B007P4V3G4 EBOK (46 page)

As we walked along we said nothing for a long while. Finally I
broke the silence. 'You can still join the club,' I said. 'Or don't you
think the New Army Club's a good name?' I pointed out to him
that a fresh meeting could be held in that case. When he replied
that he thought a club of two members who, moreover, lived close
to one another, was preposterous, I proposed a drive for new
members. 'I don't want to be in a club at all,' Maarten said in the
end. We were silent for a long while again. Once more I was the
first to speak. 'Are you someone who's very quickly frightened?' I
asked. 'Not at all,' he replied. 'Even so, I thought you weren't very
brave,' I persevered. 'You don't look very brave really. I don't
believe for a moment that you're really tough.' He said nothing
back. Up until the shop we didn't exchange a word.

A narrow little street was where we needed to go. We halted in
front of the shop for there was something in the shop window we had to stay and look at. It was a composite piece of machinery
which I first took to be a pair of scales. On closer inspection
it proved, however, to be a machine without any useful purpose
and only intended to amaze the public or to amuse.

At the top, metal balls of varying sizes plunged at intervals into
a brass bowl at which point a large hand indicated their weight.
Then the balls fell into the compartments of a paddle wheel
propelled by their weight. The traction of this wheel was passed,
slowed down, to a very long arm going up and down a distance of
a few centimetres, protruding from the machine. This supported
two parallel carriageways, separated by fences, for a little racing
car which ran incessantly up and down them, first the one, then
the other: at the extremities niftily constructed connecting bends
saw to it that the little car could turn without colliding or tipping
over and run back. This little vehicle moved me. It was a little red
car bearing the registration W13'. On a black pennant the driver
was holding, it read in pale blue letters: 'Death Ride'. His head was
wrapped in a crash helmet and a leather mask that hid his face. In
front of the whole thing stood a sign in capital lettering with the
text: 'This Perpetuum, Racing Car Track, was assembled from 871
parts in 14 months (all Parts home made too). By a handicapped
miner who seeks to provide for his livelihood in this way. Cards
are available at 20 cents each or from J. Schoonderman, Beukenplein
8 hs. SC14,4,1,75 for ten.'

Faded picture postcards bearing a depiction of the apparatus
were lying roundabout. Quite a bit of dust had fallen. 'It's a fine
thing,' I said. In reality I felt a great sadness approaching. 'I must
go and see someone,' I said hurriedly when Maarten was preparing
to go in, 'I'd forgotten about that: I've run out of time.' Before he
had been able to reply I had already set off at a trot and left the
little street. When I was sure he wouldn't catch up with me any
more I went and stood by the ditch along the road and looked out
keenly for pieces of wood, but I saw nothing of the kind floating
about. In a porch I stayed and waited for Maarten. When he had
passed me, I followed him at a distance all the way home. 'I'm
walking behind him but he doesn't know that I'm following him,' I
said to myself.

Getting close to home I peered around carefully and discovered
Maarten in his garden. I couldn't get to the loft yet, so I decided to
stroll around for a while. It wasn't very cold; the drizzle felt
lukewarm. I walked past Werther's house and made my way to the parks by the dike. Here, having looked round a bit to make sure, I
entered the little spinneys.

Here and there, the ground, which was juicy and sucked tight to
my shoes, was covered in moss. I chose a spot where, without
being visible to passers-by, I could watch Werther's house. Here I
sat on a small trunk that had snapped, one that hurt me sitting
down, and I embarked on some reflection. It turned out that I did
have a stub of pencil but no paper on me. However, I discovered a
damp cigar box on the ground. On this I wrote: 'I'm sitting in the
spying tower, looking out at Werther's house. At the moment I
can't see anything yet. When I spot trouble I shall send a messenger.' I trampled the box and drove it, stamping my heels, into the
soil.

