The Secret Diary of Hendrik Groen, 83¼ Years Old

by Hendrik Groen

Evert seems to be doing a bit better. At the physiotherapist’s he is giving it his all—which manifests itself mainly in the amount of curses emerging from his mouth while he’s doing his exercises. Once, when Evert was about to step on the treadmill, one of the assistants made a show of stuffing cotton wool in her ears in jest. In response Evert plugged his own mouth with a huge wad of the stuff.

We were deposited at the front door, and the drivers were each given a bottle of the wine as a tip. Evert made a show of reluctance to part with the bottles. “Partir, c’est mourir un peu” (to leave is to die a little), he said solemnly to a bottle he cradled in his arms. Amid laughter, we then gaily waved goodbye to the drivers.