearfully mutters that he is innocent. That they should leave him and his daughter alone.

And again the child looks hopelessly at me with her wide eyes.

The moment I decide to come to the aid of the father, I see the theater director making excuses with the victims. Professionally and routinely, he leads them out of the restaurant. The tyrant seems pleased and makes a gesture as if everything is under control.

My sister and I look past each other. We know what is being asked of us, the stragglers. We have to pretend that nothing happened at all. Next to my feet lie the broken pieces of the coffee cup.