Through Dead Eyes

by Chris Priestley

  Angelien led Alex out to the stairs they had walked up and they sat down on the top step. Alex felt nauseous and his legs ached as though he had just been for a long run.

  ‘You looked as though you were about to pass out on me,’ Angelien said. ‘Maybe you shouldn’t look so hard.’

  Nearby a family hissed angrily to each other. They kept this low volume argument up for a few minutes and then left in a sullen knot, muttering rhythmically with each step of their descent.

  The family’s mood was mirrored by the weather, which had worsened. Rain was now dribbling down the panes of the windows and the sky was dark and brooding. When Angelien spoke, it was in a near whisper.

  ‘That painting was done by a man called Pieter Graaf?,’ said Angelien. ‘He lived in a house on the opposite side of the canal from where your hotel is now.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I have been given access to the letters and journals of Pieter Graaf for my research. They were mislabelled and have lain in a box in the university archive ever since they were donated by his family back in the 1880s. I’m very lucky actually. A friend came across them by accident and knew I was researching in this area –’

  ‘But why did he paint my mask?’ interrupted Alex.

  ‘I’m still trying to find out what that painting’s about. It’s a strange picture – unlike the rest of his work.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Graaf was a portrait painter mostly. Not a famous one, not Rembrandt or anything, but a successful one all the same. That picture is clearly more than just a painting of the girl.

  ‘He was a young painter on the make,’ said Angelien. ‘He had come to the city to make his fortune. There were plenty of vain and wealthy merchants here. It was a good move.

  ‘He was the son of wealthy merchants himself, in fact, so he must have found it easy to move in those circles. Amsterdam was the place to be if you wanted to earn your living as a painter. Paintings were seen as really fashionable in the Golden Age. Anyone who was anyone had to have paintings on the wall. They were everywhere – in homes, in shops, in warehouses.

  ‘Graaf was in competition with some of the greatest painters Holland has ever seen, but there was enough work to go round and enough money to pay for it.’

  Angelien pulled in her feet to let someone pass.

  ‘He lived pretty well and moved in high society. He seems to have enjoyed himself immensely if half of what is in his journals is true. But he was clearly fascinated with the family who lived opposite.’

  ‘So does that mean you know all about the girl?’ said Alex. ‘The girl in the painting?’

  ‘Hanna,’ said Angelien.

  The name seemed to echo round the stairwell and flutter towards Alex’s ear to die as a whisper.

  ‘Is that her name?’

  But some part of Alex already seemed to know this.

  Angelien nodded.

  ‘I do know some things,’ she said. ‘Quite a lot actually. But I haven’t finished reading the journals yet. I’ve only just been given access to Graaf’s journals and his writing is really hard to read a lot of the time. It’s taking for ever to decipher. Plus I’ve been a bit distracted with babysitting duties, as you know.’

  Angelien smiled and Alex smiled back, blushing a little.

  ‘Graaf seems to have been intrigued by the Van Kampens right from the start. He was always on the lookout for new clients and he wasn’t going to ignore a rich merchant living right opposite.

  ‘The painter went over to introduce himself and noted that Van Kampen had no wife, that he seemed very strict and severe and, even more surprisingly, that the daughter wore a mask.’

  ‘Did he meet Hanna?’ asked Alex.

  ‘No,’ said Angelien. ‘That’s the strange thing. He writes about her for years but never ever seems to physically meet her. Maybe that’s why he became so obsessed by her.’

  ‘But why did she wear the mask?’ asked Alex. ‘Did Graaf find out?’

  Angelien nodded.

  ‘Hanna had been badly burned in a fire as a small child. Her face had been horribly disfigured and so she wore that mask at all times and never left the house. She was so horrified by her appearance that she did not want to see it or to have others see it. They allowed no mirrors in the house for fear that Hanna would see her own terrible face.’

  Alex thought how strange it was that a young girl like Hanna had worn a mask showing the face of an old woman.

