Kader Abdolah - My Father's Notebook

And yet my curiosity had been aroused by the final paragraph of his letter: “We have beautiful dunes here — the most beautiful in all of Holland. If you come, you can take a long walk through the dunes. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it. I hope to see you.”

Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. The name “Agnet aan Zee”, in particular, sounded intriguing.

I could make a day of it, I thought, and go and visit the sea. The first time I’d ever heard of the Dutch dunes was during one of my courses, when we were analysing an excerpt from Frederik van Eeden’s classic De kleine Johannes (Little Johannes):

Oh, if only I could fly away from here! Far away, to the dunes, to the sea!

Early every morning he asked [his dog] Pluizer if he could go back again to his house and to his father, if he could once again see the garden and the dunes.

I called Louis and set off. On the way I bought a new translation of Sa’di’s Rose Garden , since one of my professors had mentioned that a good Dutch translation had just been published.

I took the bus, really making a day of it. First to Lelystad, then to Enkhuizen, then to Alkmaar, then to Bergen and finally to Agnet aan Zee.

Who or what was Agnet? Or was it actually Agnes? I liked the combination of “Agnet” and “Zee”. I imagined a woman sitting calmly on the beach, looking out at the sea.

Agnet aan Zee was not an ordinary Dutch village with a church and a square, but a harbour town. It looked a bit touristy, though it was fairly quiet. Maybe things picked up during the summer. Though it was cold, a number of German tourists had found their way there.

Finally, after walking around for fifteen minutes, I saw a sandy hill covered with tall grass — golden-yellow grass. The cold wind rippled the grass and made it even more beautiful. I’d never seen anything like these sandy hills of rippling grass. They had to be the dunes I’d read about in De kleine Johannes . I stood and stared at that amazing landscape. There were dunes, dunes and more dunes, as far as the eye could see! Just as in other places there were hills, hills and more hills. You couldn’t tell where they ended or what was on the other side.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I heard a voice behind me say.

I turned.

“Good afternoon,” a man called from a window. I didn’t realise it was Louis.

“Don’t you recognise me?” he asked.

“Oh, now I do.”

“Wait a minute, I’ll open the door.”

After a long while, the door swung open. Louis started to walk towards me, but after a few steps he lost his balance and nearly fell. I rushed over and took his arm.

“Thanks,” he said cheerfully. “You thought I was going to fall, but luckily I never do.”

I offered him my left shoulder and he placed the palm of his right hand on it. “You’ve got a strong shoulder! Go on inside. I’m glad you came.”

How stupid of me not to have realised when we were on the train that he was disabled. I’d been so struck by his personality that I hadn’t even noticed. Now I acted as though I’d known all along. As soon as we entered the house, he let go of my shoulder and took a few steps. I thought, Oh, oh, he’s going to fall and bang his head against the wall. To my surprise, he didn’t. He grabbed the chair, then the bookcase, and made his way through the room by going from one handhold to another.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen, but I can’t bring it here. I can walk, but not with a cup of coffee in my hand. So if you’ll go and get the coffeepot, I’ll pour. While you’re at it, would you bring me my herbal tea?”

As I stood in his kitchen, I felt a strong liking for this unknown man.

I didn’t feel like a stranger. Everything in his house — the furniture, the chairs, the heater, the bookcase — all seemed familiar. I took my coffee and his tea into the living room and sat down. I was glad I’d come.

“What a beautiful view!” I said, pointing at the dunes.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “But my wife’s tired of it. She’s been looking at those dunes for twenty-five years and now she’d like something else.”

“What about you?”

“Me? I think it’s as beautiful as ever. I’ve got a plan. In a few years I’ll be totally bedridden. Before that happens, I’m going to have the house re-modelled. The upstairs balcony will be converted into a room with a big picture window. Then I’ll put my bed by the window so I can look out over the dunes. Unfortunately, I won’t have a view of the sea, but that doesn’t matter. You can’t have everything.”

We chatted for a while about Iran and the kingdom of Persia, and about Persian culture and ancient Persian literature. Then I asked if he’d show me around upstairs.

“No, not me. You can take a look, though. I haven’t been able to climb stairs for ages.”

“I’ll be glad to help you.”

So we went upstairs. It wasn’t easy, but we made it. Louis was pleased. “I can’t believe it. How long has it been since I was up here? I can’t even remember … it’s been years, years , since I looked at the dunes from upstairs.”

“Do you have any children?” I asked. “A son, perhaps?”

“Not a son. A daughter.”

“Are you on good terms with her?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“How old was she when you got sick and couldn’t … well, couldn’t walk anymore?”

“It was a gradual process. She was a child when it started. Why do you want to know?”

I told him about my own father. I explained that, as a child, I had felt it my duty to stick as closely as possible to my father, so I could help him. In short, wherever he went, I went, too.

“My daughter’s also been a big help. Thanks to me, she’s got strong shoulders. Her left shoulder, in particular, is well-developed: muscular and strong. She’s always been there for me. Always. She still drops by almost every evening.”

Propping himself against the wall, he pointed at the dunes. “Look,” he said. “There are twenty-one dunes between here and the sea. It’s just behind the twenty-first dune. I haven’t seen the sea in years. I used to go down to the beach every night after dark, but since I fell ill, I haven’t had the strength or the courage to climb the dunes. It’s now become a dream that will never come true.”

“What has?”

“Walking to the sea one last time.”

“You could pick a shorter route, use your cane, take your time and walk there step by step. Or you could ask your daughter for help.”

“That’s not what I mean. I want to walk across all twenty-one dunes. Go up and down the dunes in the dark, just like I used to. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Life isn’t a bed of roses. Sometimes the simplest pleasures are suddenly impossible.”

I couldn’t stop thinking about his dream. It had a kind of beauty, a kind of challenge that appealed to me. The sea had become inaccessible to us both.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Louis said.

“I’m thinking of the sea. Of your sea, behind the dunes. It’s a shame you won’t be able to see it from your bed. It would be a real boon to an invalid.”

“That’s a nice way to put it.”

I carried a chair over to the window and stood on it.

“I think I can see the sea,” I said. “At any rate, I see a kind of blanket of blue stretching to the horizon. If you raise the bed a few feet, you’ll have the sea right here in this room.”

“That’s funny. No one ever thought to bring the sea here by hopping up on a chair.”

“Do you want to try it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“What time of day did you used to walk through the dunes to the sea?”

“It’s been so long I can’t remember. Around dusk, I think.”