Midnight Blue

by Simone van der Vlugt

  I shrug, there’s no point getting into a discussion with the man. ‘Have you got it or not?’

  ‘Of course we have, how much do you want?’

  ‘How much have you got?’

  It has grown quiet in the shop. The other customers are following the exchange with interest, and when Moeriaans puts one little crockery jug after another on the counter, they start muttering. After the tenth jug, I hold up my hand, I can’t afford any more. This is costing me a fortune. Externally unruffled, I count out the coins. A commotion erupts behind me. I buy a bag and pack up the jugs. As I leave the apothecary’s, the other customers surge forward to buy up the rest of the supply.

  I’m walking back through the cheese market with the bag in my arms when I see my father. He’s talking to the market master about where he can set up his cheeses, a conversation accompanied by a lot of arm-waving. The market master points to the right and when my father turns round, he sees me. His mouth falls open. He pushes his way through the crowd towards me.

  I set off in his direction too, and at the midpoint of the square we fall into each other’s arms.

  ‘Catrin, dear God, Catrin!’ he stammers.

  My father has never been particularly sentimental, but now his hug almost crushes me.

  ‘What brings you here all of a sudden? You look well!’ He takes a closer look and his eyes pause on my belly. His eyes meet mine and I nod, laughing. A broad smile spreads across his face. ‘Where are your mother and the boys? Won’t they be pleased!’

  That’s putting it mildly. When my mother and my brothers come strolling up, there is a joyful reunion and I’m pulled from one person to another and hugged much too tightly. They all talk at once and ask different questions at the same time, until my father puts an end to it.

  ‘Quieten down, you lot. Catrin can’t get a word in like this. We’ve not got time to chat anyway. We need to get this stuff sold and head home.’

  ‘There’s plague in the city, Pa,’ I say.

  ‘That’s why we need to be quick. We heard on the way here that it had reached Alkmaar, but we were almost here by then. So we’ll sell this lot, turn tail and run.’

  At precisely ten o’clock, the bell is rung to signal that the market is open. Despite my fear of being discovered by the sheriff, I help my mother at her stall selling fruit and vegetables. In the meantime, the boys and Pa are trading on the cheese market.

  It’s just the way it used to be. Now and again, I look over at my family members and a warm feeling floods through me, like liquid happiness. My mother sees me looking and pinches my cheek.

  ‘I’m so glad to see you again,’ she says. ‘And how wonderful that you’re having a baby. How far along are you?’

  ‘Five and a half months.’

  ‘Are you staying here until the birth? You’re coming home with us, aren’t you?’

  I nod and we smile at each other.

  Two hours later it’s time to go. The remains of our last-sold cheeses are dribbling from the cheese carriers on the handcart as my father drops the profits into a leather wallet.

  ‘We’re off,’ he says.

  38

  There’s no time to say goodbye to Bertha and Emil. I rush back to Stien’s house and gather my things. Stien isn’t there, and I leave the rent I owe her on her bed. Then I grab my bundle of clothes and go out into the narrow street. Before I can close the door, I see Justice Van Veen rounding the corner, accompanied by four armed constables. One of them is walking ahead of the group carrying a long stick, the Rod of Justice, that has to be brought with them if they’re carrying out an arrest.

  I step back into the hall, slam the door and sprint for the yard. There, I throw my bag over the fence and climb after it with some difficulty.

  I flee through gardens, courtyards and alleyways, glad that I know the city so well. After a considerable detour, I make it back to the cheese market, where my family is waiting for me in our boat.

  ‘Gosh, don’t you look hot,’ says Dirk as he’s helping me aboard.

  I say nothing, glancing over my shoulder to see if there’s any danger as I sit down next to him. Dirk’s gaze is watchful as he scans the quayside. He shuffles up so that his broad body obscures me from view. ‘Off we go, lads.’

  My pulse only returns to normal once we’re gliding past Tree Gate, out of the city.

