The Rattle-Rat (20 page)

"Gyske says," Hylkje said, "that Mem loved Douwe dearly.
You're all men, you cannot possibly identify with a woman in such a relationship."

"The female attitude is changing," the commissaris said.

"Only lately, sir. Mem is from the past."

"Dinner?" the commissaris asked.

De Gier fried the soles, flipping them over with smart flicks of his fork. The crunchy fish were served in a ring of fresh lettuce. There was a tomato salad, with a dressing flavored with herbs from the garden. The commissaris ate the last golden fried potato. Cold beer foamed.

De Gier brought out strawberries, under a cloud of whipped cream.

"You're good," Hylkje said.

"The sergeant lives alone," the commissaris said helpfully.

"In contrast," Grypstra said, "to all of us who fail in marriage or are manipulated in other unfortunate relationships, de Gier lives well. He may not be a Frisian, but he's still an example."

"Exactly," sneered Cardozo. "Who needs women, anyway?" "Because I laughed?" Hylkje said. "Because
you
looked funny?"

"Yes," Cardozo said, "for I had been laughed at already, and I wouldn't expect a woman to sink that low. Maybe I'm an exception too. I began by adoring all women. I'm still young, my views could change again. I'm not saying you're all bad. No, I won't go that far yet."

"He's weakening," Grypstra said. "Keep it up, Cardozo."

"So how far would you like to go?" Hylkje asked, adjusting a golden lock. Her eyes had grown larger. Her lips were moist. She sat up straight. Her bosom pointed at Cardozo.

"To get back to our subject..." the commissaris said.

"Yes, what shall we do now?" Grijpstra asked.

"Please tell me," Hylkje said. "Soon I'll be too old for
the motorcycle brigade, and I'm planning to apply for a position as a detective. Do you have a plan, sir?"

De Gier brought the coffee in.

"Patience," the commissaris said. "Perseverance. No loss of enthusiasm now. Arrange our facts. Connect all causes and effects and study the points where the lines meet. Ignore what doesn't make sense, and keep working on what will hold under scrutiny. I see only four connections so far. We have one abused spouse and three conflicts of commercial interest. What else can be observed? The bizarre aspects of the murder? Why did the killer go to so much trouble once the opponent was destroyed? Would an older lady like Mem Scherjoen drag her husband's corpse through winding alleys?
Does mere loss of cash provoke sadistic hatred? Are we right in paying so much attention to three rustic types who smoke pipes under chestnut trees after their work is done?
Let's have your opinion, Sergeant."

De Gier shrugged in defense.

The commissaris looked at Hylkje. "Would Frisians be likely to misbehave in such a flagrant manner? Why the urge to totally destroy the enemy? How do you see your own people? As noble, straight, honest, industrious, moral, God-fearing?"

"Oh, yes, sir."

"There's much clear light here," the commissaris said, "so the shadows will be dark. Darkness is part of our being.
The part that we hide in shame is always active too."

Hylkje supported her chin with clasped hands. Her long eyelashes protected her staring eyes. "You put things so well."

"Well..." the commissaris said shyly.

"And then?"

"Darkness," the commissaris said, "is tolerated in Amsterdam. Tolerance makes evil show itself. Once our bad sides can be seen, we may learn to live with them, up to a point. I postulate that Frisians tend to hide their shadows.
When the shameful aspect is masked and repressed, we may expect considerable tension. Our evil will do everything to break out of our discipline, and then, suddenly..."

Hylkje looked at de Gier. He placed empty cups on a tray.
His shoulder muscles bulged easily under the thin cotton of his tight shirt, which tapered down to his narrow waist. His long, supple fingers grasped the ear of a teacup tenderly. As he carried the tray away, his arm brushed past Hylkje's hair.

"I see what you mean," Hylkje said. "The pushed-down
immoral desire will have to break free, and if you hold it down too long, because there's no opportunity to let it go, or you're just too busy—well, I really wouldn't know what sort of terrible explosions could possibly take place."

