Girl in the Dark

by Marion Pauw

  “I don’t feel like doing this anymore,” I told the guard. “Can I come back and finish tomorrow?”

  “Sure, Ray. No problem.”

  Back on the floor I sat staring at the photos. Peanut, Saturn, Venus. I held them up to my face and studied them. The fish were looking good. And Iris Kastelein who said she was my sister was right: the coral had grown. My . . . our mother had obviously taken very good care of the aquarium, but there were a few fish missing. Where was King Kong? And where was Hannibal? I also saw a dwarf angelfish I’d never seen before. I’d ask about it when Iris Kastelein who said she was my sister visited me again.

  Mother had never been good at answering questions. I don’t remember exactly when, but at some point I just stopped asking. Whenever she visited me before I went to jail, she did ask me some questions. How my work was going. If I was eating enough. What the story was with Rosita. At first she’d been glad to hear I’d made friends with my next-door neighbor. She’d even said, “Maybe you’ll turn out okay after all.”

  But then Rosita and Anna had come walking by one time when my mother and I were standing out in front of my house.

  Rosita waved at me and I waved back.

  “Is that her?” my mother had asked. “Well, that won’t do, then.”

  “Why not?”

  “Just look at that skirt, it’s much too short. It’s indecent. How old does she think she is—sixteen?”

  I looked at Rosita’s skirt. It barely covered her buttocks. I felt a stabbing ache in my stomach. “She’s always too warm. And I don’t know if she thinks she’s sixteen. I thought she was almost thirty. But I’ll ask her.”

  My mother looked at me, shaking her head. “I wish I could see the humor in it—you being the way you are.”

  My mother didn’t care for Rosita, and Rosita didn’t have many good things to say about her, either. I was always caught in the middle.

  “So where’s your father, then?” Rosita liked to bring up difficult subjects. She’d come and sit next to me on the new couch with an ashtray on her lap, hugging her knees so that her skirt rode up and I could see her brown legs. I had used a good part of my savings to buy that couch.

  “He left,” I said. “He wasn’t in the mood for a child.”

  “What do you mean, he left? Haven’t you ever known him, then?”

  “No. He left when my mother knew she was having me.”

  “Men. They’re all the same.”

  I’d never leave. I’d never leave Rosita. I wish she would have seen that. But instead of seeing it, she allowed Anna’s father to disappoint her time and again.

  “Hasn’t he ever tried to contact you?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. I didn’t want to answer her questions, even if I’d known the answers. But I did my best anyway. It was important to Rosita.

  “You’ve got to find out who he is. Don’t you want to know where you came from? You have a right to know, don’t you? Take Anna’s dad. He’s a fucking bastard, but at least Anna knows him. Have you asked your mother who he was?”

  I wavered. “No,” I said in the end.

  “Aha. You don’t want to tell me, do you! That’s it.” She put a hand on my cheek and moved her face close to mine. I smelled her sweet perfume mingled with cigarette smoke. It was nice, and also scary.

  “We’re friends. You know that, don’t you? I’m on your side. Look at me.”

  I took my eyes off the hollow between her collarbones and tried looking her straight in the eye for as long as I could keep it up.

  “That’s better. You don’t have to be afraid. I’m not going to eat you, you idiot.”

  “I’m not an idiot.”

  She let go of my face. “Of course not, sweetie. You’re not an idiot. Far from it. You’re the nicest person I’ve ever met, actually. You hear me?”

  I nodded.

  “You can trust me, Ray. Why are you keeping all the bad stuff inside? Just tell me. What happened with your father?”

  “He left.”

  “We know that. Do you know where he went?”

  “It was just as well my father left, because I was a terrible cry-baby, my mother said.”

  “Babies cry, what do you expect? You should have seen Anna—she howled and howled, day and night. It drove me up the wall! Believe me, Ray, all babies cry their heads off and it drives every mother crazy, even the hoity-toity ones who think they’re perfect.”

  I looked at Anna. She was watching a cartoon.

