Janwillem De Wetering - Tumbleweed

Buisman gave a cry of joy and darted at the trees. He was back immediately, waving both arms.

"Fantastic," he shouted, "come and look. Little woodcocks dancing around a hen. I have only seen it once before."

"I saw them already," Grijpstra muttered and refused to budge but de Gier went to see the spectacle.

"Do you see the way they dance?" the adjutant asked. "It's half aggression half fright, just like us when we make up to a woman. They are performing, you see, trying to impress the hen, but she won't look up, she's scratching away at the ground. If she looks up she has made her choice and whatever cock she looks at will be her mate. The others will go away."

De Gier, in spite of the wet cold and his general feeling of discomfort, was impressed. The cocks had set up the feathers of their throats and their little combs were upright, swollen with color.

"A silly show," he said to himself, "but good, in a way. Like the parties at the police school. All dressed up in your best uniform and one-two-three, around and around we go and when she looks at you you can kiss her at her door."

Grijpstra was alone in the clearing when the little man appeared.

"Morning," the little man said.

"Morning."

"Birdwatching, are you?"

"I was," Grijpstra said.

"This is a reserve, you know, I am afraid I'll have to ask you to leave. The birds shouldn't be disturbed, especially not at this time of the year."

Grijpstra noticed that the little man was wearing some sort of uniform. He carried a shotgun and there was a feather in the band of his green hat.

"We are guests of Adjutant Buisman," he said pleasantly.

"Buisman? Is he around?"

"Behind those trees, watching some chickens."

The little man disappeared behind the trees and came back with Buisman and de Gier.

"Let me introduce my friend," Buisman said, "Rammy Scheffer. He is one of the rangers of the island."

They shook hands and Scheffer sat down. He also had a flask of coffee, about twice the size of Buisman's flask, and Grijpstra began to think kindly once the hot fluid had activated his stomach, which no longer felt like a shriveled nut.

Buisman and Scheffer began a conversation which seemed to consist mostly of birds' names and de Gier joined Grijpstra on his wet log.

"Seven o'clock," he said. "We could ask them to have breakfast with us."

"Yes," Grijpstra said in a loud voice, "breakfast. Buisman, why don't you and your friend come to the hotel with us? We would like you to have breakfast with us."

Scheffer looked up. "Very kind of you," he said, "but I am on duty. Anyway, we just had coffee. I have some bread and cheese with me and a sausage. You can share it with me if you like."

"Well…" Grijpstra began but he was too late. Scheffer had opened his bag and was cutting the bread. He was using a long thin knife.

Buisman was also looking at the knife and he suddenly got up and walked over to Grijpstra, tapping him on the shoulder as he passed him. He kept on going and Grijpstra got up and followed him. When they were out of earshot Buisman cleared his throat.

"I say," he said. "I'd forgotten all about yesterday. I made some inquiries about people who can throw knives but I got nowhere. But now, while I was watching Rammy Scheffer and that nasty-looking knife he has, I have remembered again. I do believe he can throw a knife. We have been out together on my boat, years ago now, and he threw a knife at the door of my cabin. I remember now because it annoyed me at the time. He was showing off but it was my door which got damaged."

"Yes," Grijpstra said. "What about this fellow? Do you know anything about him?"

"Of course. We all know about each other on the island. He has been here several years now, three years, I think. He used to be an officer in the merchant navy and he settled here. He is a quiet chap, lives by himself in a little house. He bought it. He has a boat and he sails around the island sometimes. Occasionally he goes to the other shore and stays away for a few days. He doesn't talk much. He was born in , hasn't got a police record."

"Friends? Relatives?"

"Not that I know of. People like him on the island and everybody greets him but he has no special friends. Keeps to himself and reads the Bible, I think. Bit of a fanatic. Grows his own vegetables and bakes his own bread. One of these nature-health people. Doesn't drink, doesn't smoke. Objects to swearing and dirty words. The kids used to tease him, would follow him around mumbling four letter words but we stopped it."

"

," Grijpstra mumbled.

"Pardon?"

"

," Grijpstra repeated. "Our murdered lady came from ."

"We could ask him to come over to the station for questioning," Buisman said. "But I would rather not. It's a small island, you know, he'll probably avoid me forever after."

"Yes," Grijpstra said. "We could ask the commissaris to invite him by letter or send a car for him. If we do it he will connect us with you."

A siren tore the silence around them to shreds. It seemed very close.

The adjutant stopped. "A siren," he exclaimed. "That's the police launch. They must be trying to find me."

He began to run. Grijpstra ran after him. They were close to the beach and they reached it within a few minutes. Buisman jumped up and down and waved his arms and a responding movement was seen on the vessel. A rubber dinghy was lowered from the launch and a uniformed policeman rowed to the shore.

Buisman took off his boots and waded into the sea. Grijpstra sighed and followed him. Again he suffered the unpleasant sensation of thick mud oozing between his toes.

"Morning, adjutant," the sergeant in the dinghy said to Buisman.

He shook Grijpstra's hand.

"Grijpstra, Amsterdam police."

"Good," the sergeant said. "I have a Telex for you. An urgent Telex. I knew the adjutant was out here with you this morning. Here you are."

Grijpstra read the Telex.

"Go to Schiermonnikoog at once and make contact with Ramon Scheffer. Scheffer is half-brother of Maria van Buren. Caution important. Scheffer is said to be religious fanatic."

The Telex was dated a day back, came from Curacao, was forwarded by Amsterdam Headquarters and was signed by the commissaris.

"Here you are," Rammy Scheffer said, and De Gier thanked him and bit into the thick slice of bread. He chewed for a while.

"Do you like the cheese?" Rammy asked.

"Yes," de Gier said hesitantly, and continued to chew.

"What is it?"

"Goat's cheese. I have got two goats, milk them myself."

De Gier chewed on for a while.

"Ah," he said. "I say! Over there! What's that bird?"

Rammy looked and de Gier took the cheese off the bread and threw it into a bush. He quickly stuffed the bread into his mouth.

"That's an oystercatcher," Rammy said, looking back at de Gier. "Didn't you know? There are thousands of them on die island. Apart from the gulls and the ducks they are the most popular birds over here."

"I'd forgotten," de Gier said.

"Are you interested in birds?"

"Of course," de Gier said, swallowing the last of his bread and hopefully holding up his cup for more coffee but Rammy's flask was empty.

"Good," Rammy said. "If more people were interested in birds we might succeed in keeping a few around. The way it's going now we'll soon say goodbye to the last of them. They are installing new drainpipes, I hear, as if the sea isn't dirty enough already. Every day I try to clean the beaches of this reserve but there is no end to the plastic bottles and the ice cream cups, and now we'll have industrial dirt as well."

"Yes," de Gier said. "Terrible."

"Your friend, is he a birdwatcher too?"

"Sure," de Gier said.

"He wasn't watching the dance of the cocks. It's a rare sight; even I, who am here everyday, don't see it often."