A look, straight into my eyes. Kim.

  “I don't mind you staying. Do you, Samira?”

The girl looks at me. 

  “I don't mind. What's your name?”

  “My name is Toni. I think that's some really important things you two are saying there. In a way it's crazy how people just naturally organise and reorganise the piece of land they — as far as they are concerned — own.” Kim's gaze rests on me.

  “Absolutely. They make decisions about beings they don't even know anything about and about beings they don't even know exist. Now Samira and her sister told this lady the mining bees exist. She would have had no clue. And all the other animals also living in the garden she is completely unaware of — whatever she does affects them. She is completely unaware of the gigantic responsibility she is taking for all these beings. And she is probably failing them. In a way, that is exactly what politicians are often doing on a large scale, when they are doing their spatial planning. Being fully unaware of the billions of beings they are taking responsibility for and fully unaware of failing that responsibility.”  

  “But!” Shouts Samira. “What can we do!”

   “That’s why we have to consider the others' needs. Pretend you could ask the bees what their opinion is and then take that opinion seriously. Enter a democratic process where humans have a say and the bees have a say and the hedgehogs…”

  “Kim, you are quite a thinker. I just fear that Samira's neighbour would struggle to follow what you're saying. She might still be on the level of: There are holes in the ground, I need to call the pest control.”

 A furious stare. 

  “Pest. Control. Two big mistakes. One of the biggest attitude problems in humans is that they think they have the right to control nature. And pest — please define the term ‘pest’.  If a pest is a species that throws its habitat off balance because there are more individuals than this habitat can support, then you don’t have to be  Einstein to realise who the pest is: the mining bee or the people working in quote, unquote, pest control. They don’t realise what a bad joke their own term is. They are a pest on a control trip.”
  “You seem so gentle, but you can really fume.” 

  “Oh yes. I am gentle. But I get protective if what I care about is under threat. Because we ff— finally have to be more humble! We can’t call everything a pest and go kill, that we for some random personal reason disapprove of. I mean — what kind of an attitude is that! I also don’t just shoot my neighbour because her taste in music annoys me and I can’t stand her blasting her best of road rock compilation! Or the boys hanging around the beach promenade who always leave their litter! Every time I go past there I pick up some empty crisps bags, a Lucozade bottle and those, those little things I really think need to be out-lawed: these really small plastic foil tubes that single cigarette filters come in. They are so inconspicuous, even litter pickers often don’t spot them. And they really are everywhere. I mean, if you leave them at the promenade, obviously they get blown into the sea. Or if they end up in the sewers, what they often do, then they just get flushed into the sea. So yeah — these boys really do annoy me! Still I wouldn’t want to kill them, I mean: if you annoy me, I kill you — what kind of an attitude is that!” Silence. Kim squeezes Samira's hand again and lets go. “We'll think about what we can do and how we can try to talk to this lady. For today, we've had enough grief, don't you think. Shall we have a piece of cake together?” Cake! A punch in the weak stomach. Samira nods.

  “Toni, would you also like a piece? It's on the house.” Oh! Cake sounds great. 

  “I would love a piece of cake! But I can also pay, Kim.”

  “No, no, no. It’s on the house. I’ll get us some. Un momentito.” 

Kim gets up, leaving a gap. Empty air. Samira looks up at me. 

  “Have you tried the cakes they have here?”

  “No, I haven’t. I’ve never been to this café before.”

  “Never?” She can’t believe it.

  “No, never.”

  “But the cakes are great!”

  “Well, I’m looking forward to it!”

  “Did you know they are all vegan?”

  “Only since today.”

  “They use CHICK PEA WATER instead of eggs!”

  “Wow.”

  “I thought: GROSS!” Laughter.

  “Before you tried the cakes?”

  “Yes. But then it was like: mmmmmmmm!” She licks her lips.

  “That sounds good. I’m looking forward.”

Finally the shadows open and Kim steps into the sun, confident and beautiful. Samira and I receive a large piece of nut cake each out of Kim's freckled hands. 

Okay, Kim has closed the issue. And Samira needs a rest. But. There is some theory they should know. I swallow, lick my finger, just a short, crunchy mini-lecture.