  “If your father abandoned you because he couldn’t take the noise, he’s just a wimp. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  “I want to buy Anna a fish,” I said. “I want to give Anna a nice big fish, because she likes looking at fish, and then she’ll have one of her own.”

  “That’s so sweet of you. But you won’t get out of it that easy. Come on, who’s your dad? What has your mom told you about him?”

  I had asked my mother about my dad a few times. At some point it had struck me that most of the boys in the neighborhood, as well as the kids at school, had dads who played soccer with them and punished them if they did something bad. One time at dinner I asked, “How come I don’t have a dad?”

  My mother’s mouth froze for a second, and then went on chewing again. “You don’t have one, that’s all.”

  “Why not?” I’d asked. I didn’t usually push my mother.

  “Because. But don’t be sad about it, Ray. Just be happy he isn’t here. What do you think your father would say if he could see you banging your head against the wall the way you do? Or when you start screeching in the supermarket because you’re scared to walk past the meat, even though you’re a big boy of seven? Or what do you think your father would think about you smearing poop all over the walls? Do you think your father would enjoy seeing that?”

  This was stuff I couldn’t possibly have told Rosita. So I answered, “I don’t know.”

  She scrunched up her eyes. “You do know,” she said. “But if you don’t trust me, that’s your problem.”

  I didn’t want her to be mad at me. I tried as hard as I could to think of something that would satisfy her. But I didn’t have much imagination. “My mother was very young. Just twenty-two years old. And my father . . . he’s just never been around.”

  Rosita lit another cigarette and smoked it with big sweeps of her arm. “I’m sick and tired of men who walk out on their women. All they think about is fucking, and a condom spoils it, they’ll tell you. ‘It doesn’t feel as good.’ Want to know what doesn’t feel so good? Squeezing a baby out of your body. But that’s not their problem. Oh, no. The kid isn’t their problem.”

  I nodded, to make her happy.

  “You’d never do that, would you? You’re such a sweet guy.”

  I got a bit embarrassed and tried not to look at her or at the photograph on the wall. So I stared at Anna’s cartoon on the TV.

  “Have you ever had a girlfriend?”

  “Um, no.”

  She laughed. “I should have known. A sweet guy like you. And you’re quite good-looking, in your own way. How’s it possible you’ve never had a girlfriend?”

  I felt uncomfortable. “Tomorrow we’re going to go buy a fish, me and Anna. We’ll take the bus to Amersfoort and go to the fish store.”

  Rosita laughed. Was she laughing at me? “Don’t change the subject. You’ve never been with a woman, have you?”

  “I’ve got to get home,” I said. “I have to feed the fish and check on the levels. I have to prepare a quarantine tank for the new fish.”

  She put a hand on my knee and leaned closer. “Or do you sometimes visit the whores?”

  Now she was making fun of me. I was sure of it. I got up and walked out of the room.

  “Sorry!” she called out after me. “I didn’t mean to offend you.” But she was still laughing.

  We didn’t go to Amersfoort the next day, nor the day after. I couldn’t face Rosita, not
after the things she had said to me. I did leave the paper bag with the madeleine at their door. I wasn’t sure about it—should I or shouldn’t I? But I just couldn’t not do it.

  I missed Rosita. I missed our afternoons together. I missed it when we’d both start laughing for no reason and then couldn’t stop. I even missed the tough questions she always had for me.

  After two days without her, I saw Anna’s father park his car in front of her house. I had been sitting at the window, behind my curtain, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rosita. I felt sick. So bad I thought I was going to throw up.

  He got out. I thought about him being allowed to see Rosita’s privates, even though Rosita had called him a fucking bastard. She called me sweetie pie, she told me I was different than the other men. But he was allowed to touch her breasts, be the father of her child, even if he was a very bad one, who only came over whenever he felt like it.

