Janwillem De Wetering - The Rattle-Rat

"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."

"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.

"Coming to buy?" the farmer asked.

"Only to look."

De Gier finished his drink, and the fanner pulled out his purse, which had been tied around his neck. "You're well provided," de Gier said. The farmer flicked thousand-guilder notes under a dirty nail. The purse was hidden under his black silk waistcoat again. "About a quarter of a million," the farmer said. "I expect fifty thou for the bull, which is about right. I need three hundred thousand to buy cows today."

"I could retire on that," de Gier said.

"Not much at all," the farmer said, "but it's more than I usually carry. You see the fat man over there, with the green cap? That's Kryl. Kryl will be buying for a million in a minute. And Wubbe, over there, the man with the beard and the silver knob on his cane? He'll be spending two million if he can find the right beasts."

De Gier shook his head slowly. "And they've got all that in cash?"

"They won't be paying taxes," the farmer said. "We don't like that here. If you pay through the bank, the government is watching. Signing papers." The farmer waved all thoughts connected to signed papers away. "That's good for the likes of you, who live below the dike. Keeps you busy, I'm sure. The busier you are, the better. You were so busy that you didn't watch out for the plague. Lost your cattle, and we'll be selling you new stock. We don't mind making a profit."

De Gier excused himself, for he had just seen Bald Ary and Fritz with the Tuft, admiring cows in the hall below. Easily recognizable from the photographs de Gier had studied, both suspects strolled about at ease, as lithe as lethal predators in a prairie filled with juicy wildlife waiting to be pounced upon. How wonderful, de Gier thought, that I can watch this, and follow at my ease, and have nothing to do with any of it.