The Rattle-Rat

by Janwillem Van De Wetering

  Eddy stood up against Cardozo's leg. His red eyes bulged. The dry little hands held on to the edge of Cardozo's sock. "Whee," Cardozo said.

  "He won't hurt you. Why don't you pick him up?" de Gier said.

  Cardozo reached down gingerly. Eddy let himself be scooped up, sighing his pleasure, baring bis long teeth. Dark red veins crinkled through the almost transparent skin of his ears. Cardozo's finger scratched the rat's pink belly. "Cute," Cardozo said. Eddy rattled weakly. His mustache drooped and a spasm shook the small body. "Wha," Cardozo said, letting go. The rat fell on the floor. Cardozo squatted. "Now what did I do?"

  "He's still moving," Grypstra said. He squatted too. "And rattling."

  De Gier crawled after the rat. "Rats don't live long, I think. Maybe he's old. Are you old, Eddy?"

  Eddy waved a leg.

  Grijpstra groaned and got up. "The death rattle, perhaps?"

  "Just our luck," de Gier said. "We always come in at the end."

  Grijpstra telephoned. "Mrs. Oppenhuyzen? About your pet again..."

  "I think he's dying."

  "You have no car?"

  "Your husband isn't with you?"

  "You would like us to bring him to you?"

  "Yes, ma'am. Will do."

  He hung up.

  "You're going to your loved ones," de Gier said to Eddy. He fingered the trembling little head. "And then maybe you'll go altogether. To a better afterlife. Swings and music, choice cheese, rodent sex. You'll have a great time."

  "You take him," Grijpstra said. "The move isn't case related. And I want dinner. You cook the dinner too."

  De Gier brought in mussel soup and fresh bread. Grijpstra snorted his way through several helpings. "Good," said Cardozo. "Subtle flavor."

  "Frisian, of course," de Gier said. "The recipe was in the paper. Curry, flour, cream, and stir well. The mussels are fresh, compliments of the Military Police."

  "Did you see them again?" Grijpstra asked.

  'Thought I'd drop in for a chat," de Gier said. "They were having their coffee and cake, off the mahogany table. Told me a good tale. Very exciting, their daily routine. Some copper was stolen from the islands, property of the military. Amazing. This morning the copper turned up again. And then there was this deserter that they were hunting, but he turned up by himself too, and he'll be let off. There's too much manpower, the Air Force is automated. The less men about, the better."

  De Gier cut bread and passed the butter.

  Grijpstra and Cardozo weren't listening too well.

  "Like the bread?" de Gier asked. "Lieutenant Sudema baked it himself. I visited him too. He's done with the wall and has replaced it with three posts from Ameland. His nephew brought them in, in the Military Police patrol boat, but that boat isn't really theirs, it belongs to the Wet Engineers."

  "More soup," Grijpstra said.

  "Yes," de Gier said, "and the Sudema wall will go up again. He's been given some bricks by the Water Inspection. The bricks were brought in by the Game Warden Department; he exchanged them for tomatoes. The tomatoes will end up with the Navy, who'll send an Army truck to his greenhouse, a truck temporarily registered with the Municipal Police.

  "More bread," Grgpstra said.

  "It'll take time," de Gier said. "Sudema is distracted. Keeps kissing his wife. Embarrassing. I had to watch it."

  "What are you really doing?" Grijpstra asked, cleaning his plate with the last crust of bread.

  "Too much," de Gier said. "Coffee, Adjutant? You can do the dishes, Cardozo."

  Cardozo had to go. De Gier waved as the Citroen left the street. Grijpstra did the dishes.

  The doorbell rang.

  "Hello, Hylkje," de Gier said.

  "I'm not going," Grijpstra shouted from the kitchen. "I've got to see Phyr, Tyark, and Yelte. You take the rat."

  Hylkje and de Gier went to look at Eddy. Only the rat's nose moved. Hylkje touched one of Eddy's feet. She let go quickly. "Cold."

  "Warm them," de Gier said.

  "I'd rather warm yours," Hylkje said. "In your bed in Amsterdam, the one you told me about, with the brass ornaments on each side. I'll come and visit you from time to time. I won't stay. No commitment. I'm not after you at all. Maybe you think that, and are trying to keep your distance, but there's no need. I'll bring coffee and my filter machine, and Sunday evening I'll be off. No aftermath. Nothing."

