Janwillem De Wetering - Outsider in Amsterdam

"Meet my husband," she said and de Gier put the child down and got up stiffly. They shook hands. The father was fat as well and the hand he shook seemed swollen and a little rotten.

"I am on sick pay," the father said. "My nerves, you know. You work for the city as well, I hear."'

"Yes sir," de Gier said. "I am with the police."

"Nice work,"the father said, "better than mine. More exciting, I am sure. I work in the Land Registration Bureau. I put files away and when I have put them away I look for them again. And every time I show anyone a file because some builder or architect or prospective buyer wants to see what's what, the city earns six guilders and fifty cents. Of that I get about ten cents. I worked it out once. It must have got on my nerves. But I don't know how it got on nerves. What has it got to do with me? Do you know?"

De Gier withdrew into a polite silence.

"My daughter will be here soon. She is painting her face and fluffing her hair and fiddling about. All unnecessary work. She is a nice doll. Of course I shouldn't know, I am her father. But I think she is a nice doll, even when she flops about in the morning with curlers in her hair. She shouldn't have married that little mangy squirrel. But he is dead now. That's better."

"You didn't like Piet Verboom?" de Gier asked.

"Of course not," the father said, "nobody did. He didn't like himself. A slimy slicker first class. He never talked to me because he thought I was too stupid. And I never talked to him for I thought he was a bore. He talked about himself only. I also talk about myself; it limits the conversation after a while."

De Gier broke his polite silence and laughed. The father laughed too.

"That's nice," he said. "I can be amusing, in spite of my nerves. You want a cold beer?"

De Gier got his beer. Constanze brought it, on a tray. Two cold tins, two glasses. She poured the beer. The father studied de Gier over his glass and smiled. "You like-football?" he said.

"No, sir," de Gier said.

The father sat up suddenly, nearly spilling his beer. "You are serious?"

"Yes," de Gier said. "I am probably crazy but football bores me. I often had to watch it, as a young cop guarding the field. I saw some of the famous matches, Ajax against Spain, and Ajax against that other club, I forgot the name, but all I see is a lot of striped men chasing a little ball. It means nothing to me. It doesn't just bore me, it irritates me. I think it's a waste of energy."

"You hear that, wife?" the father shouted.

De Gier had to say it all over again. The father's face split open in a wide grin.

"Against that other club," the father repeated. "I forget its name now. Hahaha."

"You made him happy, sir," the mother said. "He thinks he is the only one in town who doesn't enjoy watching football and he worries about it."

"Yes, damn it," said the father, who was still sitting on the edge of his chair, "I am ashamed of it. It's like I am different from all the neighbors, and the chaps at work. And now you are just the same. Ha."

"What do you like?" de Gier asked.

The father pointed at the floor. De Gier saw a long row of gramophone records. He got up and looked through them. All modern jazz and mainly piano and trumpet.

The father was watching him unhappily. "You like that sort of music?" he asked.

De Gier felt a chill going down his spine. It amazed him. He had had it before, at moments of deep emotion. This fat puffy man might share his own spirit. He tried to control himself but his enthusiasm and bewilderment won.

"Sir," de Gier said, "sir, I really like that music. I have the same records as you have, not all of them maybe, but most of them. And I listen to them, once, twice a week. I put the cat on my lap and switch the lights off and open the balcony door when the weather permits, and light a cigar and I listen. For hours. And then it all stops, you know, it stops."

He wanted to continue but the father interrupted him. "Christ will keep my soul," he said softly.

The mother touched de Gier's arm. "Maybe you cured my husband," she said softly. "He isn't alone anymore."

"I never have to see you again," the father said. "I'd like to of course, but it isn't necessary. As long as I know that you sit there, somewhere in the city, and listen to your music. This is a good moment. They happen at times. You don't expect them and they happen. When you do they don't happen. Mother! More beer!"

The mother brought more beer. Constanze had sat down, very gracefully. "She wants me to look at her," he thought, "but I prefer watching her father."

"You have had these moments before?" he asked.

"Yes," the father said, "as a child. I never quite understood them. Something occurs, you notice something, and suddenly the moment is there. You can't explain it, maybe you don't want to explain it. I remember when it happened for the first time. I saw a hornbill in the zoo. Some people call them rhinoceros-birds. It looked so weird that suddenly my whole life changed. I saw my life differently. I knew it would change back again and become boring again, ordinary, everyday life. But that moment it was all different. The logic had been knocked out of it. The 'this happens because of that and that happens because of that.' All gone. I never forgot. Now I sometimes go to the zoo to see the hornbill. I walk straight up to its cage and watch it for a while and then I walk straight to the gate. I don't look at the other birds and animals. Just a glance at the camels. They are weird too, but the other animals all can be explained. Not the hornbill. Nobody can explain a hornbill to me. That's the beauty of it, maybe."

"You aren't drunk, father?" Constanze asked. She turned to de Gier. "When he talks about the hombill he is usually drunk, very drunk. We'll have to carry him to bed. He is heavy."

"No, dear," the father said. "You go to town with the gentleman and enjoy yourself. I am not drunk and I won't get drunk. Not tonight anyway."

De Gier said goodbye and waited for Constanze to go through the door. He looked around before he left the room but the father was gazing out of the window, with a peaceful expression on his flabby face.

"That was nice of you," Constanze said and leant against de Gier. "You should come again. Nobody can cheer him up anymore. He isn't too bad tonight. Sometimes he groans and doesn't know his own wife. He keeps on saying that everything is black and then he begins to mumble. He can curse for hours. He isn't angry then, he just repeats the curses. Over and over again. I couldn't live in this house anymore. When Yvette is here he gets a bit better. He took her to the zoo this morning."

"To look at the hornbill," de Gier thought. "Join the navy and see the sea, join the police and see the soul. I must tell Grijpstra, this would have interested him. Mayber Grijpstra should have a look at the hornbill sometimes."

"Is that your car?" Constanze asked.

"Yes," de Gier said. "I saved up for it. Tuppence a day, and I never stopped saving for a hundred years."

"Really"

"Not really. I borrowed it. I have a bicycle, an old bicycle. And when I'm on duty I drive a VW."

"Oh," Constanze said, "you don't need a car to take me out. I am used to nothing. Piet had a car but he used it to take his girlfriends out. I worked in the kitchen and looked after the child."

"Don't you have a friend with a car in Paris?" de Gier asked. "You are a beautiful woman. You can't tell me the men in Paris haven't noticed."

Constanze was quiet for a while. "I only left Piet some months ago. In Paris I have to work. My mother's brother owns a wholesale company and he gave me a job. I lived in his house for a while and they are very strict people. I only got a little flat last week, and when I leave work I have to pick up the child at a creche. I haven't gotten around to men yet."