  ‘Do you really think the mask I bought could be the one from the painting?’ said Alex. ‘The one the girl is wearing?’

  ‘Who knows,’ she said. ‘Maybe. Anything’s possible, right? The mask itself looks like a Japanese noh mask – a mask used in Japanese theatre – though I’m no expert. But it makes sense that her father brought it back from Japan.’

  ‘What about her mother?’ he said. ‘Where was she?’

  ‘Van Kampen told people that she had died, but it seems that wasn’t true. She wanted more out of life,’ she said.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Alex.

  Angelien smiled.

  ‘Graaf did a bit of asking around and it turns out she had left before they even moved to Amsterdam. She ran away with another man,’ said Angelien with a grin. ‘And good for her. Van Kampen sounds like a terrible bore.’

  Alex scowled.

  ‘Not so good for her daughter,’ he said.

  ‘Hey, I’m sorry,’ said Angelien, reaching out and touching Alex’s hand. ‘I wasn’t thinking. I’ve got a big mouth, you know that. I’m sorry, Alex.’

  ‘They always say “run off”, don’t they?’ Alex said after a moment. ‘It sounds cool. It sounds like an adventure. But she didn’t run off. She just left one day and didn’t come back.’

  Angelien nodded.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I know.’

  Alex had a sudden panic that he was going to cry. He felt his eyes moisten and knew that Angelien must see it. He looked away towards the window.

  ‘Do you see much of her?’ said Angelien.

  ‘Why would I?’ said Alex.

  ‘She’s still your mother,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘She was my mother,’ said Alex. ‘She has a new family now. The guy she went off with has kids younger than me.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Angelien. ‘That must be hard. You must have been very upset.’

  Alex leaned forward.

  ‘I hate her! OK? I’m not upset,’ he hissed. ‘I just hate her.’

  Angelien’s smile disappeared and Alex muttered, standing up.

  ‘Alex,’ said Angelien, reaching out to touch his hand. ‘I’m sorry. Hey . . . sit down. Please.’

  Alex stood there for a moment, staring at the floor, before slowly sinking back on to the step next to Angelien.

  ‘I never thought I’d be one of those kids,’ said Alex finally.

  ‘Which kids?’ said Angelien.

  ‘You know,’ said Alex. ‘Those kids that people look at and say, “It’s such a shame.” I don’t want people to feel sorry for me.’

  ‘But you feel sorry for yourself?,’ said Angelien.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Alex. ‘Sometimes I do. I just want everything to be normal. I don’t want to have to think about all that stuff.’

  Angelien nodded.

  ‘People used to look at me like that when my dad died. I was only little you know.’

  ‘What was he like?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Oh he was great,’ she said with a grin. ‘He was funny and clever. He was handsome too – really handsome, in an old-fashioned kind of way.’

  ‘But you get on OK with your mum, don’t you?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Sure,’ said Angelien. ‘But she’s been on her own a long time and she deserves to be with someone. Also she might be less weird if she was with someone. Ha!’

  Angelien laughed to herself and Alex joined in, just because it felt good to laugh along and Angelien looked so nice when she laughed. But he was also thinking how
strange it would be now if their parents did get together and they ended up as stepbrother and sister.

  ‘Is she weird then, your mum?’ said Alex.

  Angelien nodded.

  ‘God, yes,’ she said. ‘But mostly in a good way. I’m pretty weird myself come to think of it, so maybe I get that from her.’

  ‘You don’t seem weird to me,’ said Alex.

  ‘Ah, but when you get to know me better,’ she said, ‘maybe you’ll change your mind, huh?’

  Alex grinned.

  ‘Maybe,’ he said, nodding.

  They stayed like that for a moment, looking at each other. Angelien chuckled.

  ‘I feel sorry for Hanna,’ said Alex. ‘Not much of a life, was it?’

  ‘No,’ said Angelien. ‘Not much.’