  "Promise?" de Gier asked.

  "Promise."

  "Not me," Grijpstra shouted from the kitchen. "You take Eddy. You used every pot in the house to make a pint of mussel soup. I'll be here for hours."

  "My apartment faces a park," de Gier said. "I'll take you for a walk. We can feed the ducks."

  "How romantic," Hylkje's eyelashes fluttered.

  "I've got to go to Dinjum too," Grijpstra shouted, "to tell the lieutenant where I hid his pistol. I'll be busy all night."

  "I'd like some romance tonight," Hylkje said.

  "We'll combine all our duties," de Gier said, "and construct activity that provides optimal satisfaction for all parties concerned. Eddy has to go to Engwierum. Grijpstra needs the Volkswagen. There's a full moon tonight. You have your Deux Chevaux. This is beautiful country. You want to be romantic. You and I will go for a drive. Everything fits in."

  "Eddy's death too?" Hylkje asked.

  "Of course," de Gier said.

  De Gier picked up Eddy, moving both his hands slowly under the small body.

  "You did that at the right moment," Hylkje said. "You knew I was ready to beat you up. I can't stand that cold logic of yours and the way you make others fit into your plans. You're inhuman. What am I to you? Something that you can combine?"

  De Gier took Eddy into the kitchen to say good-bye to Grijpstra.

  "You abuse me," Hylkje hissed in the car.

  "I use you," de Gier said warmly.

  "I'm not going to be forced into anything," Hylkje said.

  "I'm merely making use of your desire," de Gier said, "like you use mine. What's wrong with that? Isn't there mutual benefit?"

  "Oh," Hylkje whispered hoarsely.

  "I do like your voice," de Gier said.

  Eddy rattled, shook, and slackened in de Gier's hands.

  "Eddy is all used up," de Gier said.

  \\ 22 /////

  "POLICE?" MRS. OPPENHUYZEN ASKED WHEN SHE OPENED the door.

  "Now that you mention it," de Gier said, "I had forgotten, but I am. And Hylkje too, she's with the State Police. We came to deliver the dead."

  That was crude. It's no time to be flippant when you're handing someone a dear dead pet. De Gier felt sorry, but he didn't like Mrs. Oppenhuyzen, there was that too. He realized why. Mrs. Oppenhuyzen's dress was printed with the same flower pattern as the wallpaper in her city house. Mrs. Oppenhuyzen was a printed rose. De Gier was familiar with this type of woman, familiar but uncomfortable, for they don't look good and they live drably. Was this the egocentric argument that forced him to live alone? But I like to be alone, de Gier thought. Alone with Tabriz, and Grypstra over for coffee once a week, and maybe Hylkje for a weekend but no commitment, a promise is a promise.

  "Please come in," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "I'm sorry Eddy kept causing trouble, and that you had to come all the way here."

  De Gier had to bend over so as not to hit his head against a brass Chinese lamp in which four sharp-tailed dragons held up the bulb. Walls and ceiling were made out of sheets of pressed sawdust covered with peeling paint. Mrs. Oppenhuyzen's ample shape swung ahead. De Gier still carried dead Eddy.

  "Oh, dear," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said, "nothing but trouble."

  He remembered an aunt of his, who also wore flowered dresses and liked to complain, whom he had visited once and never again. He couldn't have been more than three years old at the time, and she had lived in some suburb, surrounded by knickknacks from the Far East, where her husband had been a soldier. He had escaped halfway through the visit, and was found by strangers and taken to a police station, where he forgot his name ou
t of spite.

  Mrs. Oppenhuyzen directed them to plastic camping chairs, mumbling, biting a finger, and adjusting her hair, which was tied in a bun that had become undone. "I don't really want him," she said, nodding toward Eddy. "He belongs to Sybe, you see. A holiday doesn't mean anything to my husband. He's always working, he hardly comes here. I was to go first and Sybe would bring Eddy later, but he never did."

  "Your husband works during holidays?" de Gier asked.

  "He's always about," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said, "except when he's in pain."

  "What's his ailment?" Hylkje asked.

  "Trigeminal neuralgia," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said.

  "Something with nerves?" de Gier asked.

  "A pain," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "In his face. The triple facial nerve, you know? There are two varieties of the disease. One is hopeless, they say, for they don't know what it is, and the other has to do with infection." She worked on her hair bun. "What do I know? That's what the doctor says."

