“Do you think it’s strange there are no kids in our marriage?” Jill whispered to her better half.
“I think they will arrive at the proper time,” he answered with a face of terror. Jill promptly changed the subject of her discussion to prevent Araon getting annoyed.
“There is a great gala for my favourite movie at the spring film festival. We can go there later on.”
“Jill, you read my mind. I have two free tickets for the occasion. I’m sure we will enjoy ourselves a lot,” he said.
“I’m also sure that we will have a great time,” said Jill happily.
“But we are forgetting the most important thing,” said Araon swiftly. He kissed her on her lips and abandoned himself in well desired effusions. The two went straight to their flat, forgetting the gala.
Over there it was all different. A bucket of fruit was what needed to fuel Araon’s imagination. Strawberries, for example. Their faint smell combined itself with their tasty flavour. No sooner had Araon approached his lips with the fruit than the doorbell rang. It was the postman with a recorded delivery. Strange enough since it was four p.m. It was a shocking parcel. A skull surrounded by mice was inside. There was no name of the sender and it was not clear if that joke served a purpose. Araon smelled the skull and he realized that the smell was the some of the blood he had found in the Van Gogh Museum. The first thing he had in mind was to go and contact Van der Baast to find a compromise for the proceeding. The line was busy and, once connected, nobody answered. Jill was in the bedroom, totally unaware of the happening. Now the evidence of a suspected murder arrived at their home. Araon was, of course, careful that his wife wouldn’t find out about that truth. It was a miracle that Van der Baast didn’t answer. Araon had the immediate reaction of seeking him because of his astonishment and he hadn’t considered that Jill would hear him. He went silently to the cellar to hide the parcel and when he was back in the sitting room, he heard Jill snoring. A calamity had been avoided at last. Careful not to awake Jill, he started to think of his basal metabolism. To digest a piece of truth was like to digest a punnet of strawberries. He finally stopped worrying about that secret. The kismet had helped him a lot. The St Luciensteeg flat had the advantage of being provided with a garage where all Araon’s treasures and secrets could be easily placed at Jill unawareness. Araon was ashamed of being a privileged. And things were steady until the following day when Jill was waiting for Araon to bring her breakfast in bed. He had appeared briefly with some coffee with milk and a croissant. Araon considered that routine a proof of enduring love. “Here it is.” He had smiled.
“I love you,” had been Jill’s immediate answer.
While making a huge effort in trying to remember the content of the dream of the previous day she couldn’t have helped to whisper: “What are your plans for today?”
“To stay at home with you,” Araon had immediately replied. Jill put some effort into believing him for any reason. He knew that now she was aware that duty always came first. She suggested that he should go out on his own anyway. He would have missed his usual walk absorbed in limpid thoughts. Jill convinced Araon to go away. “Yes, duty comes first, but your stroll is one of your priorities as well. Just let me think of the dream I had last night. There was a lot of poo. This means money. Who knows, a jewel will do. Of course I’m just joking. In my life I have never dreamt of having precious stones to adorn me. My feelings for you have always been my decoration. Now go, go. Don’t let me tell you this again.”
“You are so sweet Jill. So we will see each other at lunch time. I hope you also have a stunning day,” he said and left the flat. He felt guilty and ashamed. He knew that Jill loved him too much and was respectful of his space for the sake of the safety of their marriage. He didn’t even know what to do in those couple of hours. He played a fair game: Jam, what is it? He was becoming dumb. He was speaking nonsense. He felt frivolous but satisfied. Now he was surer than ever that Jill was the top of his desires. Even the troubling little thing of the Van Gogh Museum mystery was far in the distance now.
But what about Jill? She was picking a piece of paper to write down the agenda of the day. She considered going to the hairdresser and have her hair trimmed before going shopping. She also took a note of the raffle ticket she had bought the previous day. At twelve o’ clock on TV they would announce the name of the winner of the first prize. So she had to rush. She went to the bedroom and grasped a vintage cloth. The mirror revealed her rare beauty. Araon must be very jealous, she thought. She realized she easily turned eyes either when she was on her own or when she was with Araon. But a healthy amount of jealousy was essential for their marriage to succeed.
Araon, in his turn, was trying to contact Doctor Van der Baast, this time successfully. “Hi, Doctor. It’s Araon speaking. How are you?” he said with a faint voice.
“I don’t understand who is speaking,” answered the doctor.
“Don’t you recognize me? I’m Araon, your adventure friend.”
Van der Baast remained speechless for a while, disappointed that he hadn’t understand Araon was on the phone. “Hi Araon, my good friend. Sorry about my absent-mindedness. It’s always a privilege to hear from you. Is there any news?”