  Chapter 7

  Alex strolled along a wall that had postcards and greeting cards arranged for view and for sale in the gift shop. He was inevitably drawn to the far end and to a reproduction of the girl in the mask. The image was so small it was hard to make out any of the details but he still wanted to buy it, if only to confirm what he already felt – that the two masks were identical.

  There was a long padded bench next to the postcards and, after picking two or three more, Alex sat down. A girl was sitting nearby and Alex had the impression that, as he turned to look at her, she had just looked away and was pretending to read a book she had picked up. She was blushing slightly and, while he was looking, she looked up and then back to her book, smiling to herself. Alex frowned.

  Angelien appeared at the door of the gift shop and walked over, shaking her hair.

  ‘It’s disgusting out there,’ she said. ‘Why am I so stupid? Smoking is so stupid.’

  She sat down, hugging herself.

  ‘I’m freezing!’ she said. ‘I should have gone and got my coat first. Did you find anything?’

  Alex showed her the postcard.

  ‘I thought I’d just get this,’ he said.

  ‘That reminds me,’ said Angelien.

  She walked over to the postcards and came back holding one.

  ‘Let’s pay.’

  They went over to the till. Alex laid his cards down on the counter. Angelien had chosen a portrait but before he could see it properly it disappeared into a small paper bag with the others. The man at the till reached over and collected the money Angelien had put down.

  ‘Come on,’ said Angelien as Alex took his change. ‘I have another painting to show you before we go.’

  As they turned to walk out, the girl who had been sitting next to him looked over again and didn’t look away when Alex glanced over. Angelien followed his gaze and smiled.

  Angelien took Alex back towards the gallery with the painting of the masked girl. But instead of turning left to go and see that painting, they turned right and headed through an arched door into another room.

  ‘That girl was totally checking you out,’ said Angelien as they walked along.

  ‘What girl?’ said Alex.

  ‘In the shop,’ said Angelien. ‘Don’t tell me that you didn’t see her because I don’t believe you.’

  ‘No she wasn’t,’ said Alex smiling.

  ‘Absolutely, she was.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Alex. ‘She isn’t my type.’

  ‘You have a type?’ said Angelien with a chuckle.

  Alex was trying to think of something to say in reply when Angelien turned and pointed towards a painting on the far side of the gallery. There was a wall of dour portraits of men dressed all in black save for their white lace collars. Angelien headed towards a particular one and stood in front of it waiting for Alex. He recognised it as the postcard Angelien had bought.

  ‘This,’ she said, ‘is Van Kampen.’

  ‘Hanna’s father?’

  ‘The very same. And it was painted by our friend Graaf. Cheerful-looking fellow, huh?’ said Angelien, screwing up her face.

  Alex frowned. That was an understatement. Even allowing for the fact that none of the people in the portraits were smiling and they all looked as though they had never laughed in their lives; even so – this man looked horribly grim.

  ‘He was a very successful merchant. Not that he was the sort to get much pleasure out of that success. In fact, he would probably have thought the whole idea of pleasure was a little ungodly.’

  ‘Ungodly?’ said Alex.

  ‘Well,’ said Angelien. ‘They liked to make money, those guys, but they worried about getting into heaven too. They didn’t want to enjoy it all too much.’

  His cold glare seemed to pierce Alex’s flesh and he felt his face tingle as though a chill breeze had blown into the room.

  Van Kampen was tall and thin. He was dressed in black. Light played along the creases in his sleeves, showing the complex web of embroidery. The clothes may have been dour and black but they were clearly very expensive.

  He had white lace gathered at his cuffs and a large round expanse beneath his chin that gave the impression of his head sitting on a dinner plate. The lace was only marginally paler than his skin.

  His was a face in which the skull seemed all too easy to discern, the skin stretched tightly across the bone.

  Beneath his long, aquiline nose was a moustache that curled up at the ends. Beneath that were thin, colourless lips. A reddish beard tufted from his long pointed chin, the longest hairs resting against the white lace ruff.

  He was standing at an angle to the viewer, not quite side on, not quite face forward, facing a little towards the right, but with his piercing eyes looking straight out.

