My husband. That’s what she always says, never Kees.
‘But, where does he live now?’
‘Schagen.’
‘Married?’
‘Divorced.’
‘Kids?’
‘Two daughters.’
‘Does he still see them?’
‘I believe so. I see them regularly, they live in Den Helder. I still see my daughter-in-law, you see.’
‘You believe so?’
‘Herm, I don’t have much contact with him. I don’t even like him any more . . .’
‘What?’
She hands him a last piece of apple and then starts to elaborately peel and pith an orange. She doesn’t want to talk about Teun, she doesn’t want to start crying again. ‘Nothing,’ she says.
‘What’s he do?’
Now she’s had enough of the interrogation. ‘Social worker,’ she snaps, popping a segment of orange into her mouth and plonking the rest in the baker’s hand. ‘There. Cup of coffee and then a stroll?’
‘Fine. I could use a walk, my knees are a little stiff.’
‘Lovely.’ She clears away the peel and puts on some coffee. Benno has followed her into the kitchen. He yawns loudly. ‘Yes,’ she whispers. ‘You can come too.’ The coffee machine bubbles. She puts her hands on the worktop and looks out through the kitchen window at the hole in the hedge. ‘With your mistress.’ It’s actually much too hot for coffee.
Shit
‘See, until sunset.’ Dinie points at the green sign with white lettering that’s screwed to the gate.
‘I’ve learned something new,’ he says. He’d been counting on a walk along the Molenlaan, maybe even popping into The Arms for a second cup of coffee, or something stronger. He should have known better. If Dinie closes the lace curtains when he’s in the house, he can’t expect her to sit down at an outdoor cafe with him. The dog seemed happy about being taken out for a walk, but the moment they were out on the street it started to drag its feet as if something terrible was about to happen. Dinie suggested walking through the cemetery and he said it would be closed by now. ‘Not at all,’ she said.
They’re now walking through the section that’s still empty, with dry grass on either side of the path. After coming in through the gate, she’d taken his arm, making his walking stick superfluous.
‘And the sun won’t be going down for quite a while yet,’ she says.
‘Not that we’ll see it.’ He sneaks a look at her from the side and tries to imagine what she’d look like if she stopped dyeing her hair. The dog pads ahead slowly, dragging its tail over the shell grit. Dinie is big and buxom, he likes having her next to him in bed. As far as he’s concerned, that’s as far as it needs to go. Just lying alongside each other, touching. He is determined not to go back home tonight. He’ll also have a look at the headstone Jan Kaan was painting this afternoon. Dinie is holding him tight.
He hears a vague rumbling in the distance. A thunderstorm after all? ‘Did you hear that?’ he asks.
‘What am I supposed to have heard?’
‘Thunder, I think.’
She looks at the sky. ‘No,’ she says.
They pass between the two low hedges and into the populated section.
‘Look,’ she says, when they’ve more or less reached the stone. ‘Freshly painted.’ It’s as if she’s led him straight to it.
‘Hey,’ he says, not even feigning surprise because he’s looking at the gravel. Blue gravel that he doesn’t remember seeing earlier in the afternoon.
‘It’s something we’ve never talked about.’
‘No.’ As far as he’s concerned, there’s no need either. Not any more. Yesterday, there might have been.
It’s as if Dinie senses that. ‘Maybe it’s not necessary either.’
‘No.’ He suddenly feels the wine. He hadn’t wanted to drink more than one glass but she’d kept pouring until the bottle was empty.
She guides him towards the bench under the linden. There’s a dead bird lying on the ground in front of the bench. He looks up. The branch is empty. That can mean several things, but it is strange. This afternoon two birds, and now one dead one. He can’t imagine the other one just flying off. But if it hasn’t, wouldn’t it be lying there too? Dinie spots the blue tit and silently slides it under the bench with the tip of her shoe. Now he feels the lemon brandy as well. He flops down on the bench. The dog follows his example by slumping on the ground.
‘Are you two tired?’ she asks, turning and sitting down herself.