“Well, yes there is. When Jill was hopefully sleeping, a parcel arrived at my address. There was a skull inside. It had the same smell of the blood I found at the Van Gogh Museum. I have no idea who sent me that. Certainly, it was not my friend. I have put it in my garage, in a place where only I can go. I need your help. I don’t know if there are people who are aware of my private investigation. Please, help me not to finish at the police station with hand cuffs. Do you think they are threatening me not to carry on my researches or is there something else?”
“You and me must be the only ones who share this secret. I would dare say that the person who sent you the skull is the murderer of the missing corpse. Comparisons between the skull and the blood you found below The Sunflowers must be done. Don’t worry too much now. I am very optimistic. Bye for now. I’ll contact you as soon as I have news about our case.”
“Bye, Van der Baast. I’ll let you know.” Araon switched off the phone with a certain exuberance and having a glance to his right he recognized an old fat lady who had been annoying him recently. He pretended not to have seen her and he went ahead with a soliloquy. Jill must be at home now. He crossed the street and got on the first bus to St Luciensteeg.
Albert and Sylvanus were wandering along Amsterdam dressed like lumbermen and with the fixed idea of defeating the so spread misogyny. There was a lot to do in order to defeat this nasty phenomenon. They had devised the cunning trick to appear humble in appearance just to stimulate people’s curiosity on the matter. The idea had worked wonderfully. People associated their look to the need to love in poverty and without the concept of not considering women as objects. Those past-times were not new to the two friends who were ascertaining now that it was a long time since they had seen Araon and Jill. They contacted them on the phone just to find out they were as busy as ever. Araon was so concerned to conceal the possession of that bloody skull to Jill that he had no other wish to stay on his own. Reason for which he was always careful not to answer the phone next to Jill in case it was Van der Baast speaking.
Jill had a stressful day but she was keen not to deny a warm welcome to the two friends. But Albert and Sylvanus had heavenly desires. They managed to be in touch with Araon and told him about the funny things they were doing these days. “We are concerned with misogyny at the moment,” Albert started talking unaware of Araon’s desire to be short. “We have joined a club where people devise weird masquerade to sensitize people on the issue of women’s mistreatment by the stronger sex.” He carried on while Araon was yawning.
“Well, I may say you have had a good idea. Me and Jill are not socialite so there is nothing new to tell you. She is wishing to hear your voice. We have time to meet each other and spent some relaxing time together. Let’s talk to Jill now,�
� Araon said just to provoke his friend.
“Hi Albert. It’s always a joy to hear from you. You are right, it’s a long time since we have seen each other. We will arrange something shortly. But now I apologize I am waxing my leg and I cannot spend too much time on the phone. Say hello to Sylvanus on my behalf and congratulations for your brand-new initiative.”
“It’s a pity. We could go to the bar around the corner for a coffee and a chat. I miss a lot these moments of ours,” said Sylvanus.
“Do not worry, another occasion will arrive soon. Now let me know more about your club. What has the initiative against the violence of women to do with it?” said Araon.
“We told you, it’s all under cover. It’s a very unusual routine to find women pampering themselves or doing fitness before they reach their husbands or companion and try to be beautiful to their very eyes. According to the statistics a woman is killed by her husband or companion with brutality one every two days. In our club we try to divert the attention to women’s wellbeing to a form of self-confidence not to be shown in front of their companions. Apparently, the key to all these murders, is bitter jealousy. These women take little care about their personal hygiene. And this can be an alarming excuse for their partner’s violence against them. If you have time, I’ll show you the whole club. You will be more than the welcome. Today we were crying at the number of women killed this year. We don’t disclose this data officially to prevent havoc among people,” said Sylvanus
“I would appreciate coming and seeing the club with you. That’s really helpful. Now I have to apologize but I have to stop my chat here. Jill must be hidden somewhere I do not know. See you another day together with Albert and Jill as well. Bye for now,” said Araon
“Bye, Araon”.
The phone rang again, “Yes?” said Sylvanus.
“Sorry, it’s Araon. I changed my mind I want to come to the club now. Just give me the time to put on my jeans,” said Araon
“Great, it’s thirty minutes’ walk from your home. I confess I was calling you from next to the door of your building. So when you go out I can immediately bring you to the club,” said Sylvanus.” And Albert is with me, of course.”
The three friends addressed their calamity to the doctrine of surveillance. Actually, they didn’t know what to do, nor what stuff to pick from the club. Araon brought a rose as a symbol of sympathy towards these women. Since he entered the place, he had noticed a certain familiarity with it. There was the smell of Jill’s favourite perfume all around. Oversized women were exercising on the treadmill while smaller ones had found their moment of peace by doing yoga. It was all so perfect. And Araon used those moments to find inspiration for his private investigation. Albert and Sylvanus mustn’t be suspicious and aware of his secret. Albert was eating a banana when the doorbell rang. It was the usual pastry man with cakes for everybody. He had a message for a certain Hanna. It was, unsurprisingly, her husband. The cakes were a nasty expedient. They were a way to say goodbye to everybody inside the club on behalf of his wife. He wanted her at home and quickly. Behaviour like this was not unusual in this club. Anyway, all the women went to taste and smell the cakes before going back to their gym exercise. It was embarrassing to accept candies from a man who was not the boss of the club but just the husband of one of them. They thought, “She must be enjoying herself a lot before her partner arrived.” They pronounced those scaring words once in the dressing room.
