Arnon Grunberg



On Sunday my friend (and agent) Jan Ritsema passed away.
It was on Friday afternoon I got a phone call that I should go to Naarden, where he was at that moment. I immediately left with my son Alyosha in a baby carrier.
Jan was asleep, but when he woke up he said clearly: ‘Let’s talk about business. All the other things have been said.’
He wanted to talk about his successor.
Then he said: ‘I want to see you with my successor on Sunday to talk about the details.’
Before I left I touched briefly both his feet, in my recollection his socks were yellowish.

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