Everything There Was

by Hanna Bervoets

  “What if he…”

  We don’t know. Natalie won’t let us in. She has shouted, screamed, cursed, especially at me. “Unfeeling,” she called me. Stupid slut, ice-cold bitch, unfeeling idiot. I didn’t yell anything back, but I thought: You’re wrong. I feel a lot of things.

  I also shivered when I saw him lying there. Not just because of what it looked like: His neck in that funny crick, the radial bone sticking out of his elbow like the pole of a tent that’s been blown over. I was also shivering, perhaps especially so, because it was Yuri.

  An accident has happened.

  Though Kaspar and Natalie think differently. According to them there are perpetrators, and an accident with perpetrators is no accident but a crime. Accident or crime: Guilt is a matter of cause and effect. The effect is clear: A child that is possibly dying. The cause I find harder to determine.

  If a driver hits a cyclist, is the driver guilty? Or is it the barman who gave the driver one too many glasses of beer? And is that the fault of the owner who hired the sloppy barman? Or of the man who centuries ago discovered that malt turns into beer if you let it ferment long enough?

  The further back you go, the more perpetrators. In that sense all of us are guilty. If everyone is guilty, it may be that no one’s guilty. And if no one’s guilty, we’re dealing with an accident. I think. But Kaspar and Natalie don’t think so. According to Kaspar, Leo is the barman. According to Natalie, I’m the driver. And in some sense I’d already started down that road before the accident even happened; the night I let Yuri sleep with me. Had I not done that, everything might have gone differently.

  * * *

  Yuri was still lying with his back to me. His hair seemed a little coarse but not nearly as greasy as mine. It smelled like hand soap and Natalie’s perfume. I wondered what I smelled like and whether it had bothered Yuri last night. Carefully I pulled at the curls in his neck. They jumped back like a little spring. I put my hand on the back of his head, ruffled his hair a little. It was soft, and I remember thinking: It’s been a long time since I touched someone.

  “Hey,” I said, when Yuri turned over with a jolt. He looked surprised, didn’t seem to understand what he was doing on my mat.

  “You slept here last night, because –“

  “I know. Because Mom was with Kaspar again.”

  Yuri had barely finished speaking when the door creaked open.

  “Jesus,” said Natalie. “What are you doing here? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

  In three strides she was next to us. I knew I had to get up, apologize, explain what was going on, why Yuri had slept here. Instead I looked at Natalie’s bare feet, her heels black with dust. She must have been walking the halls for a while, probably looking for him at Barry’s and Leo’s first. Her feet were now right beside my head. She’d only need to take a single step, I thought. A single step, a single shove, a single kick…

  I got up.

  “What are you going here?” Natalie asked again. Her arms were crossed. She was not looking at me, speaking only to Yuri.

  “What are you doing here?” he said.

  “I lost you, I was worried!”

  Yuri crossed his arms as well, “I couldn’t find you.”

  “You knew where I was.”

  “Yeah, you were with Kaspar again.”

  Again. That’s what Yuri said. So I’d heard it right, the first time. Apparently Natalie had spent several nights at Kaspar’s. All those times Yuri hadn’t come to me. And as I was looking at Natalie, the way she stood there, with her arms sternly crossed but a look in her eyes that bespoke relief, I began to understand why Yuri had come to me that night. Not because he was cold or scared; no, Yuri had slept on my mat to make a point to his mother. And she seemed to have gotten the message.

  Natalie said nothing, took Yuri’s hand and squeezed it. Before she left, she turned around one more time. “It’s probably best if you stayed away from my son for a while.”

  I nodded but it was already too late. Yuri had seen that it worked. That there was a way to punish his mother for the nights she wasn’t with him and wasn’t thinking about his father either. He had now successfully used it and would keep doing so any chance he got.

  In the morning: “Hey Merel, could you tie my laces?” At dinner: “No, Merel should cut it, she does it better.” Reading: “And now Merel, because her voice is nicer.”

