Then he says: “It’s done.”

“Yes, Kat.”

I stir myself. In the middle of the room shines the brown goose. We take out our collapsible forks and our pocketknives and each cuts off a leg. With it we have army bread dipped in gravy. We eat slowly and with gusto.

“How does it taste, Kat?”

“Good! And yours?”

“Good, Kat.”

We are brothers and press on one another the choicest pieces. Afterwards I smoke a cigarette and Kat a cigar. There is still a lot left.

“How would it be, Kat if we took a bit to Kropp and Tjaden?”

“Sure,” says he.