‘Yes,’ he says.
The dog doesn’t react.
Dinie grabs his arm. At first he thinks she wants to support him even now, seated, but when she keeps squeezing he realises it’s something else. She stands up and, as she doesn’t let go, he’s forced to stand up too. And now she starts walking, pulling him along behind her, he has to watch carefully where to put his stick. Swinging it and putting it down, swinging it and putting it down again. Then suddenly she stops, clapping one hand over her mouth. Without a single word of encouragement the dog has followed them and now rushes on past and up to the tall and narrow but, above all, filthy headstone, which it starts to lick with abandon.
Bedtime
Dieke looks out through one of the living-room windows. The window with the crack. The blades of grass are still completely motionless, but the colour is a lot different from this morning. It’s around eight o’clock, she should have been in bed ages ago. Standing behind her is her mother. Her father is in the kitchen, sitting at the table that still has to be cleared. He rustles the newspaper.
Everybody’s gone. Uncle Jan and Uncle Johan got into Grandpa’s car and drove off. Grandpa’s not back yet. Dieke is waiting to see the car turn into the yard of the house next door and she’ll only manage that if she keeps her nose pressed to the glass. She’s expecting a lot more to happen today and sleep is the last thing on her mind. With all the things that have broken so far, there’s a chance the whole barn might collapse – and what if she was in bed and missed it? ‘Who broke this window?’ she asks.
‘I don’t know, Diek.’
‘Not you?’
‘No, not me.’
‘Is it going to fall out?’
‘Don’t be silly.’
Dieke sighs deeply.
‘Ask Grandpa who did it. He’s sure to know.’
‘When he comes home? Can I ask him then?’
‘No, give him some peace and quiet first. Tomorrow. You’re going to bed now.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘It’s already gone eight.’
‘But it’s holidays!’
‘You’re five.’
‘Why is Grandma up on the straw?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You never know anything.’
‘More than you. Maybe for Grandma, being up on the straw is like drawing for you.’
‘Huh?’
‘The way you start drawing when something’s bothering you.’
‘I draw all the time.’
‘Yes, but when you’re angry you use different colours and your tongue’s poking out of your mouth.’
‘Grandma’s mean.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She pinched me, when we went to the zoo.’
‘You must have done something to deserve it.’
‘No, I didn’t. Was that a real sword?’
‘Yes, with a sharp edge.’
‘Did people fight with it?’
‘I don’t think so. Brush your teeth.’
Dieke sees her grandfather’s car drive past and slow down. She pulls her nose back from the glass and turns, walks to the kitchen and slides the plastic step over in front of the sink. She takes off everything
except her knickers, dropping her clothes on the floor. A big blob of toothpaste on her Jip and Janneke toothbrush. ‘Cn ywu tuck mwe in, D-ddy?’ she asks.
Her father lays the newspaper on the table. ‘Sure,’ he says.
‘I’ll tidy your clothes up,’ says her mother, who doesn’t sound nearly as nice as her father.
Digging
Dieke skips ahead of him up the stairs as if it’s early in the morning. It will take her a while to fall asleep. Upstairs, she doesn’t go straight into her bedroom, but looks up at the door first. ‘Somebody changed my letters!’ she bawls.
‘Gosh,’ he says. ‘How could that have happened?’
‘Yeah! Who did it?’
‘Me.’
‘You? When?’
‘This afternoon. It said Dekie. I didn’t know who that was.’
‘Me. That’s me!’
‘I know. But now it’s written properly, now it says Dieke.’
‘Hmm,’ she says. She goes into her bedroom and looks around carefully. ‘The window’s broken!’ she screeches.
‘Yep,’ he says.
‘How’d that happen?’
‘It was the heat, I think.’
‘It’s scary!’
‘Why?’
‘It might fall out.’
‘No, it won’t. It’s the outside window.’ Klaas draws the curtains. ‘There. Now you can’t see it any more.’
‘I don’t like it.’ Before lying down, she goes down on all fours to peer under the bed.