  Often Natalie would intervene in time. Then she’d cut his penne or tie his laces before I could react. But sometimes Natalie wasn’t there. Because I knew she could return at any moment, I told Yuri a few times a day: “You should do that with your mom.”

  This morning I had said that too, I’m sure: “Shall we go ask your mom if she wants to play the game?” I wish I’d left it there.

  * * *

  The mat game is an invention of Leo’s and it goes like this: You drag a mat up the stairs, sit down on it, grab the two front corners, and slide back down the stairs. It’s a bit of a strange game; though you can’t win anything, there are rules. Those rules were also invented by Leo:

  Don’t drag the mat up higher than the mezzanine halfway up the stairs.

  Always play the game with an adult present.

  Watch out that there’s not someone coming up the stairs right when you come sliding down.

  If you’re below five feet, don’t sit on the mat on your own.

  * * *

  “No,” I said. “The mat game doesn’t seem like such a good idea.”

  “Why not?” asked Yuri.

  “I don’t like it, I think.”

  “But did you ever try it?”

  I shook my head.

  “You can’t say no to something you’ve never tried!”

  Now Yuri sounded like Natalie. She had said the exact same thing when Yuri refused to eat Kaspar’s risotto – overcooked rice with creamer. The tragedy of being a child: The person you most want to rebel against is also your most important role model.

  “Shall we ask your mom if she wants to play the mat game?”

  “She doesn’t want to.”

  “What about Leo?”

  “He’s exercising.”

  “Shall we go find Barry?”

  “I want to play it with you!”

  Yuri had started climbing the stairs, by now he was already on the second step. Pulling himself up by the railing with his left arm, holding a corner of the mat in his free hand. I thought: He won’t make it very far. The mat was heavy and almost twice as big as Yuri. But he seemed determined to drag it up the stairs, climbing another step, and another one.

  The steps glistened, I only now noticed. Kalim must have mopped, which meant that the stairs were still wet.

  Were still slippery.

  Yuri had trouble keeping his balance: He wobbled and his right arm trembled. Around the fifth step Yuri clasped on to the railing, breathing heavily.

  It seemed like he would give up there, let go of the mat and collapse in the middle of the stairs. But Yuri didn’t give up. He made another step, softly groaned, jerking the mat up to his hip. And tipping dangerously backwards.

  “Come back!” I shouted. “Yuri, that’s dangerous!”

  And as I heard myself shout, I thought: There’s that bad play again.

  Yuri didn’t pay me any mind. He climbed up another step, and again the weight of the mat almost pulled him over. If he fell now, he’d end up with the back of his head on the hard floor ten steps below.

  “Stay there!” I shouted.

  “I can’t hold it any longer,” Yuri squeaked.

  I ran up the stairs.

  Grabbed the other corner of the mat and clasped the railing with my free hand. Yuri smiled gratefully, his eyes watery with effort.

  We went up the stairs together: the mat between us, each with one hand on a railing.

  “Ok,” said Yuri when we’d reached the mezzanine. “And now we put it down. And you sit down first, ok?”

  I shook my head. “We’re not play
ing the mat game.”

  Yuri’s face clouded over. “But why did we carry it all the way up then?”

  I looked behind me. The stairs were wide. Steep too, but maybe I should just do it. Put down the mat; sit down, Yuri between my legs, my arms around his waist. Only: If he got his way now he probably would never leave me a moment’s peace. A child’s brain works more efficiently than an adult’s: If you say no four times and yes once, a child will only remember the yes. Because the yes got them the result.

  “No,” I said. “We’re not doing it.”

  Yuri pouted.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Sorry, Yuri.”

  It didn’t help. Of course it didn’t help. Sorry often only makes things worse; saying sorry is admitting that the sadness is real. Real sadness involves crying. Yuri’s chin shrunk and his lower lip started trembling. Real sadness also involves comforting: I tried to put my arm around Yuri. I only half succeeded, as we were both still holding the mat, “You know what we’ll do? We’ll just throw the stupid thing down the stairs.”

