‘I hope 1655 will be a more peaceful year,’ I say.
‘I hope it will be for you as well.’ Angelika eyes me uncomfortably.
‘Is something wrong?’ I ask.
‘No, not at all. I had a bad night, that’s all. The girls couldn’t sleep because of all the noise and just as they were going off, Allard woke for his feed.’
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘You get some rest.’
She nods, smiles and shuts the door.
The whole town is up all night; no one is even thinking about going to bed. That includes me and Evert, we’re going to the Mechelen Inn. Johannes comes over as soon as he sees me. He kisses my hand. ‘Catrin! It’s been far too long. How’s your leg? You’re walking again.’
‘Yes, but it took some time. It started to seem like it was made of jelly,’ I say. ‘And how are you?’ I know he’s depressed after losing Carel.
‘I’m fine. I have my work and life goes on. Although I have realised a few things.’
‘Like what?’
‘That life is too short and you mustn’t waste your time on earth. Painting is my passion, I trained for years and qualified as a master craftsman, and look how I spend my days.’ He gestures at the bar. ‘Keeping an inn is a good job, but you can’t do anything else on the side. It’s one or the other and I’m longing to feel a brush in my hand again.’
‘You’re going back to painting!’
‘Yes. We’ve found someone to run the inn, and I’ve hired a workshop to turn into my studio. I can’t wait to get started.’
‘Good.’ I smile at him.
‘Your painting lessons came to an abrupt end,’ Johannes goes on. ‘If you’re looking for a new teacher …’
‘That’s kind of you, but you don’t have the time. And I’m busy too. It feels strange not having a brush in my hand. Like I’m missing a finger.’
Johannes laughs. ‘Well, just remember: if you change your mind, you’re always welcome.’
‘Wouldn’t Catherina object?’
‘For the past few months, Catherina has been the happiest woman in the world.’ His voice brims with pride and happiness.
I look over at his wife, who’s standing across the room. Her growing belly is clearly visible under her yellow smock.
‘Congratulations!’ I blurt out, surprised. ‘You’re going to be a father, how wonderful. When is the baby due?’
‘Only three months to go now. We’ve lost a couple before, so we kept the pregnancy a secret for a long time.’
‘Catherina is glowing.’
‘Yes, she’s so happy. Miscarriages are hard, especially late in the pregnancy. It was a boy both times.’ A shadow of grief passes over his face.
‘I know all about that,’ I say, but my words are lost as we’re buffeted by a line of dancers who form a ring around Johannes, putting an end to our conversation.
Angelika and Quentin have stayed at home with the children. They drop in on New Year’s Day to wish us the best. They don’t stay long.
‘Are you and Quentin not getting along?’ I ask Evert.
‘No, but he has been very distant.’ Evert takes a thoughtful sip of wine. ‘So you’ve noticed it too.’
‘I barely see Angelika any more. Could it have something to do with us getting married?’
‘I can’t imagine that it would. They were more enthusiastic than anyone about it.’
‘Then it’s something else, something we don’t know about. Should I ask Angelika?’
Evert shakes his head. ‘It isn’t necessarily anything to do with us. Perhaps they’re having problems themselves.’
‘If they are, then I want to know that, too. They’re our friends!’
‘Friendship means trusting that everything’s all right,’ says Evert. ‘Leave them be. If they need us, they’ll come to us.’
30
Evert turns out to be right. The new year isn’t even a week old when Quentin comes by on Sunday afternoon to have a word. He doesn’t ask me to leave, so I stay in the parlour as well. Anna pours us each a glass of beer and puts cheese and olives on the table.
‘Spit it out,’ Evert says once she’s gone. ‘What’s on your mind, lad?’
Quentin isn’t a man to beat around the bush. ‘I’m setting up on my own.’
These words are followed by a stony silence. I hold my breath and look from one man to the other. To my surprise, Evert seems to be taking the news relatively well. He fills his pipe and lights it from a spill he sticks into the fire.
‘I thought it was something like that.’