  I thought of all the times I’d babysat Anna because he needed alone time with Rosita, the times he’d talked to me with a smarmy smile on his face. As if he was better than me, when I was the one who’d bought the wall-to-wall carpeting, the new couch, and a new stroller for Anna. Which I’d done even though my mother had said that a four-year-old was too old for a stroller. But then she thought everything Rosita did was wrong or ridiculous. I did really want to please my mother. But more than anything in the world I wanted to please Rosita.

  Anna’s father strutted up to her front door. I don’t know why, but he turned his head and waved at me. With that grin on his face. As if I was his friend. But I wasn’t his friend. No, I was definitely not his friend.

  He disappeared from view. Rosita probably opened the door in her white bathrobe with nothing on underneath. I stared at his ridiculously big blue car. And I thought, I’ll fix it so you can’t drive anymore. If you can’t drive anymore, you won’t be coming over anymore, either, and then Rosita will see she’s better off with me.

  I rummaged through the kitchen drawer and found a big knife. It was the carving knife my mother had bought me. Part of a so-called starter set, which also included pots and pans, plastic containers, plates, and cutlery.

  I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do with a starter set, since I’d already been living by myself for quite a few years. Besides, I didn’t like the knife; it was too dull and didn’t have a nice grip. I had much better knives at the bakery to slice the apples and chop nuts. But for this job it was perfect.

  I marched outside with the knife in my hand. Just then the woman across the street came strolling by. She greeted me. Naturally, I didn’t greet her back, since hers was the messiest front yard on the block. Then she caught sight of the knife in my hand. Her face tightened.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked in a high squeaky voice.

  I’d never noticed before that she had such a funny voice. It was as if she had to force the words out by squeezing them up out of her throat. I walked to his car without answering her question.

  The navy blue car stood there gleaming and the sun wasn’t even shining. I glanced around. Rosita’s front door was shut. I could picture Rosita taking Anna’s father’s hand and dragging him up the staircase to the second floor, into her bedroom. He’d make her take off her white robe. And she would let him touch her privates.

  I raised my arm and punctured the car’s right front tire. There was a feeble pffff. That was all.

  I slashed all four tires and kept hacking at them until the woman across the street was screaming so loudly Rosita had to hear it.

  I wasn’t done yet. I suddenly noticed the silver jaguar on the hood of his car. I thought of it pouncing on some innocent prey. A helpless animal, whose jugular he’d ruthlessly sink his teeth into. I’d seen them do it on the Discovery Channel.

  I started trying to pry the jaguar off the car’s hood. It wasn’t easy; it was screwed on tight. But I was mad. As I was tugging on the jaguar, I heard sounds coming out of my mouth I’d never heard before. I couldn’t help it. I roared, the way a jaguar roars maybe, and yanked the silver beast off the hood.

  I used the jaguar to smash the car’s windshield. That wasn’t easy to do, either. The windshield resisted. It wasn’t until the fourth wallop—the glass was already webbed with cracks—that the jaguar finally shattered it. The neighbor screamed, the breaking glass clattered, and I was roaring again. Finally Rosita’s door opened.

  “Holy shit!” Anna’s father came scampering outside wearing only his blue-and-white-striped boxers. “Have you totally lost your mind?” His voice cracked. He ran up to his car. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He darted around the car, taking stock of the damage, wailing, complaining, and swearing.

  Rosita came running out after him in her white bathrobe. She stopped a little ways off and watched. I couldn’t make out her expression. Was it anger, disgust, shame, pride, humiliation, or triumph?

  “I think maybe you’d better not come here anymore,” I told Anna’s father. Loud and clear.

  I turned and went back into my house. I put the big knife back in the kitchen drawer and washed my hands. I felt calm. I had done good. I had done a very good thing.

  CHAPTER 22

  IRIS

  “How did it go here today?” I couldn’t help asking.

  “Well, okay,” said Petra. “It’s clear that he’s getting along much better since he’s had a bit more attention from you.”

  I pasted a smile on my face. If she thought I’d let her provoke me again, she had another thing coming. “Well, then, see you tomorrow.”