  We’ve got a lot to talk about but, as always in my family, the most important things go undiscussed. The others give me a detailed description of the huge fire that consumed the village the year before and tell me about Dirk’s marriage to Klara Simonsdochter. I know her, we played together as children. For my part, I tell them about my work as a housekeeper in Amsterdam and how I got the chance to work as a painter in a Delft pottery. I say nothing about Jacob. I say just as little about why I haven’t been in touch, and no one asks me.

  Everyone is delighted to hear that I’m having a baby.

  ‘What a shame your husband didn’t come too,’ my mother says. ‘I’d have loved to meet him.’

  Though we talk throughout the journey, after two hours, by which time the first farms of De Rijp are coming into view up ahead, Govert’s name has still not been mentioned. But I do enquire casually about Mart.

  ‘He’s still trying to find out where you are,’ says my father. ‘But we haven’t said anything.’

  With my face to the open water and my hair stuffed under my cap, I sit pressed up against Dirk so passers-by will mistake me for his wife. I’m relieved when we turn into the broad ditch that runs along our farm and moor up. For the first time ever, I’m glad my parents’ house is so isolated.

  Feeling emotional, I take in the familiar contours of the low building, the weathered thatch on the roof, the earth walls and ramshackle outbuildings.

  Laurie jumps out onto the grass and gives me a hand climbing ashore.

  A young woman comes running up to us, staring at me in astonishment. ‘Catrin!’ she says, and gives me a hug. With her arm hooked through mine, she ushers me inside. ‘How wonderful to have you back. They’ve all missed you so much. How are you? Are you pregnant?’

  I nod, smile at Klara and throw open the door. As soon as I’m in the kitchen, I’m overcome by a feeling of nostalgia. The pots and pans on the shelves on the wall, the long table my father made and where I ate as a little girl, the hearth with its decorative tiles of animals and people my mother used to make up stories about, the furniture I painted, it’s all so familiar. I run my fingers over a flower motif on one of the cupboards and smile.

  Rather than take unnecessary chances, I stay indoors as much as possible during the next few days. There’s work enough to do around the farmhouse, there’s no need for me to venture beyond the yard. And the plague is marching on. Alkmaar is being hit hard. From the farmyard, I can see the clouds of smoke coming from the barrels of pitch on the walls, burnt to ward off the poisonous vapours of the disease. My fearful thoughts keep turning in the same circle, from Evert to Bertha and Emil and back again.

  Panic-stricken reports come to us from the boats carrying fellow villagers and people passing through along the back of the farm. It seems that in Alkmaar, several funerals are taking place at the cathedral every day. The open graves reportedly give off an appalling stench and an ever-growing number of front doors have a brass P nailed to them as a warning that there are sick people in the house.

  Despite these measures, it’s happening, the plague is being transmitted throughout the city. The authorities in Alkmaar aren’t taking any chances: furs, skins, wool and second-hand clothes are all banned, pawnshops and clothing merchants have to cease trading. In reality, everyone is giving them a wide berth as it is, so the new by-law isn’t necessary. The same applies to salesmen from elsewhere selling furs, stockings and caps; they’re summarily ordered to leave town.

  The farmers have to do business outside the city walls. Grain isn’t banned, but the sale of vegetables and fruit is restricted. Certain products are thought to aid the spread
of the disease and trade as a whole dies off as people become more cautious. Plums especially are no longer in demand because of their striking resemblance to plague buboes.

  Only ten and a half miles separate De Rijp from the city and we live in constant fear that the plague will reach us. My father chases off any stranger who comes near the farmyard and forbids us all from going into the village. We become self-sufficient.

  I give each of my family members a tiny jug of laudanum, which is received with the usual scepticism. There are so many cures going around that no one knows what to believe any more, but when I add that a patrician’s doctor in Amsterdam recommended it, they are convinced.

  One week after my return I feel my baby move for the first time on the very same day the plague arrives in De Rijp.

  A village has no gates you can bar, no walls to keep out unwanted outsiders. It lies defenceless in the middle of the fields. Once, when I was a child, I longed to live in the heart of the village, right by the school and near other children so I would have someone to play with. Now I’m grateful our farm is on the outermost edge, one of the last houses before the polder landscape stretches out uninterrupted for miles.