  “You know one thing with this new neighbour lady is: she is used to certain visual norms. Basically, in order for her to change her mind, she would need to overcome these norms. What could typically help would be: she would need to see pictures of really attractive looking wildlife gardens. But attractive to HER eye, the way she is at the moment. Pick her up where she is at the moment. It would have to look attractive in a way that it can’t be the opposite of what she is used to enjoying. She won’t be able to make the switch from finding a lawn pretty to finding a dandelion meadow with holes in the ground pretty within a day. That’s too extreme. I mean, SOME people make these switches fast, if they have eye-opener moments. But If you don’t experience a specific life changing moment, such things usually are gradual shifts.” Responsibility. “In a way it’s also the responsibility of the media. What is presented to people as pretty. As cosy. As homey. And of course as tended. Not mowing your lawn is often associated with untidiness. Did you know that the Beatles’ LONG hair in the sixties was often mistaken for UNWASHED hair? The press kept asking them, ‘how often do you wash your hair?’ They were not used to a difference between cutting and washing. If you were a clean man, you did both. It took society a while to realise that a man with long hair may still be a washed man. It’s the same with gardens. It’s a re-learning process. Unlearning your idea of what a clean person or garden is. Learning that what you first thought was grubby may actually not be grubby at all. It’s about getting people used to pictures they’re not yet used to. Once they are used to them, they will feel more comfortable around them and can eventually like them. In advertising you can rely on that principle; even if people don’t like a spot the first time they watch it, a surprising number of them will start liking it if you just keep showing it to them. Because the human mind works that way, we find things comforting that we know. What we know is what makes us feel safe and homey, so we like it.”  

Kim observes me closely.  

  “That sounds like you have quite some theoretical knowledge on such matters.”

I nod. Cheeks feel hot. Blushing.

  “I do, yeah. I studied that kind of stuff.” Now I have to tell. “I’ve a Master’s in Strategic Advertising and work for an advertising agency.” Shame. “I did my undergrad in Photography and Design. Then I was afraid I wouldn’t earn any money with that, so I went on to business school.  

Ouch. There’s Anne's voice again. ‘You’re going down a bad path, Toni. Do you seriously want people to buy nuclear power and meat from factory farming because of you? Because you designed the advertising, packaging, brochures so beautifully? Or are you going to turn such projects down? If you agree to work on such projects, you are dragging the world in the same direction as the rainforest loggers and money worshipers. You’ll turn into a pitiful, lazy asshole repeating that snoring lie in the face of your conscience: 'One package more or less makes no difference, I have to see how I get by; if I don't agree to work on that project, someone else will do it'. You are manoeuvring yourself into direct opposition to people like Hanna or Cesc or Amelie, who work their asses off, trying to somehow put the pieces of this broken world back together. Think about it carefully, Toni.’   

  “But I am not happy in my job,” My voice sounds weird. Like mine. But like someone else’s. “Originally I just wanted to do something with art, but now I realise I ended up doing something immoral.” 

Kim nods. 

  “Selling people shit they don't need.” 

  “Yes. And in the worst case, negative stuff. Nuclear power and such.” 

Samira glares at me, eyes still red and swollen. 

  “You sell nuclear power to people?” 

  “Not really,” Can I defend myself? I shouldn’t. I’m wrong. No breath. 

  “At school, we have photovoltaic cells on the roof!” 

  “That's great!” I hastily agree. “My colleagues always say that it makes no difference whether one consumer more or less buys the stuff. But I’ve realised I can’t live with such excuses.” 

  “Do you want to change your job, then?” 

  “I've never formulated it so clearly… but to be honest with myself: yes. I think so.” Boom boom boom! My heart. Booms in my throat. What am I talking about? Need to rest my eyes on something calm. Dandelion. A wreath of delicate curls, rich with golden pollen, sits enthroned over a light golden ball of narrow petals. A bumblebee. Sits down, hums comfortably. In addition, two stems still bear buds. "Yes, I think I'd rather spend my lifetime on something better.” 

  “Well, that sounds like a wonderful idea,” smiles Kim. “Doing something positive is also going to make you feel better.” We are silent. It is a pleasant silence. Among bird song and buzzing. “We have a full-time position available.” Kim’s nod guides my eyes towards the café. “A wonderful place to spend your working hours. Between the trees, birds everywhere… And you would definitely not have to feel guilty about making dirty money because you would hardly earn anything!” Giggles.

Samira’s eyes widen. 

  “You don't earn anything, Kim?” 

  “I do, I do. I just exaggerated. I make ends meet. But look at Toni’s clothes. They are much fancier than mine.” Clear eyes study me and a warm feeling runs down my back. Warm as Kim's voice. “If you don’t want to work at a café for the rest of your days, you could finance yourself while you think about what you'd rather do with your life.” Kim’s smile rests within itself. Content freckles. “And you could learn lots of interesting stuff about nature. One thing I still wanted to say, by the way: mining bees actually don’t like long grass. They like to build their holes in short grass or even barren soil. So your Beatles hair example was a wee bit off, actually. Bees would probably not like to build their holes in Beatles hair.” Samira laughs out loud, Kim chuckles. “But apart from that — what you said was very interesting. I think some of the knowledge you bring could really help us. We sometimes struggle to get our message out to people, whereas you’re a specialist on that.” My stomach is too light, I’m too weightless, a bird with a fear of heights. Now I would have to jump. I could just fly. Sudden freedom, an empty space. Wings… 

  “You are serious, aren't you?” 

