(Summer notes)
Obsendorf, like any place, has many faces.
One of them is a warm, easy-going, summer-afternoon face. Life's easy and people are friendly or relaxed, or just lazy.
On your way to the local shop, when lager's running out, you stop under a lime tree to enjoy some shade and to chat to one of the neighbours. Unless you prefer just give them a nod, because you know exactly what they're going to say, as is most often the case.
All is fine.
Or rather all would be fine, if it wasn't for Tofik.
Tofik, although he is quite a small dog, can spoil it all, big way. Tofik's motto is the opposite of Terence's: “All that is human is alien to me; or even hateful”*.
When Tofik sees a man, it wants to destroy him. However, because of its size all it can do is destroy his jeans, a bit of the skin around the ankles or completely mess up his nervous system. So Tofik's favourite is psychological warfare, supported by savage noise warfare.
There are long, tense days when you never know what to expect - the animal seems as good as dead. But then, out of a sudden – your watchfulness lulled - he launches catching you off guard. And at some point, not knowing whether he'll stage an assault or not is worse than the assault itself, so you find yourself wanting him to lurch out to save you constant and embarrassing looking around, funny slowing down right before Mr P's house or ridiculous speeding up to outsmart the dog; you have to do something not feel a hopeless, useless victim), when you're passing the gate that Mr P, frustratingly, keeps open at all times.
It may be fun for Tofik, but the occasional running around your bike with him hot on your heels is an exercise unbecoming a philosopher!
Sometimes, whey you lie on your bed in the evening, , while you're feeling the bruises you got when the animal did manage to surprise you and get you, in a rather dramatic way, off your bike, you wonder: what would St Francis of Assisi make of Tofik?
You close your eyes - the window is wide open and local frogs are harmonising an old number from the 60s - and dream that you notice a funnily clad figure approaching Obsendorf... Tofik runs to welcome the man. Then, on making the first, brief acquaintance with it, the newcomer disappears for a moment and then reappears (saints, especially dead saints, are sometimes able to operate along different spiritual and physical lines, remember) holding something in his hands.
He starts walking towards the beast, a gentle, serene smile on his face. He has just correctly established Tofik's true provenance**, and quickly makes in his head a few changes in a famous text of his, rejecting any - repeat: ANY - kinship with that particular creature.
Then, slowly and calmly, he begins to raise the Smith & Wesson Model 29, quite like the one that Dirty Harry used.
He takes a careful aim at the cute*** animal... and the rest, at long last, is silence.
(Preceded by a deafening bang and a brief, dynamic impression of Tofik; kind of pointillist.)
Now there's a serene smile on your face. You are, at long last, at peace with Obsendorf; and the world, for that matter - and gently fall asleep.
Amen
*which makes you think: why is it so nice to our neighbour, Mr P., its master? And especially to one of his grandchildren - the beast just dotes on the little blond angel!
** Oh my... - the baby!!?!
*** cute when it's asleep; or dead.