  We go about our work in tense silence, glancing up when the heavy funeral bells ring out over the fields.

  August begins, swelteringly hot, with a shower of tepid rain now and again. My father and the boys are busy making hay and spend every hour of daylight out in the fields. One day I’m standing churning butter in the barn when a figure appears in the doorway, blocking the light. I look up without stopping, in the assumption that it’s my father or one of my brothers. But it’s Govert’s brother, and his expression promises nothing good.

  I drop the handle of the plunger in fright.

  ‘Catrin,’ he says. ‘You know, I thought it was you.’

  It takes me a while to recover my ability to speak. ‘Mart … can I help you?’

  He laughs unpleasantly. ‘I would say so, yes. I’ve been waiting a long time to see you again. A long time. I was beginning to wonder whether Jacob would ever manage to find you.’

  ‘Jacob? What do you mean?’

  ‘He was supposed to track you down for me, but he couldn’t. And now you’re back all of a sudden.’

  ‘What are you talking about? Jacob found me almost straightaway, in Amsterdam. Eighteen months ago at least.’

  ‘Is that so? Then that sack of shit has been having me on. But it doesn’t matter, you’re here now. It’s high time we had a little chat.’

  Govert was a big guy and his brother is no less imposing. It’s unnerving, seeing him standing there with his red face, sweat patches under his arms, glowering down at me. I find myself looking around, as if I don’t already know the door he’s blocking is my only escape route.

  ‘What … what do you want to talk about?’ I ask weakly.

  ‘About Gove. About his death. According to the bailiff, there’s no proof – but you and me both know how it is. Everyone knows. You’re not going to admit it, though, are you? No, you’re never going to admit it.’

  He moves slowly in my direction, weaving slightly as if he’s drunk. My hands grip the lid of the churn.

  ‘He suffocated,’ says Mart. ‘You could see it in his eyes. The doctor said he could have choked on his own vomit. Did you see any vomit, Catrin? I didn’t. A bit of spit, but not enough to choke on. According to that quack, it could have been the cause. By the time I’d arranged for another doctor from Alkmaar to come and look at Govert, he was already in the ground. You were in a rush, of course, I can understand that.’

  I stare at him, unable to speak. There’s something strange about his eyes, and his voice sounds odd. As if his tongue is swollen in his mouth. A feeling of foreboding creeps over me.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ I warn.

  ‘I only want to say hello. Let me give you a hug, Catrin.’

  ‘Stay away from me, Mart.’

  He pays no heed and slowly comes closer. I prepare to defend myself and then to my surprise he pulls down his trousers.

  Terrified, I recoil, but he’s not planning what I think. He pulls up his tunic to reveal his parts. And his groin, where a disgusting purplish-red lump stands out vividly against his white skin.

  There’s a ringing in my ears. I suck in my breath with a sharp sound.

  ‘This is my parting gift to you.’ Mart pulls up his trousers. ‘I can’t die without hugging my beloved sister-in-law one last time, can I? After that, everything will be forgiven and forgotten, then it’s in God’s hands. What is it, Catrin? You look so pale all of a sudden. Have you so little trust in His judgement?’

  My knuckles are white from gripping the butter churn. There’s no escape from the corner I’m standing in. I lift the lid off the churn and pull out the plunger.

  ‘Not another step. I’ll use it!’ I hold up the oak handle with its heavy round end threateningly.

  Mart lunges at me. He grabs the handle and tries to yank it from my grip. I hold on with all my strength and wrench the plunger out of his hands. I have no hesitation in striking out with it. The blow catches him on the shoulder. His face contorts with such a grimace of pain that I suspect there’s another swelling in his armpit. There’s no space for sympathy now. I lift the plunger above my head, ready to deliver another blow, but Mart throws himself forward. He trips over the butter churn and lands half on top of me. I scream and scream, with my eyes closed and his heavy, boil-covered body on top of me. Then I hear my mother’s voice in the distance and stop screaming. I realise Mart is no longer moving.

