The glass door swung open and the waiter turned round. Another group of customers. This was a strange night - unusually busy, and people seemed to be different, too. Normally, he knew just the right things to say and do to make his customers feel comfortable, and he played the part of a typical Italian waiter with gusto. This meant wearing a golden necklace he usually took off the second he left the restaurant, speaking with a slighty exaggerated Italian accent, displaying his perfectly white teeth, and flirting with the ladies behind the backs of their sadly unattractive male companions. For this act, it didn't really matter that he was half German and half Spanish, but his real name was one of his best kept secrets.
Volker - Paolo to his guests - sighed as one of his regular customers, a middle aged school teacher, waved him over to his table. The woman sitting opposite the teacher looked decidedly feminist and definitely quarrelsome. Not his type at all! Arriving at the table, Volker coud hear the end of her angry outburst.
"…and, besides, getting a letter from Ireland is no reason not to turn up on time. If you want to discuss school matters with me, next time ask me during the morning break!"
"Well, I thought it would be a nice idea to discuss the final exams over dinner", her colleague managed to say. "I've already had my meal, and I want to leave now!"
"Well, then… The bill, please." The poor guy looked totally devastated when Volker left to print out the receipt. That very moment one of his oldest customers - in more than one sense - started to choke on his "Tortellini gratinata". "Please, no emergencies tonight", Volker thought as he rushed to the old man's table who had already slightly recovered.
"Not to worry", Mr Will said when Volker arrived, "I was just so surprised when I read this letter here. A message about someone I used to know back in the Fifities."
Now it was Volker's turn to be surprised. Another foreign looking envelope! But again, he didn't get the chance to ask further questions, as he had to return to the teacher's table, who was patiently waiting for the bill and enduring his colleague's outbursts. Halfway through the room, Volker was stopped short by the particularly nasty sound of a mobile and a woman shouting into it.
"Yes?… no…NO! There's no way I'll talk to you. Bye, mother!"
"Calm down, Helen, the other girl at her table said, "I know this must be hard for you, but…"
"Stop analysing me!", the first nearly shouted. Volker glanced at the two girls. They seemed to be sisters, both around twenty years old, and they were obviously talking about a strange letter with foreign stamps on it. He would have loved to find out a bit more about it, but caught a desperate look from the teacher, who was waiting to pay his bill and be able to leave.
Later, Volker couldn't even remember what the teacher had said to him while he paid for his colleague's dinner. He was still wondering why all people were either reading letters or talking about people and messages from Ireland when he took a large bowl of "Insalata mista" and a "Pizza spinachi" over to a couple in the far corner. Though the woman with the dark frizzy hair knew all about his rather un-Italian identity, she never spoilt his "Latin lover"-act. A fact he definitely appreciated. Though tonight he neither did his act very well, nor was the couple too attentive, obviously debating about yet another strange letter which lay on their table.
Maybe this letter business is some kind of practical joke, Volker wondered, as he went over to a man sitting on his own. I could have served him any kind of food, Volker thought angrily, while taking away the empty plate, this guy wouldn't have noticed, the way he concentrates on reading his correspondence.
"Excuse me, do you have a phone?" Oh dear, Volker hadn't even noticed the woman at the next table, as he was trying so hard to glance at the single man's letter, saying "Western Light Gallery" on top.
"Sorry, what did you say?" he turned towards the group at the next table.
"Do you have a phone?" The woman smiled.
"What are you trying to do?", one of her friends asked, "call your travel agent and book a ticket to Ireland right away?" The whole group laughed, and for a second Volker thought they were laughing at him. Was this the annual meeting of the Irish society? But all those people obviously didn't know each other!
Slightly puzzled, Volker went back to the counter. Thankfully, the busiest time was over. Only now Volker realized that, though it was unusually busy, some of his regular customers hadn't turned up. One of them had told him that he wouldn't be in town for a few weeks, as he got winter depressions. Lucky fellow, Volker would love to be somewhere south now. Oh, and the group of journalists who usually came in on Thursdays hadn't turned up either. Earlier in the day, he had seen one of them, Katharina, when he was doing his shopping. She hadn't noticed him, rushing across the Münsterplatz all in tears. He really would have liked to find out what had happened…