Janwillem De Wetering - The Mind-Murders

"Right," Grijpstra said. "Well, we'll mosey along.'*

"Wait, adjutant, please, don't interrupt, Ketchup. As I said, we stood on the steps of thirty-three and the old gent opens up and acts all surprised and says, 'Good evening, constable, anything wrong or are you coming to visit the servant?' and I say, 'No sir, we came to ask you what is wrong because we hear there is a fight,' and he says, 'No, you must have been given the wrong number, there are some Negroes further along who play the trumpet,' and he wants to close the door, but his wife comes and holds it and tells us that she was expecting us and to please come in."

"So it gets difficult," Ketchup said. "She is pulling and he is pushing. There was a fight but they don't manhandle each other, they manhandle us. What to do? How to write it down? Do conflicting elements constitute a prosecutable misdemeanor or will it be the easy way out again? Are the officers harassed?"

"Just a moment, Ketchup. As I was saying, adjutant, the lady had phoned but it took half an hour before we found out what for. They served us coffee and a spot of cognac, they threw in cigars, although he said she shouldn't. We are busy, he said, and mentioned the trumpeting Negroes again. Then, in the end, she told us what it was. Would we arrest her husband and take him with us, for she was complaining about being threatened with appreciable physical injury. By him."

"Right," Ketchup said, "and that's unlawful. They were married, but even so. Rape is okay but they didn't do that so much anymore. They got to threatening, he threatening her. We were supposed to take action. I spent a while in the bathroom and checked the situation in my notes; I carry notes for special cases. It was right there, clear enough."

"A moment, Ketchup. See what happened, adjutant? He had threatened her and he had done it every night for years. The judge would like that, for it makes it worse. He'd ask for coffee and she wouldn't want to make it and he'd say, 'Right now, dear, away with you, to the kitchen, or I'll knock you down. I'll wring your neck. I'll batter you to death. Get up, dear, I'll count to three.' And he was serious, she said, he'd pull faces, and count and push himself out of his chair and she'd have to rush to the kitchen or he would do all that. But she wouldn't let him do that anymore because of equal rights, and so she phoned Headquarters and here we were."

"What?" Grijpstra asked.

"Yes, adjutant. Thought you might want to know. Not quite what one would expect, although she was right in a way. Knew the correct terms too. If you don't do it, you aren't in the legal exercise of your service, she said. I wonder where she found the term, maybe she was hiding in the classroom when I went to police school. And that's what we would be, not in the legal exercise of our service, if we ignored her complaint."

"Go on, constable," de Gier said.

"We arranged matters in the end, sergeant. There was no way we could have arrested old Mr. Fortune. I don't believe you know our Sergeant Jurriaans. If we had brought that old bird in, he would have pulled our ears and there'd be ee-ee again. We couldn't refuse either, for she was out for his blood and would have written to Headquarters. The cognac saved us, and another two hours of patient listening. Disgraceful in a way, and Karate got drunk."

"And yourself?"

"Just a little," Ketchup said. "I drove him home. Karate was tired and he couldn't remember where he lived."

De Gier looked at Grijpstra.

"Would you care to go?"

Karate and Ketchup saluted. Grijpstra watched the patrol car drive off. He was whispering and de Gier leaned close to catch the words.

"Good luck comes to those who keep on trying," Grijpstra whispered. "A minor setback. Now I'll find the corpse." The whisper was fierce and de Gier stepped back. "I'll find that corpse, sergeant," Grijpstra shouted, "even if I have to lift the last brick in the last alley!"

De Gier led him away.

"That Sergeant Jurriaans," de Gier said, "maybe you're right. I don't think he's much good. He tortures his subordinates and rapes them when they're female. Didn't you tell me that he made that lovely young cop strip on a garden table and perform on a carpet with another lady?"

"You got that wrong."

"Tell me again then."

"It was the girl, Asta, who caused the trouble, not Sergeant Jurriaans who is a mature man who happened to be off balance that evening, because of his wife who is restless and who watches TV."

"Asta," de Gier said softly.

"Stay away, the girl is horse medicine. You might start smoking again and die peacefully of cancer at a ripe age. That would be better."

"Asta."

"You're not old enough for her," Grijpstra shouted. "She likes older men. Like Sergeant Jurriaans. Like me."

"Yes," de Gier said softly. "I'm sure you're right, adjutant. Maybe I shouldn't interfere."

De Gier stood in front of CafeBeelema. His head rested against a lamppost.

"How do you feel?" Grijpstra asked.

"Constrained. In my throat, spreading to my lungs. Everything is closing up. My veins are narrowing, the blood no longer flows. I would like to shout, or cry perhaps, at the same time, I think. Do you have cigarettes on you?"

"Cigars. There'll be cigarettes in the cafe All brands. Shall I get you some?"

"No, I just thought I'd like to know. I don't smoke anymore. I'll stand here for a while. It'll pass and then it'll come again. I'm in a tunnel; I'm a worm, a pink worm, stretched, pulled on both sides. The sensation is painful and hopeless. I suffer, Grijpstra."

"Poor fellow."

De Gier pushed himself away from the lamppost.

"Right. Hell is not forever. There are pauses. Without intermissions there would be no hell. If the experience were continuous, I'd get used to it. This way I can't. I'll suffer again later. Let's go."

They went into the cafe* and greeted Titania who stood behind the bar, Zhaver who was playing with Kiran between the tables, and Borry who sat at the counter. Zhaver pulled on what was left of the cap and Kiran growled.

"That's my cap," Grijpstra said. "That's an evil dog."

Beelema jumped up.

"I'm sorry, adjutant. Let me reimburse you. What did the cap cost you?"

"Ten guilders, but what's money? Paper with figures printed on it. I just bought that cap. I liked it. Look at it now."

Kiran dropped the slimy rag and grinned. Borry put up all his fingers and pointed at the register with his nose. Titania took out a ten-guilder note and gave it to Grijpstra.

"With my apologies, adjutant," Beelema said, "but the dog is still young. A little playful, eh? I'm glad you could find the time to drop in. The city is empty today, everybody has gone to the beach to annoy the tourists. Those of us who remain should keep each other company. Can I offer you a drink?"

"A beer," Grijpstra said and sank down on a bar stool. The beer soaked into his gulping throat. He replaced the empty glass. Titania refilled it. De Gier wandered about. A well-dressed middle-aged man came in and sat down at a table. He picked up the newspaper and glanced at Titania. Zhaver asked the customer what he would like to drink. The man didn't see Zhaver, he stared at Titania. Titania saw him but seemed unaware of his attention. The man put his hands on the table and raised himself slowly. He staggered to the bar. "Hello." His voice croaked. He was pale and his hands trembled.

"Sir?" asked Titania.

"Hello."

Titania looked at Zhaver.

Zhaver asked the man if he was all right. The man let go of the bar rail and began to rub his stomach.

"Yes," he said. "No. Excuse me." He left, swaying slightly. He had trouble with the door handle.

Grijpstra was impressed.

"And your arms were down," he said to Titania. "You're beautiful indeed. You unnerved that man."