An evening in Ghent about my book on the writer as hotel citizen, thanks to J. Roth. Due to the snow only a handful of the about 150 people who had reserved a seat came to the venue.
The front door appeared to be closed.
An elderly man approached me with the words: “Will the event take place, Mr. Grunberg?”
“I hope so,” I answered, “I stumbled through the snow for more than twenty minutes.”
The event started, my feet were still wet.
Then I realized that Charlotte, a poet, had knitted a scarf for me and that I had forgotten the scarf in NY, and she planned to attend the evening. I was deeply ashamed.
Then I said to myself: no, because of the snow, she won’t be here.
Well, despite the weather she made it to the event. She was in the company of a charming psychiatrist, I said: “Charlotte, I have to ask you for forgiveness. Your scarf, your lovely scarf, is in my closet in New York.”