Girl Reading (14 page)

Esther picks up the pen.
not too late

I am afraid it is.

She shifts on her seat and flattens her apron, then signs a complex sentence. Some years ago her master would have understood her meaning. She dips the nib into the inkpot.
you are not the man you were. what has happened?

I am the same man, but I am worn down by the world.

She turns the paper over.
you have lost already one wife one son yet you risk losing much more. i say this as your servant & your friend.

Esther, are we still friends?

She barely nods. She could comfort him, in the past would have done. But always, now, she is thinking of self-preservation.

Elinga says, I do not want Pieter to go on his own tomorrow.

She signs that she is going with him. Then adjusts her apron, again unhappy at the way he watches her.

I meant to say, your idea to make a gift of that lizard to Rembrandt—

Esther jumps in her chair. No, not I.

It was your idea, I knew it straightaway. Pieter would never have thought of it on his own.

Esther folds her arms.

You have given much to this family. And perhaps you have guessed already that you have inspired me to paint genres again.

No, not I. (It is quick, assertive.)

Elinga ponders for a moment, then indicates the painting. Tell me, do you like it, Esther?

Yes. It is beautiful.

No one says that anymore. In the art world it is “sentimental,” “romanticized.” Beauty is out of fashion.

The maid shrugs her shoulders.

It is an old idea from my studies in Italy that I finally got around to. (He subdues his heart.) An old idea I stole from an altar. I just wanted you to know that.

She exhales and makes a simple sign that she knows he can understand.

Esther, have you never been inclined to find another job in another house?

She fingerspells deliberately, p, i, e, t, e, r.

Yes.

She touches both her ears in a mime.

But I am positive another family would appreciate you just the same. And if one of your employers or one of their children was deaf, well, your ability to communicate would be an asset.

My father.

His son used to address him using that sign, so it is fixed in Elinga’s memory. It was hard to make him stop. The two of you depend on your salary? I see. Do you not wish to marry someday and have children of your own?

Esther explains: On Sundays and holy days, people go to look at the lunatics. For amusement. If the inmates’ families can pay enough, they are given privacy and are not exhibited. The ones who rely on charity or whose families cannot afford the rates are exploited. I think it makes him worse.

Elinga glazes over until he speaks again, matter-of-factly. I remember all your kindnesses to this family, the grace you have shown us.

(Esther thinks he confuses grace with powerlessness.)

It is important at his age that your father is comfortable, that he has sustenance and medical treatment, whatever he needs. I propose making a charitable donation to ensure this is the case. And your years of unwavering service mean that you will be employed here for as long as you choose to remain. Your mistress and I are both extremely grateful to you.

Esther does not immediately react. She holds his offer in her mind and examines it for flaws. Is it tainted with additional expectations? Can Jurina be persuaded to honor it? Will it crack at the first test of its strength? She concludes it is the best commitment her master is able to make her and thanks him for it.

After the interview, the maid returns to the kitchen, and Elinga is left alone in his studio. Prior to this evening, it would have been simple to send her away. He was merely waiting for his wife to bring it up. He tears up Esther’s handwritten notes so his duplicitous son never finds them. It will be a painful promise for him to keep. His guilt. Fear of his own selfishness. He hates that Esther knows him so well.

He must quell his lust, or find more suitable outlets for it.

He must quell his heart and allow its object to be free, to stay or go as she chooses.

There is a festival atmosphere around the Montelbaans Tower by the Oudeschans canal. Some people joke that Silly Jack will randomly peal its bells in honor of the occasion. This is an orderly version of the events at East India House—these are comrades for the time being, sharing empathy and excitement, brothers to look out for you. Some lads are cocky and unruly, sizing up their potential rivals, showing off. Rumors are passed on, blessings and superstitions are swapped.

The parents demonstrate their affection and grief. Embraces, kisses, pledging their prayers, their love, Godspeed. Wishes and presents are exchanged. Bystanders stop to marvel and celebrate or to pity them, the third who will not come back.

The company officers administer and direct the crowd from their ledgers. To the cutter do not dally we are racing the tide. Next soldier come forward.

As the small vessel fills with recruits, another cutter returns from the
Prosperous
having delivered the most eager, mast leaning to the tower, fat sails deflating, colors flickering, oars engaged, coming about. The full boat is pushed away to make room, the people cheer and whoop, family and strangers waving them off, hats and spirits lift when the boys aboard energetically wave back. Dozens of youths with nothing to lose but their lives. One starts to sing and the rest join in, sending their voices to those they have left behind. Children run alongside to the end of the jetty— They have gone out to the bay, are out of reach.

The empty craft is secured in its place; the boarding process is beginning again.

Esther is vulnerable, caught between shifting groups. Sunlight
sears off the imposing form of an observer: it dazzles and disorients her (the highly polished breastplate and helmet of a pikeman, it must be), and she collides with another youth who could easily be a woman dressed as a boy, striking features, comely mouth; Esther bobs in apology to the prepossessing delinquent, finds Young Pieter’s arm, and links hers through it for security.

They hold back; there is no need to hurry.

Pieter has something on his mind, and this is his last chance to ask it. If there is an opportunity not to come back, should I stay forever?

You mean permanent settlement at the Cape of Good Hope, or Batavia, or another VOC base?

Yes. Make a new life for myself. If I can, should I?

Esther does not answer immediately. You may find you want to come back. You may find you are homesick, you miss your family, the climate does not suit you. You may long to return to Amsterdam, marry a Dutch woman, and have children with her. Life in a foreign country may be harder than it is here.

