HAND (24 october 2005)
When we got into the number 17 at Rozengracht. the tram was jam-packed. The passengers stood much too close together for any comfort.
While I was standing there, I felt a hand go past the region of my belly.
I looked to see what the hand was doing there. But hardly had I directed my eyes downwards when the hand was hastily retracted into the recesses of a coat.
"What a nutcase!" I thought and looked up again.
Anew, I felt how the hand was attemting to cross the space in front of my abdomen. The hand seemed to have a life of its own. It also looked as if the owner didn't want to have anything to do with his own hand.
Once again, I looked to see what exactly the hand was doing there. And again I saw the hand withdraw quickly.
What was the hand up to? My idea that it belonged to a nut-case became increasingly less of a prejudice.
I tried to get a better view of its owner. A foreign looking man ... who indeed looked like a nut-case.
While I was observing the owner's countenance, I felt how the strange hand was again attempting to pass my abdominal region. Again it struck me that the nut-case was acting as if he and his hand had nothing to do with each other.
I'm afraid my story is getting boring, but I inclined again in the general direction of the hand -- which was, of course, pulled back swiftly.
The tram slowed down for the next stop. I was fed up with this nutcase and his weird hand.
"Come," I told my wife: "let's take the next tram. Maybe, it's somewhat quieter."
While we were getting out, I suddenly noticed that the pocket of my coat was open. And in it I saw my purse.
Only then did it dawn upon me what the nutcase had been up to ...