  “Absolutely. We are still accepting applications this week. So far, all applicants are already fighting for good anyway. Hippies, vegans, environmental scientists. It would be our honour to help a potential turncoat like you change sides.” 

  “I - I have to think about that. That’s a big decision.”

  “Do that! And now concentrate on your cake! Do you like it at all?” 

  “Oh, sorry! Yes, I really do, it’s delicious!” 

  “Good. Vegan, of course.” 

  “With chickpea water instead of eggs. Samira explained it to me.”

  “Excellent. Okay, now — Samira and I are going to make music now. You are free to listen, if you want. Or if you want to wander around the arboretum, see how you would like working here -- go ahead! Ah — and one more thing: it’s not JUST a café job. It includes having a bit of an eye out for the dunes. We are the closest — uhm, say — official entity around here. So we keep a bit of an eye open if people keep their dogs on the lead and so on.” 

  “Ah, okay.” 

  “A bit of a volunteer ranger position comes attached.” 

  “I know nothing about dunes, though, as you know.”

  “You already know more than you did this morning.”

  “Well, yes. I know it’s not all sand and there are delicate plants and blue butterflies and even newts and toads.” 

  “And nightjars!” Samira's eyes brighten. 

Nightjars… nightjars nightjars — that rings a faint bell…

  “Is that a type of bat?”

  “No-ho-ho!!” Don’t choke on your cake, kid. “Nightjars are ground breeding birds! We’ve been practicing a nightjar song that a composer composed extra for us!” 

  “Hm?”

  “We have a little festival coming up” Kim explains. To raise awareness about the nightjars and the dunes in general. Many people don’t know much about nightjars, but we’re sure they’d be interested. We cooperate with some artists who dedicate some their time for free, like the composer who wrote the nightjar song for us. And we’re also thinking about how we can get the information out in an exciting way that actually interests people. At the moment all there is, is a boring looking sign at one of the spots where you can enter the dunes. But it’s just a load of words — who is supposed to stop and read that all. So this is where some people with commercial expertise could actually be really helpful…”

  “So you just have people volunteer to help put on an educational festival?”

  “Basically, yes. With music and visual art. And cake, of course. We’ll raise funds by selling vegan muffins which are topped with sugar flowers representing some of the species that grow in the dunes.”

  “That sounds like a good idea.”

  “I think it is. But still. I’m sure we could still use some helpful ideas by a pro marketing person…” Uff.

  “So what’s up with these nightjars?”

  “Well you know. Obviously ground breeding birds are vulnerable. Many people walking their dogs and who of course love their dogs don’t have the heart to keep them on a lead. I mean, obviously. I can fully understand that. Of course you wanna make your dog happy and let them run. But sometimes and in some areas it’s just not possible. Just a mile further on there are dog friendly beaches. If people could just go there we’d have no problem. In the dunes dogs just are a problem. They just do destroy nests and injure birds. And their people might not even notice it, so they might not even necessarily pick up the injured birds and bring them to the wildlife hospital, because they don’t notice — if they themselves stick to the path and their dog just goes zooming off somewhere — you know, people don’t mean bad, but they just don’t know.“ 

  “But!” shouts Samira. “They do just leave their poo bags around! They do notice THAT!”

  “True”, I nod. “No one is going to just accidentally hang a poo bag from a branch without noticing it.”

Samira bursts out laughing.

  “Woooooops! Hung another poo bag from a branch! I didn’t notice I was doing that, hahahaaaa!”

Earth brown curls bop as Kim is nodding.

  “Well, I think people don’t realise the dunes are any special habitat so they don’t try to treat it in any special way. Why that means they have to leave their shit around — literally — is just the way it is, unfortunately. Many people start behaving badly as soon as they don’t feel watched.” 

  “Why?” Samira scratches her head and adjusts her hijab. 

Good question. I wouldn’t have had the idea to ask, but interesting question.

Kim chuckles.

  “Okay, this time I can give you some theory. That’s psychology. It has to do with how people are brought up. If they are brought up in a way that they are only told to follow rules, otherwise they’ll be in trouble, they will only follow them as long as they feel watched. As long as they fear the consequences, basically. As soon as they don’t feel watched, they do whatever. Because what they have not learned is to question and understand the SENSE of the rules — why these rules exist at all.” Silence. Can you still learn that as an adult? Or can you only learn that as a child? You can. I guess. You can always learn. Potential for change exists. In all of us. I’m sure. Today, I’m sure. Deep breath. “If you are, on the other hand, brought up in a way that your common sense and your independent thinking is trained, you will not hang poo bags from branches, also if you go walk alone at two at night and you yourself are your only corrective. Samira, I bet you have kids in your school class, who only do their home work because they are worried they will get in trouble if they don’t. They don’t understand that they are supposed to learn these things because they are important things!”