‘Did you?’
‘You’re about to present your work to the guild and become a master. Why would you stay on after that?’
Quentin eyes him warily. ‘So you don’t mind? We’ll be competitors, Evert.’
‘I’m sad to see you go, of course, but the market is big enough for the both of us.’
‘I know your secret firing method.’
‘Yes, and you’re going to use it. There’s nothing to be done about that. I assume you’ve got enough sense not to go spreading it about.’
‘No, of course I won’t. If we cooperate and send each other jobs now and again, we can maintain a monopoly.’ Quentin grabs his beer and takes a hearty gulp. ‘I’m so relieved you’re reacting like this. I’ve been worried sick.’
‘How are you going to go about it? Have you got enough capital?’
‘I’m going into business with Wouter van Eenhoorn. He told me David van der Piet’s pottery on East End Canal is going on the market. Wouter’s got the cash and I’ve got the know-how, so he suggested setting up a company together.’
‘Why are they selling?’ I ask.
Quentin takes another sip of his beer and looks at me. ‘David bought the premises for his son Jan, he had kilns installed and got everything ready to begin production. But sonny boy had other plans and now the old man’s stuck with the business. He wants someone to take it off his hands and asked whether Wouter knew anyone. That’s where the idea got started. We’re planning to buy the house next door so we can turn it into a shop.’
‘Cornelia’s house, next-door to Bohm, the surgeon,’ says Evert.
‘The very same. That’s up for sale as well.’
‘Sounds good. When’s all this going to happen?’
‘It’ll be a while yet,’ says Quentin. ‘I’ve still got to finish my official masterpiece.’
‘So you’re staying for now. That’s good, that gives me time to find a new assistant.’ Evert takes a puff of his pipe and blows the smoke into the room.
The equanimity with which he receives Quentin’s news just keeps on amazing me.
‘What am I supposed to do?’ he says, once his friend has left. ‘I always knew Quentin wouldn’t remain an assistant forever, he’s far too enterprising for that. And I meant what I said: there’s enough business for us both.’
‘He knows how to make Dutch Porcelain, which minerals you need and how to fire the pots. He can do it just as well as you. Aren’t you worried about that?’
Evert shakes his head. ‘I learned it all through trial and error, others may do the same. There are already potters taking steps in the right direction. The only thing they still don’t understand is how to stop the white pottery from yellowing. They’re convinced it requires some mysterious ingredient from abroad.’ He chuckles. ‘They haven’t got a clue that all you need is good old cooking salt and potash. No one knows that, just us.’
‘And Quentin.’
‘Yes, but he’s got enough sense to keep it to himself.’
‘He’ll have to tell Wouter van Eenhoorn. Before you know it, all of Delft will be in on the secret.’
Evert stands up and kisses me on the neck. ‘Don’t be so gloomy, darling. You never manage to keep anything successful all to yourself for long. And we’ll be able to make plenty of pots before it comes to that.’
Angelika is just as relieved as Quentin that we know about their plans and that Evert has taken
the news so well.
‘Of course it’s not illegal to set up a rival company,’ she says, ‘but in this case the whole thing was a bit delicate.’
‘Because we’re such good friends,’ I say.
She nods. ‘And because of those secret techniques. Which Quentin will share with as few people as possible, naturally. He’s planning to have every employee sign a secrecy contract.’
‘That’s a good idea.’
‘Isn’t it? You could do the same, then we know it’ll be kept between us.’
Later that evening, I bring it up with Evert, who nods in agreement. ‘I’ve spoken to Quentin about it and I’m going to have a contract drawn up too. By the notary, completely official. Oh, and we need a name for the company, Catrin.’
‘A name? It’s a pottery, not a tavern.’
‘I think it’s a good move, now that competition is growing. We could put a little symbol on our pieces as a kind of hallmark. Then it’ll be clear what company it comes from.’
