Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

Max Lobe

I can hear him smile. I don’t know if it ’s at my expense or in relief at not having had to eat Bantu food again today, on the national holiday. —And Dominique?, he asks. It went well? —As always. Very well. Ruedi pauses. The smile I could hear just now fades. I don’t know why. Maybe he wants more details on my time with Dominique? Maybe he needs a moment to decode the few words of my laconic answer? I’m a little surprised because there’s nothing he doesn’t know on that topic. I remain silent. Since I don’t say a word, Ruedi starts talking again and tells me about his holiday. He tells me that they, his family and he, were at the Rütli meadow. That first they sailed there over Lake Lucerne from Flüelen on a small motorboat his father had rented. That the sun was so hot they had to stop a few times to swim in the cool water. That when they got there, to the famous Rütli meadow, where the oath of the Old Swiss Confederacy was signed in the late thirteenth century, while we Bantus were still walking around naked in the forest with the animals, it was very crowded. That ’s normal—this lush green meadow surrounded by snow-capped mountains all year long is in great demand by the politicians of all stripes on National Day. Each political party wants to claim its share of the Rütli oath. Each one wants


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