Janwillem De Wetering - The Mind-Murders

Uncle Henry talked around the stem of his pipe.

"Nephew Frits did something wrong?"

"No, Mr. Fortune, not that we know of. But we're looking for his wife, who seems to have disappeared. All household goods, I beg your pardon, the contents of the house, disappeared as well. So did the dog, we retrieved the dog; it was dead, however."

"Still had its head?" Aunt Coba asked.

Grijpstra stared.

Aunt Coba repeated her question loudly, articulating the syllables.

"Yes ma'm. But somebody knocked it on the head. The skull broke. The dog was on the roof."

Aunt Coba nodded happily.

"Never was much good."

"The dog?"

"Nephew Frits. If you knew what experiences we had with him! But how could you know?"

Uncle Henry coughed painfully. Aunt Coba's beady eyes pierced her husband's forehead. He coughed again and patted his chest.

"You want a glass of water?"

"No. Isn't it coffee time yet?"

"Not for a long while. Why don't you go and write some checks? You always write checks on Saturdays. I'll take care of these gentlemen."

Uncle Henry didn't move. Aunt Coba's steady gaze increased in strength. He got up, excused himself and left the room.

Aunt Coba sighed. She restrained her hands that were about to rub each other.

"So Rea has gone, has she? Doesn't surprise me, no, not at all. What isn't needed anymore is put away. Such a nice woman too, serving, servile even. And married to Frits!" She sighed again, sadly this time, also a little longer and deeper. "Ah well."

"Yes ma'm."

"But that's the way it had to go. His father was a Fortune and his mother was crazy too. Whenever she got too crazy, the child came here. Little Frits is going to spend some time with Coba. She always said that with such conviction. I was never asked whether I wanted to put up with that child, the child just came."

Empathy flooded Grijpstra's face.

"And what would little Frits do, when he stayed with you, ma'm?"

"What wouldn't he do?"

"What wouldn't your nephew do, ma'm?"

"He would wet the bedclothes. He wouldn't eat cauliflower, with or without white sauce, the sauce didn't matter to him. He would use half a roll of toilet paper at a time. If that garden fence was locked, it always was locked, and if he wanted to get his push-bike into the garden, he would break the lock, again and again. He picked his nose, at mealtimes preferably. He didn't do well at school. He stole money."

"Your money, ma'm?"

"No. He stole at home. But he wasn't home much, he was mostly here."

Aunt Coba gazed at the garden. De Gier kicked Grijpstra's ankle, too hard, because his leg jumped out of control. Grijpstra began to get up, but de Gier pushed him back. De Gier's lips formed the word "home."

"What else did he do at home, ma'm?"

"He read. He wasn't allowed to read, the doctor said he shouldn't. He had to play. He was given a box of toy bricks, an electric train, and a teddy bear. He refused to play, although he would pretend to play. He attached strings to the bricks and kicked the string while he read, and meanwhile the train moved around and around. They gave him another train with a clock-work he would have to wind now and then, but he worked out a defense. Do you know what he did with that train?"

"What did he do, ma'm?"

"My sister-in-law came into the room one evening, and there were no lights in the room. The curtains were drawn. Frits had inserted matchheads into the locomotive and the little carts and wagons, and lit them. A big flame rushed around the carpet. It frightened his mother and she tripped over the rail. Half the house burned down."

"Is that it, ma'm?"

Aunt Coba shrank in her armchair. Her eyes glistened behind her gleaming glasses.

"You know what he did with his teddy bear?"

"No ma'm."

"The teddy bear was called Brom. It was a big bear, of good quality and expensive. One day Brom disappeared. Frits's parents couldn't understand what had happened to it, and they didn't trust Frits's peculiar answers to their straightforward questions. Do you know where Brom was found?"

"No ma'm."

"Buried in the garden in a shallow grave. And do you know what else Frits had done?"

"No ma'm."

"He had beheaded Brom."

Grijpstra danced. Two little steps ahead, a little step to the right, then to the left, to the rear, and repeat. He sang sidewards and backwards.

"Weedeeho. Weedeeha."

"Don't do that," de Gier said, "or do you want me to dance too? I will if you insist, although I see nothing but misery. What is the matter with you?"

"Good luck comes to those who keep on trying," Grijpstra said, performing a fresh set of steps with care, "and whoever insists will win in the end. I've been trying for a long time. So here it comes. A chance encounter, you will say, providing incidental information. In a way you are right, but I see more. Bull's-eye I see, thanking fate meanwhile, and you too. If you hadn't stopped last night… I don't want to think about what would have happened then. But you stopped the car, dear friend, and activated yourself and handed me the murderer, solemnly in your inimitable way. You raised him from the water for me to receive and appreciate your gift, decorated with weeds. "There you are,' you said, and 'thank you kindly/ I replied. And you made your gesture so naturally."

"Are you done?"

"Weedeeha. Weedeeha."

A patrol car rode by with a tall male constable at the wheel and a young female, impeccably uniformed, most of her long dark blond hair tucked away under a small round cap, in the observer's seat. She observed Grijpstra's dance and waved. De Gier waved back.

"Nice girl," de Gier said, "but very young for a constable. I think she knows you."

Grijpstra no longer sang and lowered his foot. He stood.

"Her name is Asta. She's not so nice. She seduces older men. Men like you, sergeant. From forty years old upward. She would even seduce me. Sergeant Jurriaans told me about her. He managed to escape her clutches, but she wounded him, I think."

"Ah."

"Ah what?"

"Interesting," de Gier said.

Grijpstra's heavy forefinger pressed against the sergeant's chest.

"For you perhaps, I will introduce you. If you won't smoke, you can still have Asta. She would be a minimal risk to you, and you would keep her away from others."

De Gier's large brown eyes dreamed away.

"Sparkly eyes," he whispered, "dominating an intellectual face, alive with sensual unfulfilled longing, A good mouth with the fullness of the lower lip restricted in the tight curve of the upper edge." He shrugged. "Too young."

Grijpstra's finger dropped away.

"Let me tell you what Jurriaans had to say about her."

De Gier listened, then nodded.

"Yes, I see. Drunken driving, indecent exposure, adultery, lesbian cavorting. Not all of it is punishable, but he should watch it all the same, arid he shouldn't tell you. The relationship still continues?"

"No," Grijpstra said. "She's all yours." The adjutant's voice trailed away. His feet shuffled.

"Please," de Gier said. "Not again." He pointed at a display window. "Look, adjutant, final sale. Just the store for you, elegant and expensive. See that cap? For ten guilders? A gift. But maybe your head is too fat, you think your head is too fat for that classy cap?"

Grijpstra danced into the store. He tried the cap. The fit was a little tight. He left a ten-guilder note near the register and danced out of the store.

"Weedeeho. Weedeeha."

"Please, Grijpstra, that'll be enough. Let's sit on that nice tree over there. You can't dance on it, for you'll fall into the canal. Let's go look at the geese. A moment of peace and quiet, Grijpstra."

De Gier guided the adjutant to the fallen tree. Grijpstra balanced carefully on the fairly wide trunk. De Gier followed. They sat down.