Araon was amazed and excited at the same time. He wanted to leave his friends to go home where Jill must be alone. She must be very busy preparing the lunch and after lunch things. Araon noticed something weird and fishy about his friends. It was a constant feeling born a few months earlier. It was as if he had nothing to share with them. It was perhaps a sense of rivalry or, maybe, his anguish for his secret. Only Doctor Van der Baast had been informed about it. No, it was not fear. He would find out more later. Time arrived to say goodbye to his friends and to be ready to face Jill. He went to the barber to trim his hair and to a sport shop to buy weird tennis rackets to give to Jill as a joke. It was a long time since they had played tennis and now, they might start doing it again.
He finally arrived home where Jill was put out and irritated. “Good morning!” he said. And he changed Jill’s bad mood in the utmost joy.
CHAPTER TEN
The Van Gogh Museum staff became agitated when they came to learn that work must be done soon next to the famous painting of The Sunflowers. It was the piece of the museum that attracted millions of tourists every year. Hopefully, nobody but Araon had witnessed the blood traces on the floor next to it. There were advantages and disadvantages to Araon’s position. He had taken the blood to be examined very quickly not to be seen by any other staff in the museum and now he was ready to face the truth which may come out during the work of restoration. So he went very early to the museum with some toast that replaced his skipped breakfast and a mobile in his right hand ready to answer Jill in case she would contact him. It was opening time. He went straight away in the Sunflower room. He noticed some annoying dust on the painting. It was dirty enough to pollute the imprints of whoever had touched the masterpiece. He was almost relieved. Nobody but him knew about the blood and the missing corpse. He was satisfied that nothing important had changed since he had started asking himself what was behind that mystery. His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of tourists from every walk of life whose only ambition was to admire the famous Van Gogh painting. They had been informed that that room would be closed at twelve o’ clock because of the work of restoration on the canvas. Araon made a grimace and went to admire other paintings from other geniuses. To look at paintings was a sort of ritual for him. Melodious sourness agitated his mind. Never before had he enjoyed the dopamine and endorphin release of his brain. He loved art. A demon by nature he had always taken the habit to enjoy the pleasure of trying to find out what was behind the brushes which made all those masterpieces. It was twelve o’ clock. The alarm bell rung, pushing all people present outside. Araon was next to the first door that allowed him to leave the museum just on time. He didn’t know what to think in the first place. Maybe a thief or a fire forced people to evacuate the place. Araon took the decision to visit the museum another day to have a clear picture of the situation. For today it was enough. He grabbed the toast from his bag and ate it voraciously. Now he was not sure if he should contact Van der Baast. Or even Jill. When he left home that morning, she was fast asleep. He hadn’t left a note telling her that he would arrive home soon. He dialled her cell number but it was switched off. “She must be angry,” he thought. “I must have informed her about my duty on time.” And after a while he could reach her on the cell. “Hi, darling, how are you? I left home very early this morning without leaving a note for you. You looked an angel, a sleeping angel. What are you doing now?” he said.
“I am at the supermarket. I was waiting for a call from you when I realized my phone was off. Don’t worry about me. Go ahead with your job I’m very busy with all my shopping. Thank God I know you are alive. Just joking, of course.” she said.
“Darling I’ll come back home at three p.m. I’ll tell you about everything then. Now carry on with your shopping and be confident that I’m missing you,” he said. Happy to have heard his wife he now focused on making plans for the next five hours. He considered visiting another museum in the city in the hope of bumping into some kind of visitors different from the ones of the Van Gogh Museum. He hoped that that was the last time he had to witness the scurrying of people from a museum. He didn’t want to mess himself up with tortuous points of view. Probably the murderer of the missing corpse was a regular attendant of the place. To hide a corpse so quickly was not the act of a genius but it needed some mastery anyhow. The phlegm of those visitors could allow the murderer to hide himself very well. All the bustle around the Van Gogh Museum could be noticed with some power when compared with the crowd outside. Araon was around to admire the masterpieces of other ancient pa
inters. He was thirsty for knowledge accompanied by fame and art. Maybe it was the moment to contact Van der Baast. He needed strongly an adviser. He was in deep trouble but he had no more to add to his mood of an endangered run-down. But where was he? Araon was one of those passionate people who would be scared of the smallest thing. He didn’t know where Van der Baast was and that was harsh for him. No answer again on the phone.