  It was a gamble. Throwing down the mat was obviously not the same thing as sitting on it and racing down. But I’d once seen Yuri throw erasers down from the top of the stairs and suspected that falling things held a certain fascination for him. Perhaps that fascination is universal. When I used to eat something sitting in my windowsill I’d also always throw bits of bell pepper out the window. Gravity doesn’t often present itself for our admiration. Apparently we jump at the chance.

  Yuri slowly nodded.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Yeah.”

  One by one we turned around, ending up with our backs to the mezzanine. We were each holding a railing and a corner of the mat.

  “We’ll let go at three,” I said.

  Yuri nodded again.

  “One,” I said. “Wanna count along?”

  “Two,” we said together.

  “Three!” I shouted by myself.

  Both of us let go. I gave the mat an extra push so it would really bounce. I watched it fall, breathing hard.

  Then I realized Yuri hadn’t let go of the mat, but of the railing.

  He must have still been holding the mat when I gave the extra push; his fall seemed to last for ever. Like before, on TV, seeing a professional skier roll down a mountain after he miscalculated the slope: again and again those skis in the air, another smack in the snow. And each time I’d think it was over, the skier would bounce into another somersault after all, as if the fall went on because I was watching. Just so my eyes would get their due.

  A few times I saw Yuri’s head bang against the stairs. The last few steps he clattered down on his back, his limbs making strange angles.

  And by the time he was finally at the foot of the stairs – immobile, silent, his arm in a position that seemed anatomically impossible – I was assailed by a feeling that I’ve only had a few times before.

  On Queen’s Day, when a car drove over my foot and I heard the bones crunch. In Djakarta, the moment a carjacker put a pistol to my forehead. At school, the day I was late for my last final exam. And at home, as an eight year old: the day I found my mother naked in a kitchen cabinet one morning. These were moments when I realized: From now on everything will be different. The next hours, days, possibly months will revolve around this one event. These were also moments when I thought: I wish I’d not taken for granted the previous hours, days, and months as much.

  I looked at my hands, the way they were clasping the railing. Maybe I hoped that would make them tremble less. Somewhere far off I now heard Yuri scream. It sounded terrible but I thought: Thank goodness, something still works.

  Then things moved quickly. I don’t know when I walked down the stairs or where the others came from. I only know that suddenly we were all sitting around Yuri. That Natalie yelled, asking what was wrong with me, couldn’t I see the way Yuri was lying there? That Leo wanted to lift Yuri up and that Kaspar thought that didn’t seem like a good idea to because we didn’t know whether his spine was still intact. That a crying Natalie screamed I should fuck off. That Kaspar shouted that Leo had no right to speak because he was the one who invented this idiotically dangerous game. That Kaspar then also shouted that Leo had been putting deadly stunts into Yuri’s head ever since we’d been here. And that Barry went to get glasses of water for everybody.

  Eventually Kaspar used a roll of gauze from the first aid kit to tie off Yuri’s lower arm. Leo said that that would be best, but Kaspar only did it after Barry mumbled that he’d also read something like that. Kaspar, Barry, and Kalim then very carefully carried Yuri to Kaspar’s classroom.

  * * *

  Barry went into the classroom one more time to offer our last aspirin. He says that Yuri was still awake at that point.

  And now we sit and we wait. Doing anything else seems inappropriate. We also wouldn’t know what. We did wonder around six whether we should go and eat. It would get dark soon. Natalie and Kaspar have taken the camera and the flashlight. But in the dark we wouldn’t be able to cook.

  It was Kalim who cut through our indecision, putting a pot on the stove at six thirty. He brought Kaspar and Natalie their portions.

  “How was Yuri?” we asked afterwards.

  Kalim said, “Alive.”

  Day 53

  We’re still waiting. On chairs around a table in the hallway. We don’t say much. Sometimes we make an awkward joke that we then laugh about awkwardly while we all think: Our laughter is so awkward. It feels like we’re in a hospital. Like at any moment a doctor could come out of the classroom, a doctor with a neutral face we’re trying to read to find out whether his news is good or bad. But we’re not in a hospital: There are no white seats growing out of the walls, there’s no coffee machine with a spout that also dispenses soup, there are no neutral faces, and Kaspar and Natalie might not know much more about Yuri than we do. They’re just standing a little closer.