"Exactly," the commissaris said, "and that's why I suspect that
here,
in this most moral and clearly healthy Frisian mindscape, the causes can be found that led to the horror in the Amsterdam Inner Harbor. Scherjoen was abusing his fellow Frisians. I hear he provided loans against unbearable interest. We can add that sin to his other misdeeds. Who can fathom Mem's continuous suffering? Desperate mothers at her door, dragging starved kids? And her husband to blame?" The commissaris got up. "I need a phone."

Grijpstra took him to the other room.

"What will you be doing tomorrow?" Hylkje asked de
Gier.

"I want to visit the market."

"The cattle market? It starts at five A.M."

"I'm getting older," de Gier said. "Older men need less
sleep."

"You can sleep late for another week," Cardozo said.
"Bald Ary and Fritz with the Tuft aren't supposed to attack until a week from Friday."

"And our side will be exercising," Hylkje said. 'The Municipal Police are to set up a command post. State Police will bring in communications gear. There'll be technicians from The Hague. Students from the Police School will be blocking the roads."

Grijpstra had come back. "You don't want to be in the way of all those good people, Sergeant."

"Please," de Gier said. "I'm an interested tourist.
Couleur
locale.
I've never had a chance to visit this picturesque province before. And maybe I can find some food. A sheep may be crushed, or I'll find a lost piglet. I have some recipes for stew."

Smiling, the commissaris came back into the room. "Mem Scherjoen does have a dear voice. It's all agreed. Tomorrow afternoon we'll search her house, and in the morning I'll be visiting her sister in Amsterdam. A certain Miss Terpstra."
He checked his watch. "My wife is expecting me. Are you coming, Cardozo? I'll drop you off at home, and maybe I can talk to your brother about his bike."

"I'll drive ahead in my Deux Chevaux," Hylkje said, "so that you won't miss the dike, and then I'll come back here."

De Gier washed up. Grijpstra checked on Eddy. He reported to the kitchen. "Rattling again. Doesn't seem well.
I'll try some more cheese."

Hylkje came back. De Gier opened the door. "Come
upstairs for a moment."

"Won't it be better at my apartment?" Hylkje asked. "We won't be bothering the adjutant, and I don't have flowered wallpaper. Counting the roses may distract."

"Don't be so singleminded." De Gier led the way.

Eddy was rattling in the sawdust of his terrarium.

'Too warm here, maybe?" Hylkje asked. "Shall I open a
window?"

"Won't eat any more cheese," Grijpstra said, gently
scratching the rat's head.

"This is no good," de Gier said."We're supposed to look
after the little chap. He might be dying on us, and we'll get all the blame. I'll phone the Oppenhuyzens."

"Sorry to bother you, ma'am," de Gier said into the phone.
"I know it's late, but your rat is unwell."

"He rattles," de Gier said.

"No, it's worse than that, and he's just lying about. Could you come and fetch him, do you think?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll let you know."

He put the phone down. "She says Eddy's a comedian.
He'll be all right in the morning. Needs attention and rest"
De Gier stretched. "Who doesn't?"

"Come along," Hylkje said. "You need attention too."

De Gier yawned. "Ran about on that island a lot. I'm not used to the fatigues of nature."

"I'll wake you up in time for the market," Hylkje said.
"Coffee and a croissant."

Grijpstra lumbered off. De Gier stood there thinking.
Hylkje rose up on her toes and put her arms around his neck.
"You heard what the commissaris said. If I keep repressing my evil longings, something horrible might happen."

"I'm not a Frisian," de Gier said. "You'll be disappointed."

Hylkje smiled softly. "I do like the commissaris. I just read a novel about an old gentleman who was picked up in a bar by a starving young woman. He took her home and kept being polite and he never hurt her and took care of all her needs."

"The commissaris is happily married," de Gier said. "When that sort of thing comes up, I usually replace him."

"That girl was rather forward," Hylkje whispered. "Do you think I am too?"

"You?" de Gier asked. "I've approached you in every way I know of, and you still haven't given in."

