Preparing to leave is yet another moving experience (in the technical rather than the emotional sense), albeit on a small scale, but nonetheless. The room at Am Vogelsang felt bare and minimalist to the end, but in fact I had come to inhabit it with personal odds and ends, a colorful table cloth, candles, mounted photos; and garden chairs, cushions and a bedside table I picked up in the beginning from the garbage collection area on weekends when other people moved out. In a way I became attached to this setting, although I never thought of it as ‘home’. Now there is a deconstruction, with the organizing of things that accumulated even over such a short period – some to be thrown away, some to be packed, some to be passed on as farewell gifts. In my office there is the sorting and filing of papers that I shall mail with books and discs, and some administrative and financial matters to be set in order. Finally, the cooking utensils, crockery and cutlery Silke lent me have to be repacked, the sheets and towels must be laundered, and the flat cleaned and vacated.
There are also farewells. The annual institute event – dinner on Claudia’s terrace – is held in my honor. It is a small party, just six of us (all women), and everyone has contributed something to a delicious four course meal, accompanied with bubbly white wine, which spreads over hours of summer evening at the end of a beautiful hot day, and ends with all of us crowding into the kitchen for washing up. I will miss the prolonged light of the dusk, the gentle rhythm of the close of the day, reading outdoors until it becomes too dark and it is time to get into bed.
The last day there is nothing much to do, except go to the bank, clear out the office, and last minute shopping. But even though there is plenty of time, and I have been feeling quite relaxed throughout the hullabaloo, now I feel the excitement building. I have taken a room at a hotel in the center of the town, and in the evening I meet Aila who wants to show me her photos from Bethlehem. The night porter at the hotel also has heartwarming stories from Israel. I am happy to be coming home.
I am coming home. Not going, coming.