  The left side of Van Kampen’s face – the side furthest from Alex – was in shadow and almost merged with the featureless grey wall behind him.

  In a morbid echo of Van Kampen’s skeletal face, he held, in his left hand, a human skull, which, unlike Van Kampen, turned its eyeless sockets directly at Alex. In his other hand he held a cane.

  ‘It’s like a reminder that we all die,’ said Angelien, following Alex’s gaze. ‘It’s actually quite common to find a skull in these paintings. They were sort of saying that no matter how rich or successful they were, they were all going to die and be judged.’

  ‘Judged?’ said Alex.

  ‘By God,’ said Angelien.

  ‘Do you believe that?’ said Alex. ‘That we get judged by God?’

  Angelien shrugged and grinned crookedly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘How about you?’

  Alex shook his head.

  ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘I don’t think I believe in anything really.’

  ‘Everyone believes in something,’ said Angelien. ‘It doesn’t have to be God.’

  ‘What do you believe in?’ said Alex.

  Angelien smiled.

  ‘Me,’ she said. ‘I believe in me.’

  They left the museum and headed out into the rain to catch a tram back into the centre of town.

  ‘Can I ask you something, Alex?’ said Angelien as they walked back towards the hotel.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Alex.

  Angelien paused, seeming to reconsider if it was such a good idea to ask.

  ‘You seem very angry with your mother,’ she said. ‘Why do you hate her so much?’

  Alex sighed.

  ‘I don’t really hate her,’ he said.

  ‘OK then,’ said Angelien. ‘Why are you so mad at her?’

  ‘I’ve told you already,’ he said. ‘She went off with another man. She left us.’

  ‘I feel like there’s something more than that,’ said Angelien.

  Alex half closed his eyes. A gull circled above the canal and then dropped to the water with a cackling call.

  Alex sighed again.

  ‘She said some stuff, OK?’ he said finally.

  ‘Oh?’ said Angelien.

  ‘She said Dad was impossible to live with,’ continued Alex. ‘That he was always getting at her. She said he tried to control her and stuff. But it wasn’t like that at all. We were really happy.’
/>   ‘Maybe your mum was really good at not showing how unhappy she was.’

  Alex shook his head.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘It was just an excuse so she could go off and start a new life somewhere else and not even think about us.’

  Angelien made no reply. They had come to a halt near a bridge and a barge was going past.

  ‘What?’ said Alex.

  ‘I didn’t say anything,’ said Angelien with a shrug.

  ‘Yeah – but I know you want to,’ said Alex.

  Angelien leaned forward. ‘I was going to say that you cannot know how people behave when they are in that kind of relationship. People don’t always act like they do with other people. We are sometimes most cruel to the ones we love. It’s just part of life.’

  ‘You’re saying you think my mum is right? You’re saying my dad made her miserable?’

  ‘No, I’m not saying that. I don’t really know your dad, Alex,’ said Angelien. ‘And I don’t know your mum at all. But we all have different faces we show to different people, huh?’

  Alex turned away, thrust his hands into his pockets and walked towards the side of the canal.

  Angelien waited a few moments and then walked up beside him.

  ‘I know this is all none of my business.’

  A girl locking up her bike nearby answered her phone and started an animated conversation with the caller, laughing loudly as she walked away.

  ‘I just don’t like to see you upset, you know,’ said Angelien.

  ‘Yeah?’ said Alex with a half smile.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I like you.’

  Alex looked back towards the canal. A small boat went past, creating a wake that slapped the side of a houseboat moored nearby.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘When I was a bit younger than you, I had a fight with my dad. It was about something so stupid. He had promised to take me on a trip to France with him and then he backed out. I was so angry with him that I did not speak to him for over two weeks. Not one word.’

  She shook her head at the memory of it.

  ‘I was so stubborn,’ she said. ‘And now – what I wouldn’t give for those two weeks with him.’

  Alex stared up at the clouds for a moment. A small flock of pigeons scattered across the sky. He looked back at Angelien.