"Enough stalling," Hylkje said, and pulled him to the door. "You come with me."

\\\\\ 17 /////

C
ORPORAL H. HILARIUS CRIED THAT NIGHT, AND NOT because Sergeant R. de Gier hadn't performed as well as could be expected. Hylkje, after pushing Durk the rabbit off the bed, wept—de Gier thought he could describe the steady flow of tears as weeping—because she didn't have to pretend that she was tough. She said so herself.

Durk bounced about the floor, dropping neat round turds, while de Gier watched.

"And you're so well-mannered." Hylkje said that, too.

"Me?" de Gier asked. "Have you gone out of your mind?
Wasn't I manly, dominating, hard as steel?"

"You were," Hylkje sobbed, "but that's something else, you did a good job, and at your age."

"You wouldn't mind if I slept a little now?" de Gier asked.
"I'm just a trifle tired."

"And you're a good cook," Hylkje sobbed. "And you
don't have a temper and there's nothing about you that puts me off. I like you better than Durk. Can't we stay together forever?"

De Gier slipped away and woke up in the office of a bank.
He was signing mortgage papers, at interest that would absorb half his wages. "Sign here," the bank director said. "We'll insure your life, too. Nothing can happen to you now. You'll be happy, sir, forever."

De Gier groaned.

"Say something," Hylkje sobbed.

De Gier was awake. "I have commitments. I have to follow the commissaris around and catch him when his legs give way. I keep Grijpstra out of trouble. I feed Tabriz and rub medicine into her fur. Tabriz is going bald on the belly."

"You're living with her?" Hylkje sobbed. "What is she?
An ape?"

"And I grow weeds on my balcony," de Gier said, "that I have to watch, and there's the flute to be played and books in French to be misunderstood." His voice ebbed away.

Hylkje rubbed his back. "You're such a darling."

The darling slept. He snored and was shaken by the shoulders, for Hylkje had no need to listen to his bubbly snoring.
She left the bed and tripped across the room on high-heeled slippers. She poured boiling water on a coffee filter. The steady dripping was putting de Gier back to sleep. He lived in a big house now. Hylkje watered roses in the garden, but there was a big bald man in the kitchen hitting a drum, with powerful swings that made muscles bulge on his bare arms.
The house changed into a slave ship. De Gier was rowing.
The bald man had a whip that lashed out.

"Sit up," Hylkje said. "I have cognac too. Drink your
coffee, dear."

"Isn't it cozy here?" Hylkje asked when she sat next to him again, with Durk cradled in her arms.

"Fortunately not," de Gier said. "At home it used to be cozy, on Sunday afternoons. Dad made us listen to radio concerts or we were taken to the zoo, to watch sick animals staring at us from cages. I used to throw rocks at the attendants. They would beat me up when Dad wasn't looking."

Corporal Hilarius pushed out her lower Up. Her eyes were
asking. "Nice lip," de Gier said.

"Shall we kiss again?" She caressed his hair. "Maybe I don't understand men. Don't you want to be cozy?"

"I never understand women," de Gier said. "Good for me, maybe. Understanding may leave big holes."

The room had a slanting roof, with a skylight showing a slow-moving sickle moon. Hylkje's body took on a creamy white tinge. De Gier nudged Durk away and drew a triangle, beginning between her breasts and ending under her navel.

"What are you doing?"

"If I blow on your bellybutton now," de Gier whispered*
"you'll be mine forever."

"Don't. Please. I don't want to be possessed."

"I must," de Gier said sternly. He blew, but first wiped
the triangle away. "A black witch doctor taught me the spell.
A dark secret obtained during the course of my duty."

"Why did you wipe out the triangle before you blew?"

'To make sure the spell won't work."

"You don't want me to be yours forever?"

"What do I want?" de Gier asked loudly, "with a female warrior who fights for liberty on the good side of the line?
I'm too one-sided already. You'll limit my inquiry."

"I put men off," Hylkje said, "because I dress in leather and ride a motorcycle. I can get you one too. We'll race down the dike forever, for the true dike never ends, and we'll go faster and faster."