  "From which variety does your husband suffer?" de Gier asked.

  "Sybe has the hopeless kind. Can't be cured at all. Sure, he can eat aspirin but that gives him a pain in his tummy that isn't nice either."

  "The poor man," Hylkje said.

  "So you are police too?" Mrs. Oppenhuyzen asked Hylkje.

  "Yes," Hylkje said. "A colleague of your husband's."

  "But you're State Police," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "We have State Police here, in Engwierum. It's such a small village, there's no Municipal Police."

  "Right," Hylkje said.

  "And you are Municipal Police," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said to de Gier.

  "From Amsterdam, ma'am. I'm with the Murder Brigade."

  "I see," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "Well, Sybe isn't here. He did come in earlier on, for his face hurt him again. I got him some cough syrup, the codeine helps somewhat. Our doctor doesn't want to prescribe codeine, but you can always buy cough syrup over the counter. It nauseates him, but it does lessen the pain."

  "And where's your husband now?" de Gier asked. "I would like to tell him about Eddy. It's a bad thing that Eddy had to die while we were taking care of him. I fed him the cheese you said he likes, and bathed him a few times, but he wasn't getting any better. He kept rattling on us."

  "Would you like a drink?" Mrs. Oppenhuyzen asked. "Sybe has just stocked up. He likes to drink when he's in pain."

  "We came by car," Hylkje said.

  "No, thank you," de Gier said. "So where's your husband now?"

  "In Bolsward," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "He had to see Mr. Wang. You know your way about in Bolsward?"

  "My aunt lives there," Hylkje said.

  "In the new part of town," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "A Chinese restaurant. Such a lot of trouble with the Chinese nowadays. Sybe doesn't want them here, but they keep coming from the south. He helps them with their papers."

  "What sort of car does your husband drive?" de Gier asked.

  "A Saab."

  "Saabs are nice," Hylkje said. "My father was going to buy one, but then he heard the price."

  "Ours is very old," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "It doesn't work very well these days. Sybe prefers to drive his police car, but he can't do that now, for he's on holiday."

  "I hope we're not causing you any trouble," de Gier said. "We kept your house in good order. I used some of your flour today, I needed it for the soup, but I'll replace what I took. We also picked some herbs from your garden. I hope you don't mind."

  "No," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "Sybe and I weren't quarreling because the chief constable wanted you in the house. It was the pain again. I should have more patience, but Sybe keeps going to Amsterdam, and he smells when he comes home. It's irritating. All that pain." She swept her hands about as if she were chasing insects off.

  De Gier was sorry he wasn't sorry. It must be a curse to live with a spouse who's forever in pain.

  "It must be nice out here," Hylkje said. "I can hear the sea."

  "The birds sing in the morning," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "I have a bit of a garden. The vegetables are going well this year."

  De Gier smiled. "You've been to Singapore?" he asked.

  "Because of the needles," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen explained. "There are doctors there who insert needles. Sybe looked like a porcupine, stuck full of needles."

  "Acupuncture," Hylkje said. "It's supposed to be most effective. The Chinese know about medicine, they have practiced for four thousand years. In the West, medicine is still new."

  Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said that acupuncture had done nothing for Sybe.

  "What gave you the idea to go all the way to Singapore?" de Gier asked.

  "Sybe has this friend," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said, "Mr. Wang. He's with him now. Such a nice man. Mr. Wang said we should go."

  "An expensive journey?"

  "Oh, yes."

  "Enjoyable?" Hylkje asked.

  She was glad to be back, Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. All those Chinese. There were brown people out there too, and some white people even, but the needle doctor was Chinese, so they had to stay in the Chinese quarter, in a boardinghouse, and they ate noodles for breakfast. One evening all the streets exploded; she thought there was a war.

  "There wasn't?" de Gier asked.

  "No. Fireworks, but I didn't like it at all. After that I wouldn't go out anymore, and we still had to stay, for the return ticket wasn't valid yet. And my stomach, oh, I was always in the bathroom. Squid doesn't agree with me at all."

  "And your husband's pain didn't get better?"

  "No," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "That triple nerve is so sensitive. Every time he yawned or coughed it started again, such a terrible pain."

  "The poor man," Hylkje said.