He looked at the wristwatch and realized it was time to go back home as anticipated to Jill. Jill was waiting for him with a lovely lunch. Well, it was three pm but it would do. Araon never stopped boosting Jill for her numerous acts of love for him. She was an excellent cook and she used this talent to bewitch Araon every day. To beguile him was an act of ordinary madness from Jill’s side. The streets were frightfully deserted. He had walked his way home undeterred and as a slave of his fervent imagination. A black cat had crossed his way and that had awoken his superstitious ideas. What a mess! He was sure that he would bring home to Jill nothing else than confused ideas of people’s life. But he didn’t miss the point. Jill was ready at the door when he arrived at three p.m. A big kiss welcomed him who was ready to leap into his lovely lunch.
Mark the homeless was enjoying a frantic day when he came up with the idea of the acrostic L-A. U. R. A. “The meaning of the acrostic is very deep but not very far from reality,” he thought. He was absorbed by a constant, a fixed idea: he was the boss of a band of thieves who approached the pub to write with menses blood the outcome of his deeds.
Yes, it was a thief. Nobody else would be so interested in announcing to the world his fears of his dignity being stolen, besides the plunder he had so wisely concealed to his former group of friends. For the moment, Mark didn’t need to decipher the acrostic but to think back to the origin of the accident. The blood in the pub door was still fresh. He decided to go to that pub to better think back to the episode. He was amazed to realize he was apparently the only one to be aware of the mischievous deed. “Maybe,” he thought. The pub owner appeared not to bother because of that accident even when he saw Mark so curious in front of the pub door. The soiled man must have acted very early in the morning before the barman had entered the place from the back door. The smell of the blood was awful. reason for which Mark had saved it in a tiny bottle to bring it to the hospital to be examined with an excuse. Now the pub door was clear from any impurity. Unfortunately, even the imprints of the soiled man had disappeared. He wouldn’t be surprised if the imprints belonged to a woman who had accidentally stabbed a rival over a jewels affair. The acrostic would reflect the name of the victim who had been exposed to the world in that way. Mark was considering if there was something similar somewhere else in the city. He fell upon a tyre tread and realized some dust was covering tiny objects. He bent to observe them and pick them up. They were some golden rings. The lead that convinced him the soiled one was a woman started to totter and stagger. Somebody else could be interested in keeping for himself some eloquent rings to expose the owner to public domain. Watching closely the rings, Mark was able to daydream about what could have happened. He wanted to learn the exact date of the mischievous fact. He had no idea about the disappearance of the ring since the day he had made the big discovery. He started to get confused. He would imagine a pawn not to have been raped as a prostitute. Mark decided to turn himself in another direction and abandon his fantasy on sexism and money. Some blood so brutally used would never replace a revengeful act on behalf of the victim. He needed a pause. He decided to go and have a look at the engine of the car he had borrowed from the head of the hospital. He was definitely not an engineer but he could cope very well with the fixing of an engine being himself in possession of a driving license. The engine was very inspiring and useful to his investigation. It had the shape of a heart which had to be dismantled in order to check if it could run properly if put into another automobile. He thought not to have been wise to have taken that car that day since he had imagined the tyre tread next to the golden ring. These deeds sounded very strange but there was a reason for it. The analysis of the mystery of the acrostic fell into chaos because of the noisy engine of the car. The first noise resembled the one of a hammer, beating a rock. This was not meant to be useful to somebody who wanted to escape and have freedom in all his deeds. Everybody in the surrounding area would hear that noise. The second noise was the one of a broken engine. “Never mind,” Mark thought. “I think that within one month everything will be clear, thanks to my wisdom.” He had to figure out a couple of things before reaching the hospital where everybody was looking for him. Mark was desolate and bleak. He did his best not to attract the attention of the bystanders though. He would have found friends nearby if he wanted to. He preferred to work on his own on the case of the acrostic in the hope that this wouldn’t lead to a murder. That day he hadn’t showered and that was a matter of concern for the doctors and the nurses. He pretended not to notice the smell of the sweat from his body. He was wearing an old overall, very useful for the occasion. He promised himself that he would have sorted everything out at his arrival at the hospital. Now he tried to forget all that burden. He went to a coffee shop to buy a packet of cigarettes. It was all perfume and flowers all around. The shop owner was pretentious and unkind. Mark went to pay and flee to the other part of the street where it was more difficult to bump into an unpleasant man. He lit the cigarette and he realized it was probably marijuana. He threw it straight away and he wanted to have a sauna before going back to the hospital. When he arrived at last, the doctors had a concerned expression. “Hi Mark! Where have you been all this time?”
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