"To where?"

"We'll never get to 'where.'"

"You're sure now?" An odd thought started up in a corner of de Gier's mind. A thought to do with nowhere. He tried to catch the thought, but it was riding a motorcycle down a moonlit dike. He kept missing it, which was a pity, for he wanted to crash with the thought, evaporate, share its disappearance. Durk knocked the coffee out of his hand, but he didn't notice.

The alarm clock tore at the silence in the room. Hylkje's hand aimed for it, but smacked de Gier's cheek instead. He fell off the bed, rolled on the floor, pushed himself up, tripped over Durk, jumped up again, and assumed a proper defensive position.

"Hoo," Hylkje said. "That's nice. I like the way you dangle. Don't move now. You must be good at judo."

"Not too good," de Gier said. "Some must be better. I'd like to meet them sometime." He wandered about the room, looking for his clothes. A thrush began its early-morning cantata above the skylight. Hylkje put the coffee on, singing softly.

Ubele Bubele Bix

Stay home, dear wife,

It's only a quarter to six."

"It's a quarter to five," Hylkje said, "but it's later in the song. It's a Frisian song. The man sends his wife to work, but he also wants her to stay home to fix breakfast. If you stay with me, you can stay in bed all day. I'll do all the work."

"Good," de Gier said. "But I sometimes have ideas. Like now. I have the idea to go to the cattle market. They're bad ideas, but I can't get rid of them."

"You're so talented," Hylkje said, bringing him his coffee.
"You're good with women. Why don't you start a brothel?
Exploit silly women?"

"Brothels have regular hours," de Gier said. "I'd feel tied down."

"I'll help you get women," Hylkje said. "You can have my three sisters. They watch TV in stained housecoats now, and have curlers in their hair. With some discipline they would be quite attractive."

"Maybe the commissaris was right," de Gier said. "Once evil is released here, it's ready to take on anything. Let me consider your proposal, but first you can take me home."

De Gier shaved and showered. Grijpstra brought coffee.

"Who was threatening you?"

"Women," Grijpstra said. "All Frisian women were after me. Wanted to punish me for what I did to my wife. Hylkje was in charge, assisted by Gyske, and that Mem Scherjoen wanted me too."

"You were pretty good to your wife," de Gier said. "It wasn't your idea that she should leave and you're paying.
Anything else happen in your dreams?"

"There was Douwe's skull," Grijpstra said, "and Eddy rattled inside it. And then the shuffling in the corridor, but that was you."

"Fears," de Gier said. "I'm not having them because I'm
on holiday now. Having Hylkje around helps. Good company, don't you agree? If it wasn't for Douwe's skull, I would never have found her. When I saw that skull, I thought it was trying to get me somewhere, but I had no idea the place would be pleasant."

"I'll work," Grijpstra said. "While you're running about."

De Gier ran down the stairs and out the door. He drove the Volkswagen to the cattle market. He had no idea where the market was located. I'm glad, de Gier thought, that I'm a sleuth. An ordinary man would be quite lost, but I find this cattle truck and follow it to my destination.

"Hello," a policeman said in the parking lot of the market.
"Lost, are you? If you can wait a minute, I'll get a car and show you the way. Where would you like to go?"

"You know me?" de Gier asked. "How come everybody here always knows me?"

"Couple of nights ago," the policeman said. "You were
having a beer. Making a pass at Corporal Hilarius. My name is Eldor Janssen."

"Right," de Gier said. "You were the cop who came to make sure that the cafe would close, but it didn't. I don't want to go anywhere. I'm here because this is where I want to be." The constable directed him to a parking place between large trucks that had just dropped their loads. They walked together to the hall.

"You're not a Frisian?" de Gier asked. "You've got a normal name."

"I'm Frisian," the constable said. "Names mean nothing.
Just pay attention to the way people look. We came out better. The pure Frisian soil. Ha ha. You've heard that before?"