Eager nods.

  “Pete and Jay are like that! They aren’t ever interested in what we do at school. They just sit down and work when they are afraid they’ll get in trouble.”

  “There you go. That’s it, exactly.”  

  “Liz is like that, too!”

  “See, and that’s stupid. Because it’s really important to know about things.” 

  “LIKE FOR EXAMPLE ABOUT THE NIGHTJARS! We have to know so we can protect them!”

  “Exactly, you got it. Okay, Samira, we’re running a little late today, so lets get practicing.”  

Both open their instrument cases and take out the parts of their flutes. Silence. Slo-mo. Kim assembles the silver instrument. Almost hesitantly. Are you waiting for me to offer something? What — I — this is crazy. I could work here. Of course. I could easily help with designs — I can design them a flashy sign that will catch people's attention, about nightjars and, and poo-bags. Sure. Of course. I have stopped seeing life as a motif. But I can use my skills. It’s just — crazy. What — is my tomorrow? My next Monday morning, my…

  “Kim, are YOU actually running this café?” 

Are you the one who is sorting through the applications and makes the decision who gets the job?

Time stands still.

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, okay…wow.”

  “Yeah.”

Boom. My heart. Boom, boom. Dizzy. Silence. Silence. 

  “Do you know how I met Kim?” Samira.

Kim smiles.

  “We’ve built up a network of music teachers who volunteer to teach children who love music but couldn’t afford lessons.” Kim adjusts the now fully assembled flute. “That's how I met Samira. She’s a great talent. And we got on well straight away, didn’t we.”

Samira nods vigorously, playing binoculars with two shiny tubes. 

  “Guess why, Toni!” 

  “Don’t hurt yourself, Samira.” Kim takes one of the tubes away from her, putting it back into the case.

Samira focusses on me through the remaining monocular tube.

   “Well, because you just liked each other?” 

  “Yes! And! Because we both have the same problem: other people think we are disabled.”

Here goes! The gender thing!

  “Why is that?” 

  “Because Kim is a mix of a man and a woman. Did you know that exists?” Poker face! I need a poker face! A nod and a simple smile. Heat rises. Hot cheeks and ears. No poker face. Breathe. 

  “And what about you?” 

She drops her monocular into her lap, lifts up her hands, waves them in my face. 

  “Look!”

  “Oh! Honestly, I didn't notice that at all! They are a wee bit crooked, aren’t they.” 

  “Ideal for playing the flute,” smiles Kim. A sudden gloomy flicker. “Imagine, there were some relatives who were making a huge deal out of that. No one will want to marry her blah blah blah. Luckily her parents stayed sane. I told Samira’s parents they should just chill — Samira is going to be a great flutist!”

  “Is that what you want to be when you grow up?” I ask.

  “Yes! I’ll be a professional musician! I practice all the time! I have lessons twice a week with Kim. And I practice half an hour every evening before going to bed. And on Saturdays one hour and on Sundays, too.”

  “Wow, you are following a real regime!”

Laughter.

  “I would play more, but then mom stops me and says: ‘Samira! Time for bed! I never want to stop! It’s always: whooop half an hour is already over.”   

  “You sure love playing, if time flies like that.”

  “Yes!”

Kim picks up the two remaining parts of Samira’s flute and puts them in her hands.

  “Samira, put your flute together.” 

  “I WAS JUST GOING TO!”

  “Well then—“

  “YE-HES! I’m really fast at this! Look, already done!”

  “Okay, then check if you assembled the parts well. And if all is good, we start. Let’s see if we manage to play the nightjar song by heart this time.”  

The girl in the sky blue hijab lifts the sparkling flute to her lips. Suddenly it looks as if the instrument was poured into her hands. Her curved fingers become melody, miraculously beautiful. 

That is the point. Exactly.

This is not a polished, ideal harmony. It's a living, organic one. The music for and by the birds. Kim, the walking yin and yang. Anne's tattoo! I had completely forgotten about that! It was the last day of our undergrad exams. And she appeared with a fresh quote from Thoreau: do not live in harmony merely, but in melody. NOW that makes sense! Of course, we need melody, not just harmony.

Beauty can also be messy and imperfect. With earth holes and freckles and crooked fingers. Because that's life. And maybe - maybe that's the most compelling beauty ever. A ray of sunshine reflects on Kim's flute and hits me right in the face. Blinded, I blink.

Kim — is it possible— that you are my happy ending?