The next day, I mull it over as I’m painting. I’m absorbed, working on a picture of an exquisite, fragile flower the Chinese call the ‘lotus’ and that stands for purity of spirit and internal growth. It sprouts under water, in the mud, only growing towards the light and reaching the surface when the time is right. Maybe that’s why I like painting it so much. I scrutinise my work. Then, in a flash, I turn over the piece I’m working on and paint a tiny lotus on the bottom with a few flicks of my brush. Evert thinks The Lotus Flower is a brilliant name for the company, which is lucky because by the time I suggest it to him the plate is already in the kiln. From that moment on, everything we make gets a flower and the letter L on the bottom.
On 26 February, Quentin and Van Eenhoorn buy David Anthonisz van der Piet’s house on the west end of East End Canal, followed by the house next door to it a week later. Quentin moves into the annex behind it with his family. A nanny is taken on to look after the children, since Angelika will be working in the shop. They’re not ready to open yet because Quentin will only present his work to the guild in May and until he does, and is accepted, he’s not allowed to trade.
Spring is in the air as I set out one morning to do my shopping. Anna usually does it, but now and then I feel like going to the market myself. I’m on my way to the fish stalls when Jacob pops up next to me. Aside from the daily exchange of pleasantries, we’ve had almost no contact for months and I still feel uneasy in his company.
‘Morning, Catrin. Are you off to buy fish?’
I presume this is merely an opening gambit and wait for the rest to follow.
‘I am too. It’s tasty and cheaper than meat,’ he says as he joins a queue behind me.
‘That’s true.’
We wait for our turn in awkward silence. To give myself something else to focus on, I watch the two storks with clipped wings that are gobbling up the guts and off-cuts left on the ground. They work for the city and are wearing black and white collars.
‘They’ve got those in Alkmaar too,’ says Jacob.
‘What?’
‘Storks around the fish stalls on Verdronkenoord.’
‘They have.’
‘Do you ever think about home?’
‘All the time.’
‘I don’t. I’m glad I got away from there.’
It dawns on me that I hardly know anything about Jacob. ‘Why? You’ve got family in De Rijp, haven’t you?’
‘Yes, a religious fanatic mother and a father with loose fists and a quick temper. I’m the youngest of eleven, I barely know my brothers and sisters.’
‘That’s a shame.’
He shrugs. ‘Well, the ties that bind can strangle you too. Otherwise I’d probably still be there, milking cows.’
I nod, not knowing what else to say. But Jacob goes on.
‘I can understand it because of how my dad was. What you did, I mean. So you can count on me as far as that goes.’
This puts me right back on alert. ‘Great.’
‘People from the same village should help each other out, don’t you think?’
I look at him suspiciously.
‘Don’t be so mistrustful, I didn’t mean anything by it. I only thought …’ He stops and scratches his head.
‘What do you want, Jacob?’
‘Well, I’ve been working as a treader for a while now and preparing clay is starting to bore me. It’s heavy, dirty work. And with Quentin going, Evert’s going to need to train someone else up. It’ll probably be Klaas. Which means someone needs to replace him emptying the kilns and cleaning out the scraps from the firing.’
‘You want to train as a potter?’
‘It’s a good skill to have. And with so many new companies getting involved, the boom looks set to continue. So, yes, I reckon it would be a good move for me.’
‘Why are you telling me this? You should be talking to Evert.’
‘True. But everyone knows you’ve got a lot of influence over what goes on at the company. Your opinion counts. Evert listens to you. So if you suggest that he trains me, he’ll do it.’
I struggle to hold in a gasp. I knew that he’d need me again for something one day. Jacob in the workshop? It doesn’t bear thinking about. At the moment he spends his whole working day in one of the outbuildings and I don’t have to see him, but the kilns are right next to the studio.
‘It’s such a small favour, Catrin. You’ll do it for me, won’t you?’ Jacob’s voice sounds friendly, almost taken aback that I’m hesitating. There’s a smile on his face and I feel my resistance crumble. Perhaps I was wrong about him, perhaps he never meant me any harm and his request is exactly what it seems: him asking me to put in a good word. He hasn’t bothered me at all over the last few months, but this isn’t the only consideration that swings it for me. Some people are better kept on side.