  Crying, my breath coming in fits and starts, I work my way out from under his body and crawl away. Leaning on the wall, I watch my mother bend over Mart with a length of wood. Klara is standing behind her, her hand over her mouth.

  I stand up and look at the motionless body, filled with revulsion. ‘He’s got the plague. Oh God, he collapsed on top of me!’

  ‘Take off your clothes, then I’ll burn them,’ my mother says. ‘Scrub yourself down under the pump. Now, Catrin, don’t just stand there.’

  I take one more look at Mart, then turn and run out of the barn.

  39

  I’ve never taken my clothes off so fast. Right there in the farmyard, in full view of anyone who might happen by.

  So this is how God has decided to settle the score: through Govert’s brother. How appropriate. But I don’t give in that easily. I wash my body with water from the pump and dash inside to put fresh clothes on. By the time I come back outside, all that remains of my clothes is a pile of burnt remnants, which my mother is sweeping up and throwing on the rubbish heap.

  Just then my father comes into the farmyard with Laurie and Dirk.

  ‘I saw smoke,’ he says, looking in confusion at the blackened patch on the ground.

  My mother waves him over and opens the barn door, which she’d locked. ‘He attacked Catrin.’ She nods towards Mart’s body. ‘He’s got the plague.’

  My father, who had been about to go in, freezes at the word. ‘The plague?’

  ‘What was he doing here?’ Dirk asks.

  ‘He came for Catrin.’

  We all stare down at Mart. My father doesn’t say a word, neither do the boys. Mart is slowly coming round and groans.

  ‘What do we do with him?’ asks Laurie.

  ‘Nothing,’ my father says, turning away abruptly. ‘Leave him to fend for himself. Don’t go near him.’

  At the end of the day, I slip into the barn, despite the ban. From a safe distance, I look at Mart, who’s lying on his back staring at the ceiling. He slowly turns his head in my direction and opens his mouth, revealing a swollen, blackened tongue. I take a step back, trembling.

  ‘Don’t leave,’ he says. The words are almost unintelligible. ‘Please.’

  I turn, ignoring his strangled cries, and grab a wooden cup from the shelf. I fill it at the pump and go back. I don’t dare get too close; I set it on the ground and nudge it over to Mart using a broom. He puts h
is lips to the edge and drinks.

  I watch him as he does. It’s a fearful sight: there’s blood coming from his nose and mouth, his eyes are bright with fever. Where his tunic is hitched up, I can see purple and black blotches underneath his skin. And swellings, even more than there were this morning.

  Next to his head is an empty mug, so someone else has been in here and whoever it was gave him water too. We can do no more.

  ‘Catrin,’ he says hoarsely as I’m turning to leave.

  I look down at him, waiting.

  ‘Govert … did you do it or not?’

  For a second I’m fighting an internal battle, then I murmur, ‘Does it even matter any more?’

  He slowly shakes his head and looks up, as if he can already glimpse where he’s going.

  When my father goes to check on him the next morning, Mart is dead. Pa and Laurie wind the body in a sheet and drag it to the edge of the road. It will be collected tomorrow by a cart, along with all the other victims of the plague.

  My mother and I clean the barn with buckets of hot water, then burn all our clothes. After that, the barn door is bolted and we go back to our daily chores.

  For days we keep a close eye on each other and ourselves. Every little cough, the tiniest rise in body temperature or slight headache is cause for concern. My condition is monitored especially closely. When I wake up, the first thing I do is check my armpits and inner thighs. I run my hands over my body again and again, looking and feeling. I prod with my fingers and each time I don’t find anything under my skin I feel a surge of relief. The rest of the day I stay alert, because the plague can appear at any time. Along with the others, I take laudanum three times a day. It makes me calmer, a bit listless. Whether because of the laudanum or because I still have some kind of credit left with God, I don’t know, but I don’t get sick and neither does my family. After a week, I dare to believe we’ve escaped the plague.

  The sickness has blown through the village like a gale, leaving many victims in its wake. We also hear second- and third-hand news of the situation in Alkmaar. When I see a pedlar going past one day, I run to the edge of the farmyard and ask him whether he knows anything about the inn, the Thirteen Beams.