Chapter 8
It started to grow dusk when Pieter put the last rope tightly between the airplane and the wooden pier on which Jackie and Jane were waiting patiently, sitting on their personal belongings.
During the short flight both of them had been very taciturn. Especially Jackie did not make any effort to conceal that she was displeased with the situation. Only when Pieter had flown in a wide curve over Egmont to make his final approach for landing in the quiet waters of the lagoon, they had uttered their admiration for the idyllic settings.
The island was not that different from the other hundred atolls spread over the Indian Ocean. A half circle with on the outside sloping beaches and, about a hundred meters into the sea, the waves breaking over the coral reef. The inside of the circle fringed a protected lagoon with shallow but clean and clear water. The Egmont island, actually a sequence of three smaller islands, was only slightly different because at the south of the circle a larger island was formed. A minor difference, but enough to make it suitable for habitation. Scattered remains of that habitation could still be found across the island. A ruinous church, surrounded by abandoned huts. Pieter had also found traces of an old cemetery with blackened tomb stones. The first weeks of his stay he had tried to reconstruct the history of the island and its population but he soon had found out that this was really a forgotten part of the world. Today, the only traces of habitation were the few wild donkeys and pigs. Innocent creatures with the annoying habit to scream in the middle of the night without any apparent reason. And they kept Pieter from his sleep.
“Let's go. I reckon that you must be dropping with fatigue by now. And I am about to faint from starvation.”
Pieter took some bags en disappeared in what looked like a dark tunnel drilled through the tight foliage of the local flora.
“Not that you will get lost, but the road is no longer what it used to be,” he shouted from inside the shrubs. Quickly Jane experienced what he was referring to. Not fifty meters into the trail she stumbled heavily and scraped her knee painfully on one of the large broken tiles that used to form an even pavement. Through the centuries those tiles had broken, turned rough and had been overgrown with grotesque roots.
“Shit,” she groaned. Jackie helped her up and yelled at Pieter: “is it too much to ask to help us here?”
When there came no reply she added: “asshole.”
Leaning on Jackie, Jane hobbled a couple of meters when Pieter appeared again. This time armed with two strong flashlights. He aimed the strong LED beams in their eyes.
“Don't you have anything else to do than to irritate us? We are here against our will, remember?”
To her surprise Pieter reacted mildly, a bit aghast by Jane's tired and painfully contorted face. “Sorry, you are right. This is not the time to be a clown. Come, give me the bags. We'll have a look at Jane's knee when we are in the house. Heavy bleeding and this climate is not a good combination. It is only a minute to go and we arrive at the house. Here is another torch, Jackie. We don't want you to break an arm or so.”
Abruptly the path ended into a wide grass field in front of the large colonial house. Its silhouette lightened by strong spots which created a particular contrast against the ruby backdrop of the sunset.
They had already spotted the house from the air, but now that they stood in front of it both Jane and Jackie were even more impressed. As they climbed the broad steps towards the open door, automatically more lights switched on in the building. Pieter lead the way, clapped in his hands and yelled a couple of times “boo!”
“A couple of weeks ago I almost had a heart attack when suddenly a wild hog jumped from a dark corner,” Pieter explained.
In contrast with the worn façade, the inside of the house was spotless white, modern and tight. Here and there some of the original parts were artistically included in the contemporary design. The imperial winding staircase had been restored into its original grandeur, with twisted bars that blended into a wide balustrade. To the left of stairs there was a renovated counter, most likely where the slaves had to queue to receive their weekly pay. Or in the absence of money, some scanty rations. The hard, shining ebony that probably was used in abundance in the original dwelling, had survived the moist climate but not always the uninvited guests like adventurers, sailors and even modern pirates who loved to light a fire with it. When Pieter entered for the first time the ruin, the walls had been decorated with graffiti of dubious character. Although the texts included some historically interesting artefacts like a poem of a German soldier dated 1943, most of them were like Hunter was here, June 1968. The stale smell of urine, blended with rotten wood and damp plaster had become a vague memory.
Even further to the left there was a double door giving passage to what used to be the grand family dining room. To the right of the hall there was a similar door to le salon. The hall and rooms were painted in spotless white. From cast-iron decorated grids with heavy curly leaves, pleasant cool air flowed. Giving the impression of being somewhat aromatized.