‘Very well,’ I say. ‘I’ll do my best.’
31
‘You miss your family,’ Evert says during dinner. After I told him about Jacob’s request, he sat for a while without saying anything. I wait, watching his thoughtful face and wondering which answer I’m hoping for.
‘Would it help you if I trained Jacob?’ he asks finally.
‘It won’t make me miss my family any less, of course, but Jacob is the only person I can talk about them with.’
‘I understand. It’s fine with me. Jacob is a hard worker, he’ll be good at it. If it makes you happy, I’ll train him up.’
‘Does that mean you’re going to teach him all the firing techniques? I wouldn’t do that if I were you.’
Evert looks startled. ‘I thought you wanted me to train him?’
‘Yes, but he doesn’t need to know everything. The fewer people who know about the technique, the better.’
‘Don’t worry, I don’t teach everything to every apprentice. I wasn’t born yesterday.’
From then on, I see Jacob much more often. Now that he works inside, he’s near me all day. His duties consist of collecting the painted earthenware to be baked and filling and emptying the kilns. After that, he joins the other workshop boys packing the ceramics for shipping.
As Evert said, Jacob is a hard worker and he takes his training seriously. He thanks me with a wink, which I answer with a weak laugh. I ask myself what he would have done if Evert had said no.
The first two months of the new year pass quickly. The first anniversary of Govert’s death finds me in church, the only place where my mind can be quieted. From the minute I woke up I’ve been tortured by my thoughts. Evert understood when I asked for the afternoon off, of course. If there’s anyone who knows what it feels like to be haunted by ghosts from the past, it’s him.
As I sit there on the pew, I feel the bruises on my skin all over again, the split lip, the ringing in my ears from Govert’s last blow before he collapsed into bed and succumbed to his drunken stupor. I’d had to endure his violent outbursts from the day we were married, but it got even worse around the anniversary of our son’s death. I saw
in his eyes that something was wrong, knew that he remembered as much as I did how our baby had been lost. He’d come back that Sunday from the pub after much too much to drink and wanted to kiss me. I shrank from his boozy breath and an instant later he was knocking me to the ground.
After a couple more kicks to my belly and legs, he stumbled to the bed and threw himself down on it. It was only when I knew he wasn’t getting back up that I picked myself up off the floor and crept outside to bathe my bleeding lip at the pump in the farmyard. Jacob and Jannet had the day off, so at least I was spared the humiliation of their sympathy.
I went back inside and stood in the doorway to the living room. No sound was coming from the bed. Many men snore when they’ve been drinking, but Govert only made the occasional sound, deep in his throat, followed by long pauses when it seemed like he’d stopped breathing. When we were first married I was frightened by it and shook his shoulder. He shoved me off with an irritable, ‘Give over, stupid cow.’ Whenever it happened after that, I knew better and counted the seconds when the breathing stopped only to be disappointed every time I heard him start again.
I don’t know what it was that drove me to it that day rather than any other. The beating he’d doled out that day was no different from the time before, a variation on a theme that would probably last my whole life. I’d long realised he’d never change and that I’d always be having to hide an injury somewhere on my body. My children too, if I ever had any. That day I saw with fresh clarity the woman I was becoming: subdued, skittish, introverted, unable to laugh or love. I knew that kind of woman, there were enough of them in the village. I’d always pitied them, even though they made me angry too.
On a sudden impulse, I ran to the bed and grabbed a pillow. My hands weren’t shaking and I didn’t hesitate for a second.
I bent over Govert. His mouth was slightly open, far enough to reveal the gaps where his molars had once been. He moved his head and for a moment it seemed he was going to open his eyes, but before he could I slammed the pillow down on his face, hard. He woke up, struggled and fought. The drink had taken a good portion of his reflexes and strength. He was no match for me. Months of pent-up anger and humiliation welled inside me, making me stronger than I will ever be again.
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