For the umpteenth time in my life I set the table for dinner. And during the daily routine of two plates, two knives, two forks, two dessert bowls, -two of everything-, my mind is filled with thoughts. About the news from the radio, about tv footage, but mostly about the woman who was interviewed by a reporter from an American newspaper. An elderly woman who lived in one of the three villages in the crash site, in east Ukraine. She told the reporter how she had thought on that July afternoon that World War III had begun, when body parts started to fall from the sky like hail.
He must be around seventy-five, maybe older. I watch him during his careful but seemingly tireless workout on the elliptical cross trainer, his small and skinny body shiny from perspiration.
"I've got a new knee", he tells me later. Pointing at the rain outside he continues: "When I still went running, I used to wait for rain like that. Rain provides so much oxygen in the air, I was able to run around the world when it rained. Now my doctor doesn't allow me to run anymore. Too much pressure on the new joint."