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He’d stolen the book from the school library in Berlin because the cover had a cool car on it. Now, three weeks later, he was sitting in the passenger seat of a stolen Lada, somewhere near Lelystad, with a Russian-German juvenile delinquent named Tschick at the wheel. The original plan—to drive to Wallachia—had gone off the rails somewhere around the German-Dutch border. Now they were lost, low on gas, and Tschick had just announced they were going to steal a boat.
"A bend in the dike," Tschick translated impatiently. "That's where the adventure really begins. Not the highway. Not the straight line. The bend." tschick nederlandse versie pdf 51
Tschick stared at him for a long second. Then he laughed—a real laugh, not the sharp, defensive one he usually used. He kicked open the car door and stepped out into the wet grass. He’d stolen the book from the school library
Maik looked up. Fifty meters ahead, the narrow road curved sharply around an old brick pumping station. Beyond it, the landscape changed. The geometric tulip fields gave way to a scraggly forest of poplars and a rusty sign: Geen toegang – Privéterrein . Now they were lost, low on gas, and
"Read it again," Tschick said, not taking his eyes off the dike road. His sleeveless shirt was streaked with motor oil. "Page fifty-one. The part about the bend."
"It's a novel," Maik sighed. "By a German author. Translated. It's not a prophecy."