"You're too tall," de Gier said. "I don't like that much.
I'm supposed to be tall, but here I keep looking up."

"I won't say that we're a super race," the constable said.

"I heard that joke too," de Gier said. "That's all you have here? Two jokes? Neither of them particularly funny?"

"That's our trouble," Eldor said. "We're too serious. That's why nothing ever happens here. We're slow and we're square, that's why our new building is a cube. I've been on duty for three consecutive nights, and I arrested one pisser."

"To piss is illegal?"

"It is when they piss against a squad car," Eldor said. "I told the subject and he drew a knife. I took it away and returned it the next morning. An expensive knife."

"You didn't make a report?"

"After he had spent the night in one of our cells? Ever seen our cells? Even the rats won't stay there."

"I'll send you Eddy," de Gier said. "He likes to show off.
He might lose his habit."

"The rattle-rat?" Eldor asked. "I know Eddy quite well.
I used to visit the house where you and your mate are staying now. Adjutant Oppenhuyzen is the local champion at checkers. I always lost, so I stopped going. He won because he made me nervous, I think. Feeling his cheeks all the time and twisting his face. And then, some other evening, he seemed over-relaxed. Most amazing. The rat got on my nerves too. It would run about and suddenly drop on its side and rattle. A depressing household. I didn't like Mrs. Oppenhuyzen, either. A woman in bad taste. Not her fault, I'm sure." Trucks blew their horns behind them. "Maybe I'd better do some work," Eldor said. "I'll look you up later."

De Gier walked into the hall. A man in a frayed linen coat pulled at a cow. The cow pulled in the opposite direction.
"Turn!" the man shouted. De Gier didn't know
what
to turn.
"Her tail!" shouted the man. Another man showed de Gier what to do, by grabbing hold of the cow's tail and twisting it gently. The cow changed her mind and walked ahead, limping with one leg.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Wrecked." 4iOH

"Sick," the man said. "We're the checkers. We catch all the wrecks. They can't be sold here. The dealers are always trying to cheat each other, so they pay us to take out the wrecks. We earn a lot of money."

The cow was tied to a fence. There was a sign above the fence reading WRECKED CATTLE.

De Gier ambled about. One large truck after another
dropped its rear door, and hundreds of cows ran down, pushing each other. Farmers and their assistants clattered their wooden clogs on the cobblestones. Most of the cows had their tails raised and were dropping manure. Animals and men had trouble staying upright. The layer of semiliquid droppings grew steadily. Trucks rumbled off and were immediately replaced by others. New troops of cows tumbled into the building. The steady lowing was punctuated by shouts.
A bull, released from a van, stopped and scratched the mess underneath with its pointed hoofs while it lowered its large head. Steam shot from its widened nostrils. The bull rumbled inarticulate threats. A rope had been attached to its horns.
The bull's owner jumped from the van and grabbed the rope.
The bull's roar drowned the clamor in the hall.

"Watch it! Watch it!" shouted farmers, assistants, and checking officials. The bull lumbered forward and began to run. The owner followed, skiing on his rundown clogs, sending up a double spout of splashing shit. People and cows pushed out of the bull's way. De Gier jumped ahead and clawed a grip on the rope. Ahead, the farmer slid along, hanging back. The bull crossed the entire hall until it thundered into the rear wall. De Gier braked on his heels. The farmer slid to the side and back again, coming to rest against the heaving chest of the bull. He tied the rope to a railing.
His arm linked into de Gier's. "A drink?" the farmer asked.
"To calm our nerves?" asked de Gier. "What nerves?" the former asked. "It's drinking time. I'll sell the bull later, there's no rush. Splendid animal. Put up a good show."

"A good show of what?"

"Got himself into the exact spot where I wanted him,"
the farmer said. "The bulls are kept in the rear. Weren't we there in a jiffy? A tame bull will take hours to cross the hall."

The bar was on a raised floor in the back of the hall,
commanding a view of what went on below. A thousand sheep were driven into the hall, bleating nervously, darting to and fro between the fences.