In fact, I once played Sinterklaas. That was a day to remember! Kate loves telling that story. I told her to write it down, but I’m not sure if she has. It’s a bit raunchy, here and there.Anyway: I believed in Sinterklaas wholeheartedly, up until about six or seven. I wrote letters to him. I sang songs. I actually behaved a bit better in November and December, or at least until December fifth. And I was convinced he knew who I was, too.That is the only experience I have that helps me understand religion: I was told something as a child by people I trusted implicitly, and saw it confirmed throughout the entire country. Family members, teachers and people on TV all said the same things. There were books about Sinterklaas, and audio cassettes with songs about him. I had no reason, none whatever, to doubt his existence. He was as real to me as Allah was to Musa, or God to Melody. And even so, by the time I was eight I fully understood how ridiculous it was to think that a man who was. I especially enjoyed the trifle for dessert. My mother used to make that from time to time.”Dawn laughed wryly before she said, “I doubt that your mother would’ve made the trifle the way I did. Everything came in either a can, or a cardboard box. I just put them together, that’s all.”“Don’t sell yourself short, Dawn. The end result is the important part, and I enjoyed every spoonful. Even the best chefs on TV mainly excel at combination and presentation. You covered both of those features very well with the entire meal.”Later, after watching an old movie, a light comedy on DVD, they finished the last two small glasses of wine from the bottle they had started at dinner. During the movie Dawn had leaned back against Matti’s chest, and he had enveloped her in his arms. They resumed this arrangement after they picked up their glasses.When there was a lull in their conversation, and the glasses were empty on the coffee table, Dawn asked, “Can you stay the night, Matti? I think I’d really.
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