‘Did you look in my bag?’
‘Of course not. It’s your bag, not mine.’
‘That’s OK then.’ She crawls under the bed and re-emerges with the bag.
‘Pyjamas?’
‘Too hot.’ Before lying down, she opens the treasure bag and, after rummaging around a little, pulls out the ring she found this morning. Then she pushes her legs in under the duvet. ‘It was fun, wasn’t it? Uncle Johan coming. Uncle Johan’s nice.’
‘Yes, he is. And Jan?’
‘Mm, him too. But Uncle Johan’s nicer. Can I go to Leslie’s tomorrow?’
‘Leslie?’ He chuckles.
‘What? What are laughing about?’
‘Have you ever been to Leslie’s?’
‘No. Just at the swimming pool.’
‘Then we’ll have to ring up his dad.’
‘We can do that, can’t we?’
‘It’s fine by me. Ask your mother tomorrow morning.’
Despite the heat, Dieke pulls the Sesame Street duvet up to her chin. ‘Nighty-night,’ she says.
‘Goodnight, Diek.’ He straightens up and walks out of the bedroom. ‘Open or closed?’ he asks in the doorway.
‘A little bit open.’ She’s almost forgotten him already, holding the golden ring between thumb and index finger in front of her face, peering through it with one eye closed.
He leaves the door ajar. And looks once again at the letters his father made. NAHNE, he reads. ENNAH, HANEN, and finally HANNE. Before going back downstairs, he studies the painting on the landing. A painting his father and mother left behind when they moved out of the farmhouse and into the house next door. Long ago Jan and Johan thought it was a portrait of Great-grandmother Kaan, although they never knew her, of course. He used to make fun of them about it, but looking closely now he does see a resemblance between this woman and his father. Griet Kaan as a young, carefree girl. Halfway down the stairs, he suddenly remembers where he’s seen that golden ring before: the Piccaninnies on the wall hanging in the bedroom. How on earth did one of those rings end up in a flowerpot?
‘This place is a madhouse,’ his wife says as he re-enters the kitchen.
‘Yep,’ he says, still thinking about the wall hanging and where it’s got to.
Dieke’s clothes are still on the floor, the plastic step hasn’t been moved out of the way. His wife is smoking a cigarette. Between the plates and cutlery on the table in front of her there is a mug of coffee. There are pans on the stove.
‘Dieke just told me that your mother pinched her.’
‘Really? When?’
‘At the party.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know.’ She sucks hard on her cigarette. ‘But actually your father’s even worse than your mother.’ She gestures outside, over the lopsided cactus. Zeeger Kaan is wriggling between the branches of the chestnut. It looks like he’s picking beans.
‘Yes,’ he says, sliding a chair out from the table to sit down. He rolls a cigarette very calmly, lights it and stares at the drinking trough full of dry grass for a couple of minutes. ‘What do you think of Highland cattle?’ he asks.
‘What do you mean? As meat?’
‘No, on the land. On paths. Between elderberries.’
She fixes her eyes on him. ‘I want to get away from here, Klaas.’
He lets the smoke drift out of his nostrils. ‘Maybe,’ he says. ‘Maybe.’
Entering the barn, Klaas is surprised by the silence. Dirk is no longer restless and doesn’t even look up when he goes over in front of the bullpen. He breaks a chunk of hay off a bale lying against the wall and tosses it into his feed trough. Some linseed cake goes on top. There’s already enough water in the big black trough. The bull sticks his head through the bars and starts feeding. There are no swallows flying in and out. Klaas steps up onto the bottom rung of the ladder, though he doesn’t know what he’s going to do. About halfway up he stops, pushes the extendable section up a little, then climbs back down. The upper part of the ladder rustles down past the bales of straw as he descends. After locking the hooks of the extendable section onto the bottom rung, he tilts the ladder back, lowers it and lays it flat on the floor. Then he takes an old broom, sweeps the shards from the advocaat bottle together and pushes them into an old cardboard box that is lying around. ‘Mum?’ he asks. No reaction. He calls again, louder this time. Silence, not even a crackle of straw. She must have fallen asleep. What do you expect after a whole bottle of advocaat, when she usually limits herself to a single glass on birthdays? Leaving the barn through the big doors, he sees that she’s switched on the light. He smiles.
