CHAPTER 1, Scene 1 Walk in the forest

I have never seen Koen cry until today. It is remarkable and exceptional. He invited me for a walk in the forest. I have been friends with his wife for fifty years, and so I know him well, of course, but we have never been friends. He tolerated me, and perhaps I simply accepted his presence all these years.

“I am going to die real soon.” He got over his emotions quickly, as a real man should.

“What?”

“The doctors told me I have Pancreatic Cancer, stage 4. Jutta told me to see the doctor because I kept losing weight and my skin was so yellow. At first, my doctor thought it was gallbladder disease. But it wasn’t. When they found out, it was inoperable and had already spread.”

“How long?” I asked, businesslike. He looked at me as if he would have expected such a question from me.

“One to three months. Six months if I am lucky,” He air quoted the last word.

“Is there no hope of treatment?”

“No. It has spread out like wildfire.” He said.

“How did Jutta and Sylvia react to that?”

“They don’t know yet. You are the first person I confide in.”

“You are not serious, I hope.” I said, appalled.

He was quiet. The trees stand gaunt and motionless, their skeletal limbs stretched skyward as if in quiet surrender. Soaked from the rain these last few weeks. The trees look like they have given up their fight for life, as though they’ve forgotten the warmth of spring. I suddenly realise he will never see those trees coming to life again.

Suddenly Koen starts talking again. “Both Jutta and Sylvia feel like I have betrayed their trust in me. They said more than once that I should outlive them both. You know enough of our life that they look up to me for guidance and structure in their lives. It’s something both girls need. Not want, but need. Jutta will feel lost, but she has Ilse here to comfort her. And perhaps Sandor as a potential replacement for me. For Sylvia it’s different. Jutta has been my twin flame for … years, Sylvia 6? x Times that long. My death is likely to have the biggest impact on Sylvia.”

Koen stopped. I felt raindrops on my face. Frequent drops with the potential to turn into a huge rain shower.

“We have never had a close relationship, but I know you are Sylvia’s best friend for such a long time for a reason. You have her complete trust, more than anyone, including her beloved Jutta. And I have a monumental request, completely unwarranted, and I feel incredibly awkward even asking.”

He looked ill. Even his eyes were yellow. “Don’t take this the wrong way, please, but after I’m gone, I want to give Sylvia to you.”

I know Sylvia for a long time. And I know all about the bizarre customs of the BDSM-lifestyle they follow religiously. This suggestion was a new low-point. Mildly I said:

“You are not Jesus of Nazareth, you know. Even with the best intentions, you cannot rule over your grave. You cannot give people to other people just like that. You will have to discuss this with Sylvia and Jutta. They are human beings with a will of their own. But first you will have to share with them how ill you are. They both have a right to be with you, to stand by your side, to be strong for you. This is something you will have to face together. You always talk about being a team. Well, even if the team is losing a member, remain a team.”

“I know it’s hard to understand, but it doesn’t work that way. It will comfort them both in their grief. It will aid their recovery, leading to a quicker and more thorough healing process. Trust me on this one. The death of a partner is traumatic for anyone. Losing her master renders a submissive lost and rudderless. It is hard for me as well to give them away, but I have to.

“It would never work. You know I’m not into your way of living, and certainly not in Sylvia’s. She can be pretty extreme, you know?” I said.

“I know,” he said drily. “It’s just temporary. I will ask my friend in Germany to find a new master for her. That will not be too difficult.”

“You arrogant prick,” I said, suddenly angry. “Around the globe, people who outlive their loved ones often live fulfilling lives without the deceased seeking a new partner on their behalf.”

“I understand you don’t understand our way of life. But I had to try anyhow.”

In silence, we walked back to our cars. My Toyota Corolla is in stark contrast to his brand new polished BMW. They say a dog resembles its owner. My battered, 23-year-old ugly car also resembled its owner — rusty in the joints, prone to random wheezing, and desperately clinging to the glory days of the ’90s.

Before we left, I gave Koen a big hug. “I know this is hard. I wish you strength. Talk to your wives. Let them mourn with you, allow them to feel a bit of your pain. Don’t do this all alone, please. Don’t be afraid of death. The universe always takes care of good people.”

He nodded, got into his car, and left. With a sigh, I leaned against my car, the familiar scent of rust and oil filling my nostrils, opened the door, and slid behind the wheel.