  "We won't bother you any longer," de Gier said.

  Mrs. Oppenhuyzen picked up Eddy and walked her visitors to the front door. "Mr., uh..."

  "Yes?"

  "Look, I'm sorry," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said, "but I don't know what to do with a dead rat. He belongs to Sybe, and Sybe isn't here. Can't you take him with you? I'll tell Sybe Eddy died and that you buried him somewhere."

  "What are you going to do with the rat?" Hylkje asked. "Throw him out? That's not very hygienic."

  De Gier dropped Eddy on the rear seat. "Don't know yet. I'll think of something. Bury him in the garden?"

  "What are you planning?"

  "I thought we would just keep going," de Gier said. "We always keep going. We usually figure it out in the end. It doesn't matter if I'm in on it or not, I'll just keep watching from the side."

  "With us," Hylkje said. "What are you planning with us"

  "How did you like Mrs. Oppenhuyzen?" de Gier asked.

  Hylkje shrugged. "Another stupid woman. Married a fool who likes to visit whores. Can't even stay home with her when they're on holiday. Stinks of perfume when he comes to pick up clean clothes."

  De Gier's head hung to the side.

  "You wouldn't be asleep now?" Hylkje said.

  "I'm thinking," de Gier said. "I think better when I'm asleep. No new impressions to distract my line of thought."

  "Are you thinking about us?"

  "Not really," de Gier said.

  "Think about us."

  "What do you want me to think?" de Gier asked. "You're a modern woman, equalized and all. You're enjoying your self-won freedom."

  "I wouldn't mind having your baby," Hylkje said. "A stupid fat baby, with shrimpy toes and a big mustache."

  "Fat?" de Gier said, raising his head. "Grypstra is fat. You'll have to change direction."

  "All babies I dream about are fat," Hylkje said. "Don't you want a baby?"

  "Sure," de Gier said. "But this planet is too small. It's uncomfortable here. I hadn't planned on coming myself, but something went wrong again. If I cause babies, they'll grow up and blame me. 'Why, Dad?' What will I say?"

  "I can explain it to them," Hylkje said. "I'll get them little motorcycles, they'll have a good time."

  "Can I borrow your car when we're back in Leeuwarden?" de Gier as
ked. "I want to go to Bolsward."

  "Why?"

  "I never really know why," de Gier said. "Whenever I think I have the answer, it's the answer to the wrong question. Just let me go to Bolsward. I won't be long. You'll have your car back before you go to work."

  "It's some distance, you must be tired." She parked the car. "Stay here with me."

  "It can't be far," de Gier said. "That's what I like about this country; everything is just around the corner. You talk about wide spaces, but they're highly illusory. Just a few square kilometers and a few ponds here and there."

  "Yes, you're much bigger than me," Hylkje shouted. "You're a gigantic Dutchman and I'm a provincial dwarf. Get back to your real world below the dike, to your filthy whores. Leave me alone." She jumped out of the car.

  "'Bye, Hylkje." The Deux Chevaux swung away. Its noisy engine drowned Hylkje's screams.

  \\ 23 /////

  THE CHIEF CONSTABLE WAS ABOUT TO GET INTO HIS CAR. "Hello, Mr. Lasius of Burmania," the commissaris said. "I came to report on our inquiry, about how we're doing—or not doing, to put it correctly."

  "Hello," the chief constable said. "Care to join me? I'm off to the pub. I'll be doing something useful later on, but there's some time to fill pleasantly." He checked his watch. "About an hour."

  The commissaris made himself comfortable in the new Volvo. "Some good action tonight?"

  "Unfortunately." The chief constable frowned. "Internal trouble that's beginning to stink up the outside. A rotten apple in my basket."

  "A colleague?" the commissaris asked. "What's the nature of the charge?"

  "Not really a charge," the chief constable said, "although if there were one, it might be called corruption. Caused by loving kindness, one might say, but even so, we can't have that in the police. We're not the Salvation Army. What do you think?"

  The commissaris looked fierce.

  "In Amsterdam, of course, you are more tolerant," the chief constable said.

  They left the car and crossed the square. "Such delightful peace," the commissaris said. "Such architectural beauty." He waved at the quietly impressive buildings. "A simple style, but majestic all the same. Rather amazing to find that in a province."

  "I wouldn't call Friesland a province," the chief constable said. "It's more like a state."