Just as I had finished doing this I heard laughter and hollering
coming nearer. I saw a woman run past along the broad cinder
path who slowed up occasionally to turn a full circle. At first I
thought she did this to look behind her, but it more closely
resembled some combination of dance steps. Before I'd been able
to make an accurate observation she had already gone past. I
stepped out from the bushes into the open, in order to watch her
go; just as I was standing on the path a collection of at least thirty
hollering children reached me, apparently following her. I mingled
with them and dashed along in their midst. We began to catch up
with the woman. Reaching the street, she stepped on to the
pavement and halted. All her pursuers came to a halt at some
distance from her. I was one of the last.

The woman turned round, bowed and took up the edge of her
skirt on either side. When she straightened out again I saw that
she was Werther's mother. A great fear crept over me. Afraid she
would recognise me in the multitude, I bent down a little and
crouched slightly. 'She isn't wearing a coat,' I thought.

She began to execute rapid steps on the spot during which she
repeatedly struck the soles of her shoes loudly against the paving
stones. All of a sudden she raised her skirts about her head, almost
losing her balance in doing so. When she had let them drop again
she halted a moment and then began to make shorter, more
restrained little steps, humming as she went.

Two women now arrived from a porch near by, one of whom
wore a white cap, like a nurse. The other had put on a coat. They
took Werther's mother carefully by her upper arms. 'Mrs Nieland,
you really must go home quickly,' the woman with the cap said. 'It's far too cold here. It's late already. You really must go home
quickly.'

They continued to hold on to her. She did show signs of
putting up a struggle but did not resist with force. We came closer.

'I'm dancing in time to the music,' Werther's mother said. 'I'm
the dancer Agatha.' She said this in an ordinary, businesslike tone
of voice, but immediately afterwards she went on resentfully with:
'Everyone shouldn't think they know what dancing is. Dancing is
quite a different thing to what people think.' The two women
pulled her along with mild coercion. Her dark floral dress billowed
occasionally in the wind which lifted her fluffy hair repeatedly. I
wanted to walk away but could not bring myself to.

Suddenly she began to shout. 'Education!' she cried. 'That's no
education at all! Not in a month of Sundays!' Her face looked tired
and flushed, but she smiled continually. The two women drew her
along more rapidly now and brought her inside the doorway to
her house.

Adults had joined us now, too, among them the corner shop
tobacconist. He looked on but said nothing.

Though it was no longer necessary, I had mechanically continued
crouching at the back. A girl gave me a push so that I fell over.
'Just taking a crap were you?' she said. The door to Werther's
house had closed. I walked away slowly, a few steps, and then I
ran home. I understood I would have to think a great deal.

After dinner I lit a wood fire in an old iron barrel in the garden
and stayed with it, standing there. The sides became red hot. I
called Maarten to come and see. We peed against the iron,
creating clouds of steam. When the fire was becoming spent he
proposed to sail a large cardboard box that stood in his garden, on
the water, its contents burning. We took along the necessary and
went to the watercourse. The box, filled with wood shavings,
pieces of cardboard and dry branches, and weighted down at the
bottom with a paving stone, we balanced on the water, set it
alight, and pushed it out from the edge. Because the wind was
unfavourable it sailed back slowly. We gave it another push but
this time, too, it slowly returned. Maarten said that, had he had the
air gun on him, he could have sunk the box with one or two shots.
The latter slowly burnt down to the water line, became saturated
and went out with a hiss, whereupon it sank. We went and sat
down on the bank.

Though it was dark we could see smoke rising above the cemetery which blew in our direction. It smelled of smouldering,
imperfect combustion. 'That's where they burn the bones,' Maarten
said. When the dead have been underground for seven years, the
flesh's off the bones.' He added detail to this. The bones hanging
in his room he had, he maintained, fetched from the big piles of
bones in the cemetery when the ditches were frozen over. He had
done this in collaboration with others. They had taken skulls along
as well but had lost these then because they had begun to play
football with them on the ice on their way back, without knowing
that cemetery staff were closing in on them, from behind. They
had managed to escape at the last minute but had been forced to
abandon the skulls. It had been thawing, and when they returned
the ice had cracked already.

