Janwillem De Wetering - Tumbleweed

He looked up at the clouds. The hole was closing and mere was only one beam of orange light left, but it was still focused on the horse which, as if it felt that it was being part of the inexpressible, reared and shook its forelegs.

"Good day, Mrs. Buisman," de Gier said. "How are your patients?"

"Come in and have some tea," the fat woman said, looking efficient in her white apron. "Your friend is fast asleep. But he is ill. You were right. He does have pneumonia and his temperature is high. He may be here for quite a while but he should feel better soon, maybe even by tomorrow."

"Good. And your husband?"

The shot has been taken out of his chest. It was easy fortunately, but his skin is broken in a lot of places."

"Good thing he wasn't hit in the face."

"Rammy wouldn't have hit him in the face," Mrs. Buisman said. "He was only trying to stop my husband from arresting him, poor fellow."

"Poor fellow," de Gier muttered. "He killed his sister, you know."

Mrs. Buisman poured the tea and cut a cake. "I know," she said.

"Do you like Rammy?"

"Yes. I have known him for such a long time. He often came to tea, sitting in the same place where you are sitting now. He had a heavy load to carry, I hope they'll treat him well in the mental home. He was frightened of people, you know, and very sorry that he left the sea. He often talked about his captain in , a drunken old man I believe, but more of a father to him than his own."

"His father was married already," de Gier said.

"Yes. These things happen. But it's terrible for the children. They are lost and the world is empty to them."

A cat had come into the kitchen, it looked at Mrs. Buisman and purred. She picked it up and stroked its back.

"All living beings need love. This one too. I have to pick him up twenty times a day and tell him he is not alone."

"My cat," de Gier said, and jumped off his chair. "I must phone. Do you mind if I use your phone?"

"How is he?" Mrs. Buisman asked when de Gier had put the phone down.

"He's fine. My neighbor looks after him when I am out of town but my cat is a strange animal. He won't eat much when I am not there and he attacks whoever tries to get into the house. My neighbor doesn't mind, he is used to animals, he works in the zoo and he can handle Oliver. That's his name, Oliver. The neighbor is kind to him and Oliver can't defend himself against kindness."

"You see," Mrs. Buisman said. "Rammy is like that. He wants kindness but he has an aggressive way of asking for it."

De Gier stirred his tea. "Do you know Mr. Drachtsma, Mrs. Buisman?" he asked.

Mrs. Buisman narrowed her eyes. "I do."

"Did Rammy know him?"

"Rammy knew him well."

"What do you think of Mr. Drachtsma?"

Mrs. Buisman didn't look so pleasant now. Her face had become determined and her skin seemed tighter. De Gier suddenly noticed the stiff little bun on her head.

"You can tell me," de Gier said gently, "it's not mere curiosity."

"You've got your murderer, haven't you?" Mrs. Buisman asked.

De Gier began to eat his cake. "So it seems," he said with his mouth full.

"I have been thinking," Mrs. Buisman said. "Did Mr. Drachtsma know that murdered woman in Amsterdam?"

"Yes. She was his girlfriend, his mistress."

"Poor Mrs. Drachtsma."

"Didn't she know that her husband wasn't faithful?"

"Oh yes," Mrs. Buisman said gruffly, "she knew. She comes to tea here as well sometimes and she talked to me about it. She was trying to understand, she said. Important men travel about a lot and they have a lot of energy. One woman isn't enough for them. She said she didn't really mind as long as he wouldn't take his girlfriends to the island."

"Did he ever do that?"

"Perhaps. He often took people on his yacht. His wife never goes on the yacht, she is frightened of the sea."

"Yes, yes," de Gier said.

"He is not a nice man," Mrs. Buisman said after she had breathed deeply.

"Why not?"

Mrs. Buisman poured more tea and they were looking at each other, each stirring their tea mechanically.

"He used to remind me of a tumbleweed. You are a city man, aren't you, sergeant? You don't know about tumbleweeds?"

"I know a little about birds."

Mrs. Buisman laughed. "Yes, my husband told me about your adventure this morning."

"Oh, but I did enjoy it," de Gier said quickly, "but the adjutant, Grijpstra I mean, didn't feel well and we had the murder on our minds, of course."

"Never mind. I'll tell you about tumbleweeds. When the plants die here, at the end of the year, some of them break off. First they dry out and become brittle and one day the wind grabs them and they break their stems and begin to tumble all about the island. It's an amazing sight. The weeds seem so busy and so energetic, they go everywhere and when the wind changes they come back again. They bounce across the roads and get stuck against our fences, they even get into the gardens. The dunes are alive with them but eventually they will reach the beaches and then they drown in the sea, but they are dead already of course, they died long before they broke off and lost their souls."

De Gier had put his cup down and was staring at the fat woman.

"Yes?" he asked. "Do you think Drachstma lost his soul?"

"Soul, soul," Mrs. Buisman said. "I am not a very Christian woman. I don't know about souls, it's just a manner of speaking. But Mr. Drachtsma is a hard man, he always gets his way, he bounces around and he never seems happy. Every year he buys a bigger boat and his cars never last and there are always carpenters and bricklayers working on his house. He is an unhappy man and he isn't really alive."

"Who is aliver de Gier asked.

"Oh, lots of people are. My husband is. He is a loving man."

De Gier smiled.

"Oh, not that way," Mrs. Buisman said and giggled. "We aren't as young as we used to be. I mean he loves living tilings, and dead things too. The other day I saw him standing on the dike, looking at the sea and the birds and the clouds and I walked up to him and said 'Buisman' and he looked at me as if he didn't know who he was, he was so full of everything around him. But Drachtsma isn't like that, he always knows who he is. 'Drachtsma' is the most important word he knows and he is always thinking of how to make it bigger. And he'll be blown about by his endless desires the way the tumbleweeds are blown about by the wind."

"And eventually he'll be blown into the sea and disappear," de Gier said.

Mrs. Buisman went to look after her patients and she was away for a while. De Gier telephoned the hotel and was told to meet the commissaris at seven o'clock. He still had half an hour.

"Tell me, Mrs. Buisman," he said when she had come back again, smiling about something, "what was the relationship between Mr. Drachtsma and Rammy Scheffer?"

"I was thinking about that," Mrs. Buisman said, "but I forgot when I saw my two fat babies. Your Mr. Grijpstra certainly has a loud snore and my Buisman was wheezing right through it. I can't understand why they don't wake each other up. Rammy Scheffer, you say. Well, in the beginning, they just knew each other. Everybody knows everybody on the island, but I noticed that they had become closer, about a year ago it started, I think. Drachtsma always pretends he is interested in nature and he has donated a lot of money to the reserves. I know that he does care about the island; it's his home after all, his father came from the island, and his grandfather was born here, but I don't think Mr. Drachtsma cares about the birds. If he could build a hotel here he would probably do it but nobody is allowed to build hotels here anymore. I think Rammy went to see him about new fencing or something and after that they were sometimes together. I thought it was strange for they are so different. Rammy gets away from people, he'll work in his garden in his free time, and he sits near his fireplace and reads the Bible and Drachtsma always has people around him."