  Still we keep waiting. For what I’m not sure, I think mostly for the time when the waiting will be over.

  In the meantime we try not to look inside too much. Not that we need to, we already know what we’d see. Natalie beside the teacher’s desk. Kaspar beside the teacher’s desk. Natalie and Kaspar beside the teacher’s desk. Or Natalie on the floor, her arms around her knees.

  If they see us peek in, they glare back. Barry didn’t understand why they also looked at him that way. “I didn’t even do anything,” he said. “Not that you guys did. But I really didn’t, you know.”

  Only Kalim still goes into Kaspar’s classroom. To bring food, and once to offer Leo’s coat. The food they accepted, Leo’s coat they declined.

  Kaspar himself has only come out once so far. The day before yesterday.

  He passed us without saying anything, strode through the hallway in the direction of the stairs. Briefly we looked at each other. Then all three of us got up and followed him, up the stairs, into the kitchen.

  Kaspar pulled open cabinets and drawers and turned over the drying rack. He took a breadknife, and a potato peeler, a kitchen knife, a pocketknife: Anything with a blade he put into Natalie’s canvas bag.

  “How’s he doing now?” asked Barry.

  “Bad,” said Kaspar. He opened a kitchen cabinet and closed it again without taking anything. “His arm has to go.”

  “Jesus,” said Barry, “are you sure?”

  Kaspar nodded, his hand still on the handle of the cabinet. “His lower arm is all black,” he said, pulling the cabinet open again. “It has to go, otherwise the gangrene will spread to his upper arm as well.”

  Kaspar didn’t say that last part like he usually did. It didn’t sound determined, more like a question.

  “Maybe we should just very briefly look at him?” Leo asked carefully. “We all want what’s best for Yuri. Maybe together we can find a solution.”

  A sound rang through the kitchen. Kaspar had slammed the cabinet shut. He turned around, now back to his decisive tone, “So far your involvem
ent hasn’t done Yuri much good.” He slung the bag over his shoulder, “Could you let me pass?”

  We stepped aside so Kaspar could leave the kitchen. Because we didn’t want to follow him again, the three us remained at the door.

  Barry pointed up, to some woodwork that had paint flaking from it. “Anybody have a can of high-gloss lying around?” We didn’t laugh. Barry didn’t either.

  * * *

  That afternoon there were screams coming from Kaspar’s classroom again. Especially Natalie’s, although we thought we heard Yuri as well. The crying kept being drowned out by other sounds: Kaspar’s moaning and the creaking legs of the teacher’s desk, which must’ve been scratching the laminate floor.

  In the morning we found the bread knife in the kitchen sink. The notches were sticky with something brownish; it looked like soy sauce, but we knew better.

  Why hadn’t Kaspar cleaned the knife? Maybe there hadn’t been enough light when he put it in the sink. But it’s likely he wanted us to see it. So we would realize what he’d had to go through to save Yuri. And that we had caused this suffering. But we already knew; we hardly looked at each other while we were waiting. Barry kept wiping his glasses on his shirt, Leo drummed his fingers on the table. I made braids in my hair and immediately pulled them apart. Sometimes someone would ask: “Where’s Kalim?” Then someone else would point up and we’d stop talking.

  We’d not said a word to each other for over an hour when Barry suddenly asked, “Why didn’t you just sit on that mat with him?”

  “What?”

  “With Yuri. That’s what he wanted, right? Why didn’t you just do it?”

  “He didn’t really want to,” I mumbled, starting a new braid.

  Barry raised his eyebrows, Leo now also looked at me questioningly.

  “He only wanted to play the mat game to get to Natalie. Using me, I mean.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Barry.

  “Yuri was angry with Natalie, so he specifically sought me out to do stuff with, because he knew she wouldn’t like it. Didn’t you see how he was calling for me all week? It was manipulation.”