  I helped Aaron into his jacket and walked him to the car. It was cold out. We’d had a few weeks of warm weather, but there’d been a cold snap and everybody was waiting for summer to show itself again.

  “I’m hungry, Mommy.”

  “We’re going to eat in the restaurant, sweetie.” I hadn’t had time to do the shopping for a change. I often made a foray to the supermarket at lunchtime but hadn’t had the time.

  “Don’t wanna.”

  “Pizza. You like pizza, don’t you? We’ll have a yummy slice of pizza, and that nice man always gives you a lollipop at the end, remember?”

  I buckled him into his car seat and tried to make him look me in the eye. He was gazing vaguely in my direction, but that was it.

  I drove to the pizzeria around the corner from my mother’s house. The food wasn’t great, but they had a liberal children’s policy, meaning that all kids under the age of fifteen were lavished with lollipops.

  We went into the pizzeria. Our coats were taken from us and we were shown to a table in the back, by the window.

  “I wanna go home,” Aaron whined.

  I sighed, annoyed. “I’m sorry, but we’re here now. Tomorrow I’ll cook at home. But I didn’t have time for shopping. And anyway, you love pizza, don’t you?”

  The waiter came to our table. I ordered a glass of white wine and a lemonade.

  “I wanna go home,” he persisted.

  “Tell you what. I’ll ask if we can have it wrapped up for takeout. But first we have to have a little patience.” That seemed to do the trick; as long as I could keep him occupied for the next ten minutes, disaster averted.

  “Tell me. What did you do today in nursery school? Did you draw me another beautiful picture?”

  Aaron slipped off his chair.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Going home.” Aaron started plodding toward the door.

  I got up and set him back on his chair. “Sit down. We’ll go home soon. As soon as we have our food.”

  He started wailing. Of course.

  “Shhh,” I said, not very quietly. It was early, fortunately; the restaurant still pretty empty. But the few patrons who were there started shooting me annoyed looks.

  The waiter came back with our drinks.

  “There’s your lemonade,” he said. “Drink up, ragazzo.”

  “I don’t want,” Aaron screamed. “Go way!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said to the waiter
. “He’s not having a very good day.”

  “Would he like a lollipop?”

  “He doesn’t deserve one. Just give me the check, then we can leave before this gets out of hand.”

  “I wanna lollipop! I wanna go home!”

  “Sit down,” I hissed. To no effect. Aaron, flailing his arms around, spilled the glass of lemonade in front of him.

  “Not to worry,” said the waiter, hurrying off to get a towel.

  “Look what you did!” I grabbed Aaron by the arm. “And now you’re going to behave yourself.”

  I caught an elderly couple sitting a couple of tables away, staring at me. “In our day we handled things differently,” the woman said, loud enough for me to hear.

  “Bitch,” I muttered.

  Aaron wouldn’t stop howling, not even when the waiter pushed a lollipop into his hand, not even after the table was wiped clean and a fresh glass of lemonade was set in front of him.

  “We really have to go,” I said to the waiter. “Do you have the check for me?”

  “On the house,” he said. “It’s not your fault.”

  I felt myself on the verge of tears.

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ve seen everything in here.”

  I then had to carry a thrashing, kicking, and screaming child out of the restaurant. I tried to hold my head high, to preserve some small shred of dignity. But it was thoroughly humiliating. Another public disgrace, starring me as Incompetent Mother.

  Wrestling Aaron into his car seat was another struggle. “What’s your damn problem?” I had lost all self-control. I was yelling hysterically. “Why can’t you just be normal?”

  I was this close to slapping him in the face. Or just tossing him out of the car and gunning it. Instead, I slammed my fist into the backrest just inches from Aaron’s head.

  He immediately piped down, staring at me wide-eyed. I took a deep breath and clicked his seat belt into place.

  “But I don’t know how, Mommy,” he said when I had climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  I turned around. Seeing the drawn little face with those grave, big eyes, I almost burst into tears. Because I realized he was right.