However?

However, if I were in your place and there was advancement or love for me on the other side of the world, nothing would induce me to return. Not even you.

Do you mean that?

Esther knows it hurts his feelings but adds, I would not give you a second thought.

Pieter does not respond. Instead, he checks his bag, his document. Esther rubs a smudge from his cheek. She used to be able to pick him up; now he is a full head taller than she.

Pieter marks the accent of secrecy in her eyes, realizes there is something else to ask, something important that he should have asked much sooner, but he has been insufficiently sensitive until now. Esther, are you in love?

She is stunned by his insolence. On any other day, at any other time, she would have denied it. Yes.

What is his name?

I do not know. We have never actually met.

Who is he, then?

I think he is a student of medicine. Furthermore he is—Pieter does not know the sign so she has to fingerspell it—a Sephardic Jew. I am ashamed to admit that when I first noticed him, I followed him. He led me right into the Jewish quarter.

Pieter gazes at Esther in astonishment.

She says she has seen him several times since, always looks for him near the synagogue—would not dare go in, in case she caused offense. She describes the Jews she sometimes sees him with, chatting and sharing a joke; they seem like nice people.

Eventually, uncertainly, he says it does not matter.

Stop it.

But it does not. You have to meet him. Someone at your church can interpret for you. I would have done, if you had only asked me.

I insist you stop it.

Pieter is frightened by her sadness but persists. Esther, why should you not tell him how you feel, if he is your heart’s desire?

Because.

She hides her face. Pieter puts his arm around her while some tears come, the way she used to comfort him when he cut his knee or banged his head. In a crowd of separations they do not stand out, and stay this way until her shuddering has ceased.

It is not only that I cannot speak to him. Even if I could, I have nothing to offer. He is well born and I am in service. He would prefer a woman of his own race and of his own faith, I am sure of it. The obstacles are too big and too many to overcome.

But how can you live like this? My father loved my mother,
Beatrix. They were happy and they had such a difficult time. I wish you had seen them. You would have liked my mother.

She smiles at his innocence. Yes. My parents loved each other too. Yet I can live like this, and I must. Besides, this way he remains perfect, this way I can never be betrayed or disappointed by him. He is just exactly what I hope and wish for.

To Pieter it seems tragic. He asks after her father.

Esther shakes her head. I do not think he knows who I am anymore. Sometimes he acts as though he is pleased to see me, but I think it is the food I bring him that he is truly glad about.

Esther, are you going to marry one day?

One day I will be too old.

You there! The VOC official is summoning stragglers.

Me, sir?

Say good-bye to your sister and get a move on. We need to fill all the spaces.

Pieter and Esther hug briefly. She kisses him on the cheek and finds a way to be pleased for him.

He presents himself to the company officer, gives his name, Pieter Janssens Elinga, the son of the painter.

Not anymore, you are the company’s son now.

Details are confirmed, the clerk makes a record. The young man boards the cutter and finds a gap where he can still see her. Other families can only shout or wave. Pieter and Esther continue their conversation.

Pieter, be careful.

I will. You too. Take care of Anna for me, she was upset.

I will look after her. She will be all right.

Will you promise not to tell anyone what we discussed?

Not a word, I swear it.

Commands and warnings as the cutter casts off. Friends and relatives bid farewell, handkerchiefs fluttering. Inspired by the
example of the previous boat, a chorus strikes up of a different song, louder and ruder than the first. The Montelbaans bells ring out but it is only to announce the hour; Silly Jack is disappointingly punctual today.

Get a move on time is against us come forward. Next soldier!

Thank you.

What for?

I will miss you.

I will miss you too.

I love you.

Good luck.

Good-bye.

Good-bye.

Angelica Kauffman

Portrait of a Lady, 1775

I
looked everywhere for you, Frances!

But Frances does not appear to hear. She laughs, is running into the garden, following colored lanterns down to the fountain, a bottle of champagne in her hand. They are at a wedding party; music drifts from open doors, intoxicated revelers.

Frances, I looked for you.

Come on.

Maria runs after her.

Come on!

Frances pauses, turns around, beckons. It is almost morning. She waves the bottle like a prize, mocking Maria.

Maria redoubles her efforts, lifts her dress in two handfuls to run faster. Frances slows to a walk, and with renewed optimism—she will surely catch her now—Maria sprints to her. But it is not right, as though she were underwater, as though her feet were floating several inches above the ground.

Coming, I am coming.

Drunk, Frances ignores Maria. She twirls on the spot; the lanterns blur, pink and blue and yellow, too fast, dangerously fast.

I wrote a poem for you, she is saying far away as she spins and spins.

New Year’s Eve. They go to the masquerade as highwaymen, arm in arm, Maria holding her tight, feeling her solid warmth, the pair flashing their pistols, robbing ladies of their tokens. They wear breeches and stockings, the shapes of their legs revealed to the delight of the gentlemen, to the disapproval of the spinsters and chaperones.

Stand and deliver, Your Grace, we have taken a fancy to that decoration in your hair.

The duchess plays along, clutches her breast.

Villainous! What if I will not give it?

Then I will take your life, though it grieves me to deprive the world of such a beauty as yours (and Maria makes a bow to the excited onlookers’ amusement).

Frances declares, Do not listen to him, Your Grace, he is a rogue. I will protect you and be satisfied to steal a kiss instead.