I didn't know whether it was true what he told. Lastly, he
maintained there had still been hair on some of the heads. This
detail, I thought, could not possibly be invented so that I now
believed his entire story. 'The day has three signs,' I said inwardly:
I believed that Werther's mother's dancing, the sailing back of the
cardboard box and Maarten's tale of the bones were connected
with one another in a mysterious way.

When we got back home I took Maarten along to the loft and
switched on the electric light. As we were going upstairs, however,
I already longed to be alone. Maarten looked round searchingly
and studied the cabin trunk. 'That's the secret chest,' I said. 'You're
not allowed to touch it.' I went and stood behind it and took paper
and pencil. 'I happen to have to write something concerning the
club,' I said, regarding the paper as if it bore a message. 'The
messenger has brought an urgent message. I have to deal with it
but a non-member may not be present.' I looked at him pensively.
'You've got to go,' I decided, 'it can't be helped.' Maarten left
without a word. As he descended the stairs, I said: 'You mustn't
come here any more 'cause I can't possibly have anything to do
with enemies of the club.'

I lit a candle, doused the electric light and wrote: 'The Army
Club. What the Club can do. We can sail boxes that bum. That's
good to pester the water monsters. 2. Go to the cemetery when
it's freezing and fetch heads and bones. If it's not freezing we'll
build a dam. This must be done by members who know a lot about
graves and building. At the head stands the chief, that's the
chairman of the club. 3. Go and take a look in the spinney when,
for instance, someone comes by who runs fast and begins to dance. You can see this 'cause she hasn't got a coat on.' The final item
made me ponder deeply. I put the date underneath what had been
written, put it away beneath the roof tile and took a fresh sheet. I
decided to send Werther a letter and wrote: 'Werther, I have to
speak to you urgently because it's very important. Danger threatens. I'll wait for you tomorrow at four. At your house, on the
comer. Elmer.'

I was given permission to go out on to the street for a little
while. When I was standing in Werther's porch, the same smell
blew out at me as the one I had noticed inside his home. I pressed
open the letter box but instead of dropping the letter in, I listened
at it, keeping an eye on the street. Only a draught rustled past my
ear and I didn't hear a thing. I continued to listen even so. After
some time I heard the rub-a-dub of footsteps crossing one of the
rooms, and hushed voices. I considered opening the door with a
pass key I possessed and to go and sit at the foot of the stairs, but
this I did not dare.

Suddenly a door opened somewhere on the upper landing and I
recognised the voice of Werther's mother. 'I've got a good deal
more power than you think,' she said loudly. 'I've got the green
gem stones (A number of words got lost here.) Then
the door was slammed shut again rather forcefully; I could still
hear voices but too faintly to distinguish between them. In the
end, I flicked the note into the letter box and went home.

The following day, in the afternoon, I was standing sentry at
the spot indicated. I had come walking quickly from school and I
knew I would have to run into Werther for he attended a private
school twenty minutes' walk from his home. When I saw him
coming I ran towards him and walked along with him during
which I held forth at length. 'There's a very bad misunderstanding,'
I said. 'That has to be cleared up. We aren't enemies at all but there
was someone who wanted to break up the club: he was sowing
discord.' (This last expression I had read somewhere shortly
before.)

Werther wasn't angry any more and heard me out affably. We
must meet tomorrow afternoon,' I said. We had ended up on the
pavement in front of his house. Here he halted hesitantly. We
have to talk,' I said, 'that's necessary.' All of a sudden, his mother
poked her head out through a little window that could not belong
to a room nor to the stairwell. From here she began a conversation.

'Hello boys,' she said, laughing. I wasn't sure whether her
behaviour was commonplace or most extraordinary. 'Mother,
you're just like an acrobat,' Werther said. He sniggered for a
moment but then looked straight up again.

His mother made a few dott, shaking movements with her
head, then stuck out her chin and asked: 'Isn't that your little mate
Elmer? Have you hatched a plan again? You're a right pair of likely
lads. Why not come upstairs.'

Werther seemed to hesitate but when his mother repeated her
request we climbed the stairs. His mother was already waiting for
us on the landing. By looking round carefully, I worked out where
the window might have been and concluded it had to open out
from the lavatory.