Janwillem De Wetering - Tumbleweed

"It wasn't. And the window wouldn't close, there was a draft."

"A draft," de Gier said, and shook his head.

Grijpstra pulled up his legs and clasped his arms around his knees. The sun was beginning to warm them. "Not bad," he said approvingly, "a lot better than all that mud. And those birds, they were really making me nervous. I don't mind them in the zoo, you can always get away from them. Holland was full of birds once, they say, billions of them. The whole country was marshland. Good thing we built dikes and drained the swamps. Imagine, living in a swamp with a billion birds flapping around and diving at you like that ballwit which had a go at you."

"Peewit."

"Peewit. Funny-looking bird. Some of them look all right but I still wouldn't like to live right in the middle of a whole flock of them, in a hut. The old tribes must have lived in huts, they were probably flooded twice a week." Grijpstra sneezed.

"And they had colds," de Gier said, "and diarrhea."

"Yes. So have I. And these damned oilcloth trousers. I couldn't get them off properly."

De Gier began to laugh. Grijpstra turned around, looking hurt.

"Listen," de Gier said.

Adjutant Buisman was talking to the pilot on the radio. "A small yacht," he was saying, "white mainsail and white foresail, only one foresail. The foresail has two patches in it, large patches, you should be able to see them."

"I only see a fishing boat," the pilot said.

"No markings on the yacht's sails. The boat we want is some thirty feet long, built of oak."

"Thanks," the pilot said. "Oak, you say. How do I spot oak from here?"

"Brown wood."

The radio crackled for a while.

"I am going east," the pilot said, "there's nothing this side except a fishing boat and a very expensive looking blue yacht. There is a girl at the rudder, I think. A pretty girl maybe."

"What's your rank?" Buisman asked.

"Sergeant, and yours?"

"Adjutant," Buisman said.

"Adjutant is higher."

"Go east," Buisman said.

"Sir."

"Here," the pilot said after a few minutes. "Small yacht, thirty feet. One man in it, or perhaps there is somebody in the cabin."

"Our man wears a green suit, a ranger's uniform."

"Green suit," the pilot confirmed. "I am very low now, shall I scare him?"

"Turn a few circles," Buisman said. "Can we have his position?"

"Just a minute," the pilot said. "Bring out your map, I am trying to find mine."

The water-police sergeant moved a lever and the launch picked up speed suddenly. Grijpstra began to slide toward de Gier who couldn't hold him and they landed up together on the small afterdeck, next to the sergeant.

"Let us know next time, will you?" Grijpstra said gruffly, picking himself up.

"Sorry," the sergeant said. "I got excited. Maybe we'll have a nice chase."

The launch went into a steep curve and its engine roared.

"Don't get too close," de Gier said. "He's got a shotgun."

"What have we got?" Grijpstra asked.

"I am not armed," Buisman said. "Do you have anything in the launch, sergeant?"

"A carbine, and I have a pistol."

"Three pistols and a carbine against a shotgun," de Gier said. "That should be enough."

The radio had been talking to them but nobody was listening.

"Hello," it shouted.

"Yes, pilot," Buisman said.

"Do you want the position or don't you?"

"Please."

They found the position on their map and the sergeant looked grim. The launch was going at full speed now, planing on the sea's calm surface, its two propellers churning the water behind into deep swirling eddies, its engine going at a steady low roar. De Gier was holding on to the cabin, trying to see everything at the same time and getting so excited that he was having trouble breathing. Buisman was arming the carbine, his eyes contracted into slits, and even Grijpstra felt the sensation of the hunt and was beginning to forget the pain in his lungs and the burning of his bowels.

"Hello," the radio shouted.

"Go ahead," Buisman said.

"He is going to Englishman's Bank," the pilot said. "I can see both of you now but you can't cut him off. He is very close already, his engine is going and he has lowered his mainsail. I'll dive at him."

"No," Buisman shouted, "he has got a shotgun."

"That what it is, is it? He is pointing something at me now."

"Get away," Buisman shouted.

"I have got away. What do you want me to do now?"

The launch was turning around the southern tip of the island and suddenly they saw both the yacht and the Piper Cub.

"Go home," the adjutant said. "We can see him. I don't think there's anything you can do now."

"O.K.," the pilot said.

"Thanks, sergeant, you've been a great help."

"You are welcome," the radio said. "Out.'

"We can't go any faster," the water-police sergeant said, "and he is almost there."

Buisman and Grijpstra were watching the small green figure through their binoculars. Rammy was standing in the bow of his yacht. They saw him jump and land on the sandbank. He was still wearing his hat and holding the shotgun.

The sergeant throttled the engine down until it was merely idling.

"What does he want out there?" the sergeant asked. "The bank is two square miles perhaps and nothing grows on it, not a blade of grass. In four hours time it will be almost flooded. He'll have a few square yards left to run about in."

"He is going to the hut," Buisman said.

They saw the hut, a small cabin built on high poles, thirty feet high. The cabin looked pretty, with a sloping roof, a narrow balcony on all sides, and windows.

"What's that?" de Gier asked.

"It's just there," Buisman said. "Waterworks put it up. I think they may have planned it for a watchman but there's never been a watchman in it as far as I can remember. There's nothing to watch anyway. Seals sometimes sun themselves on the bank, and there are birds, of course."

"It serves some purpose," the sergeant said. "If anyone gets stranded on the bank he can sit in the hut and wait for help. When the sea is very high the bank gets completely flooded but the cabin will always be dry. There's some food up there, emergency rations, and water, and a pistol with flares. I collected a stranded crew once who had spent half a day in it."

"He is climbing the stairs," de Gier said.

Buisman sighed. "You know what he is planning to do, don't you?"

"Yes," Grijpstra said.

The sergeant was lowering the anchor.

"You can switch the engine off," the adjutant said. "We may be here for some time."

The four men were looking at each other.

"You," Grijpstra said to de Gier. "You sometimes have bright ideas. Now what?"

De Gier grinned. "Wait," he said. "What else? He's got food and he's got water and he is armed. When we get too close he'll spend a couple of shells on us. With the carbine we could probably outshoot him but he has some cover in there and we'll be on the open bank. And it wouldn't be nice, popping away at him. We'll have to starve him out, taking turns. We can probably get some men from the mainland to relieve us." He looked at the sergeant. "You'll have to get back to the island, do you have somebody out there?"

"Riekers," the sergeant said. "He is the only policeman on the island now and he can't be everywhere at the same time. We are supposed to meet the ferries and patrol the camps. There are a few hundred tourists out there and some hippies, and nine hundred islanders. We can't spend all day here."

"We can try and talk to him," Grijpstra said, looking at Buisman.

"Do you know him well, sergeant?' Buisman asked.

The water-police sergeant scratched his neck. "Well, I have talked to him, of course, but we aren't close friends. He isn't an easy man to get along with. He doesn't drink."