He has the idea that the light is already fading as he, bare-chested, starts to dig a hole just to the side of the gate he, Dieke and Jan were sitting and leaning on yesterday evening. It’s heavy work: the ground is dry and hard. He runs a hand across his forehead a couple of times. When the hole is deep enough, he fetches the wheelbarrow with the dead sheep and pushes it to the edge. Rekel, apparently no longer offended, is doing a circuit of the yard and comes over to see what he’s up to, stopping at the open gate and sitting. He’s learned not to go onto the road or into the fields. He holds his head at an angle, finding it difficult not to approach the dead animal. Klaas tips the sheep into the hole and shovels earth on top of it. The burial mound will sink in time. When he’s finished he leans on the spade, looking out over the fields. They’re empty. He sees grass and grey sky. He only notices how very quiet it is when he hears quacking from the broad ditch a bit further to the right. Rekel wanders over to the ditch. He doesn’t bark, he already did that earlier this evening. He knows the Barbary duck, he knows how old it is.
Empty fields, and he sees all kinds of things.
Calling
Johan watches the car drive off. Jan is sitting in the back, staring at the headrest of the front passenger seat where he, Johan, was just sitting. Behind him a door opens. TV noise fills the wide hall. ‘Y-es, Toon,’ he says. ‘N-o, Toon. O-K, Toon.’
‘I didn’t say a word,’ Toon says. ‘Leave the door open for a bit. Why are you walking so funny?’
‘I w-alked ten kilo metres with a bag of s-tones on my back. I’ve got b-listers!’
‘Shall I look at them? With a needle and some iodine?’
‘N-o, leave
it. I’d have to t-ake my socks off and I don’t f-eel like taking my socks off. They’ll be fine.’ He goes into the communal living room, where three of the other guys are slumped on an old brown sofa. They’re staring at some game show or other and don’t look up when he comes in. Two of them have taken off their T-shirts. When Toon comes in, one of them shouts, ‘Door!’ Toon leaves it open and sits down at the dining table with Johan, in the short section of the L-shaped room. There is big cane lampshade over the table. Johan rests his forearms on the tabletop and intertwines his fingers. ‘I just c-aught four fish,’ he says.
‘Did you wash your hands?’
‘Yes.’
Toon looks at the clock on the wall. ‘You’re more than two hours late home.’
Home, thinks Johan. Is this my home? ‘I’ve h-ad a busy day.’
‘You were with your little sister.’
‘Y-es. Shall I tell you about it?’
‘That’s OK. I already know.’
‘Oh, y-eah?’
‘Yep.’
‘Shhhhh!’ shouts one of the guys on the sofa.
‘And Jan was there too.’
‘Y-es. He’s g-oing bald.’
‘That doesn’t matter, does it?’
‘Y-ou’d like him, Toon.’
‘I do like him.’
‘Oh, y-eah?’ Johan stares at his support worker. That doesn’t bother Toon. Someone like Jan can’t bear it, he noticed that again this afternoon. People get nervous around him. Even his own brother.
‘Yeah,’ says Toon, staring right back.
‘He was just in the car. My f-ather d-ropped me off, but you didn’t see the car.’
‘Pity.’
‘Shut up!’ someone else shouts from the sofa.
‘Y-ou’re a p-retty nice guy,’ Johan says, watching his fingers wriggle. ‘And I th-ink Jan’s p-retty nice too, though I’m n-ot sure.’
‘I think he is.’
‘He’s th-inking about Hanne and that’s why he for-got to get out of the car and see who you are.’ Johan screws up his eyes, making a deep frown appear in his forehead. ‘I s-aid, come in for a s-econd, see who T-oon is.’
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