Pieter crossed the corridor and opened the door to the spacious kitchen. In pain, Jane sat at the weathered oak table while Jackie opened the first aid kit that Pieter put in her hands. She crouched in front of Jane and pulled up her trousers till she reached the bleeding knee. Than she proceeded with care to loosen the torn tissue stuck in the clotted blood of the wound. After Jane had yelped a couple of times, it started to get on Jackie's nerves and she tore with one fast move the remaining cloth from the wound which immediately started to bleed again. Jane screamed followed by a very angry look.
“You are such a dork,” taunted Jackie. “What was I thinking to take you with me on my world travels?”
“Excuse me?” replied Jane, “your world trip? For the record, it was the opposite, little sister.”
“Sure, whatever,” was her only answer while she carefully disinfected the wound – the stinging substance making Jane yell again wondering whether the stuff was not overdue – and laid a bandage.
“As good as new. Actually better then before.” She padded softly on the bandage: “Those little knees are not getting any younger.” Smugly Jackie inspected her work.
In the meantime Pieter had started to rattle with pots and pans, overhearing the discussion. It had actually amused him to listen to the two quarrelling sisters. And although he was very keen on his privacy, this became one of the few moments that he liked it to have some action in the house.
“In view of the past events, the severe injuries and the endured hardship, I suggest that I shall prepare a simple yet nourishing meal,” Pieter announced excessively polite. “You can now buzz off to pick a room for the night. Meanwhile I will pour out a good glass of white wine and open up a box of Pringels as amuse geuille. You will notice that the guestrooms are as usual ready to receive unexpected guests. You will also immediately know if you enter by mistake into my room. It is the only one where the bed is not made.”
The first door that Jane pulled open was indeed Pieter's room. She could not resist calling her sister who just like herself shook her head in disbelief. Partly smiling, partly with compassion.
It was the archetype room of the bachelor. Stacks of books and magazines everywhere, an old sofa that could have escaped from the set of Friends. Clothes were thrown negligently, yet reasonably folded, over a chair. On the desk next to the bed stood two large computer monitors displaying an aquarium as screensaver. Next to it was a complicated radio station with flickering lights. On the wall opposite the bed a large flatscreen was mounted with left and right two remarkable B&W Nautilus speakers. Below the TV set was a floating cupboard hiding behind the open doors an impressive audio-visual installation with accompanying DVD's and Blu-Rays. The built-in closet stood open so that the two sisters could peek indiscreetly at the colourful collection of T-shirts, trousers and shirts.
Still shaking their heads they tried the other doors until they found the guest rooms. As chaotic as Pieter's room, as tidy an
d clean were those rooms. It seemed like they had entered a hotel and somehow that did not match with Pieter. They decided to interrogate him during dinner, but now they were happy to have a place to leave their stuff and quickly change clothes. Their choice would be limited to the khaki, but dry and clean, clothes that Oona had provided. With a bit of luck they would succeed in saving their own outfit from the salty water.
Jane was the first to return downstairs, holding in her arms a pile of her own clothes. “Pieter, is there a possibility to wash and dry our clothes? Everything is entangled in salt. And if I cannot wash these right away the clothes will be ruined.”
Pieter did not look up while he was arranging some grilled crab, lobster tails, shrimp and crayfish on an ice covered dish.
“Yes sure. Take this door and you will see the washer and dryer. Make sure you pre soak. That salt eats your clothes like moths. And while you are on it. Feel free to also do my laundry of the past month.”
Jane walked past the table and stretched to quickly grab some Pringles from the bowl next to Pieter. “Hey,” he shouted, looking up straight into her eyes. “Weird but nice, purple-green eyes,” he thought. Her face was soft and the traces of fatigue had disappeared. Except maybe some dark shadows under her eyes. Unaware his gaze slid down, following the curve of her blouse.
“You like what you see?” Jane asked a bit provocatively. She had stepped towards the door and turned around.
Pieter felt caught like a teenager who for the very first time looked at a girl without wanting to pull her braids.
Sheepishly he nodded, not knowing what to do with the awkward situation. Inarticulately he called himself names. He was mid forty, known for his sarcastic remarks, sharp tongue and look at him now. Staring at a woman as if she was the only living being on earth.
“You may call your sister, les fruits de mer sont servis,” he added.
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The Abacus Equation Page 8