Gerband Bakker - The Twin

I think of electricity cables hanging low with the weight of hundreds of swallows. I think of Denmark, but for the first time without Jarno Koper. I think of a farmhand who saw the swallows in Denmark.

“Old junk!” Father says indignantly when I take him something to eat after milking.

“You disputing it?” I ask, pointing at the grandfather clock, the photos on the wall and him.

“That crow’s back in the ash.”

“I saw it.”

“How was it?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know yet?”

“No.”

“What were you two doing in the new room?”

“Talking.”

“About what?”

“Couldn’t you hear us?”

“No.”

It’s been a long time since he’s asked so many questions. Riet is on his mind, he might have spent the whole day thinking about the old days. I picture him lying here quiet as a mouse, breathing out when there’s talking on the other side of his door, and straining his ears when things get said further away. Is he lonely? I shake my head, I don’t want to think about things like that. All the same, the day suddenly feels like a competition with one player in concealment: Riet versus the Van Wonderens.

I draw the curtains. “Oh, one thing,” I say as casually as I can, “you were cremated. And scattered.”

He has to laugh. “You went to the cemetery.”

“Yes. And your name was missing.” Have I ever joked like this with him before? I stare at the pattern on the curtains, unable to remember any occasions.

He suddenly gets serious. “I’m dirty.”

“Maybe you are.”

“Where was I scattered?”

“I don’t know. In the fields, behind the chicken coop, under the ash.”

I let go of the folds of the curtain and turn around. His eyes are still wet from laughter. I think. He badly needs a shave. The white pillowcase is grayish.

“What did she come for?”

“Because.” I walk to the door. When I turn off the light, a better answer occurs to me. “No,” I say, “not because. She came for a job interview.”

Smiling, I go downstairs.

I am the last Van Wonderen. There are many others, of course, but not in our branch of the family. I used to see the name Kees van Wonderen in the sports pages: a footballer. Feyenoord, I think. Once there was a photo of him as well. I thought I looked like him, although he could have been a good thirty years younger than me. Grandfather Van Wonderen had four sisters. They all married and they all had children. Father had, or has, quite a few aunts. I have, or had, just as many great aunts and even more second cousins. None of them was called Van Wonderen. I don’t know them. Father was an only child. Henk — named after my Van Wonderen grandfather — is dead. I’m not married. After me, we’ll die out.

It’s raining. The second freeze was short-lived and I read in the newspaper that at least three skaters drowned. I walked to Big Lake with my skates in my hand and discovered that it was only half frozen. I didn’t try the ice-I don’t want us to die out just yet. Two days ago the young tanker driver had a big round bandage over his left eye. He was doing some painting at home and got a splinter in his eye while sanding a window frame. The smile on his face was still there, if a little crooked. I left the milking parlor sooner than I’d intended; seeing him like that brought a lump to my throat and I was afraid he’d hear it if I stayed talking. Yesterday the livestock dealer drove into the yard. He stood in the kitchen rubbing one foot over the other for a while, then left without doing any business. The vet came to look at a sick heifer. He emptied two enormous hypodermics into her rump and said she’d get better. I separated her from the rest.

For a few days now I’ve been looking round the kitchen and wondering whether I shouldn’t also paint in here. Every time my survey ends at the hooded crow in the ash and my thoughts turn to the farmhand. I’ve started to think of him as “Little Henk.” Riet phoned to ask if I’d thought about it. “Yes,” I answered, “but not enough.” I’ve never had a farmhand. I was one myself, Father’s. Every now and then the crow goes off somewhere, always swooping down a little first (as if to test its wings), before starting to fly.

It’s only today that Ada has reappeared in my kitchen, five days after Riet’s visit. Saturday. Teun and Ronald are at football, the winter break for the junior teams is already over.

“Helmer! How lovely! What was it like?”

“Strange,” I say.

“What kind of answer’s that? Your sister-in-law!”

“No. My sister-in-law-to-be.”

“Still.” Ada acts as if Ronald hasn’t told her a thing about Riet. “I saw you out walking and I said to myself, What a good-looking woman.”

“Yes, she’s still good looking.”

“Was your father excited about it as well?”

“Very excited.”

“What did he think about it?”

“Not much.”

“Ah, don’t be so offhand. I can tell from your face you enjoyed it!”

“It brought a smile to his face,” I say. I look Ada in the eye and after a few seconds she turns away. She is more wound up than usual, flustered.

“What kind of things did you talk about?”

“Nothing special, the old days, her husband who died last year, her daughters, what a sweetheart Henk was, the donkeys and the chickens.”

“Is she going to come again sometime?” Her voice is different too, pinched. I can almost see the exclamation marks.

“Maybe. That’s what she told Ronald before she got into the car.”

Ada blushes. These aren’t red cheeks from busyness and spring-cleaning. “Great,” she says.

Between the side window and the kitchen cupboards is an old electric clock. The face is brown, the case is orange, the hands are white. The clock buzzes quietly, almost inaudibly. The other day, when Riet was here, I heard it buzzing. I can’t remember ever having heard it before. Now it’s buzzing louder than ever. Maybe it’s on its last legs.

“She didn’t come here on her own account,” I say.

“What?”

“When we got to the ferry, instead of getting out of the car, she started talking about her son.”

“Her son?”

“Her son, Henk. Whether he could come and work for me.”

“Why?” Her face has regained its normal color. She brightens up.

“He doesn’t do anything at home. He hasn’t got a job, he spends a lot of time in bed and sometimes he disappears.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Riet asked me whether I could use him as a farmhand.”

“Fantastic!” exclaims Ada.

“Fantastic?”

“Yes! You’ve had to do it all yourself since your father fell ill.”

“I can do it easily, there’s no work for him here.”

“It would be more fun together, surely? Of course there’s work for him. Take the yearling barn, it’s high time that was creosoted again. Two people to do the milking, in a few months you’ll be busy with the sheep-”

“I have twenty sheep.”

“Still. If you’re helping the kid out at the same time. And Riet?”

She says the name as if she’s known her for years.

“Hmmm,” I say.

“You going to do it?”

“I have to give it some more thought.”

“Does she want to come and live here too?” She does her best to sound casual.

“Surely not?” I say.

“I’m asking you. ”

“No, I don’t think so, she didn’t say anything about that.”

Ada turns to check the clock. She stands up. “I have to pick the boys up from football.”

“Have they lost their hero yet?”