Gerband Bakker - The Twin

“What for?”

“The work he does.”

“You know I never even thought of that?”

“Me neither.”

“Don’t give him any.”

“Why not? He’s working, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but you’re feeding him and putting a roof over his head. You’re not rolling in it either, are you?”

“Riet, I’ve hardly spent anything my whole life. My father didn’t either.”

“Get him to do some of the cooking too.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s a decent cook. What do you actually make of him?”

“He seems like a nice kid. Touchy though.”

“Yes, he’s touchy all right. Is he. . aggressive?”

“Aggressive? Not at all. Why do you ask?”

“No reason. When he’s settled in a bit, shall I come too? Then I can do some of the women’s work for a while. Cooking, washing. .”

High time to end this telephone conversation. I try to say, “No, we’ll manage” as conclusively as possible. For a while now I’ve been gazing restlessly at the wallpaper.

“I’ll ring again next week.”

“Fine.”

“Bye, Helmer.”

“Bye, Riet.” I hang up.

I once went to Heiloo, to the Marian shrine. Mother wanted to see it, even though she didn’t have a Catholic bone in her body. I drove her there on a weekday in May, about twenty years ago. “To Jesus through Mary” was written on the front wall in big letters (a mosaic, I think). Why am I suddenly remembering this? Riet is confusing me. I stop staring at the wallpaper and walk into the kitchen. Outside it’s February. Hail, sleet and the odd bit of sun.

After Henk had urged me to be quiet and tiptoed out of my bedroom in his big, white underpants, I got up on my knees on my bed. I crossed my arms on the windowsill, rested my chin on them and stared out. There was a smell of warm ditch water and old, sun-baked roof tiles. The moon was shining so brightly I could see a hare in the field on the other side of the canal. The hare was alone, it seemed to be looking for something, walking back and forth and standing up now and then to listen, forelegs drooping. Behind the hare the field was empty as far as the dyke. No cows, no sheep. The colts are separate now, I thought.

The window of Henk’s bedroom was open too. They were whispering, so quietly I couldn’t understand a word. I imagined myself squatting barefoot in the gutter, tightly grasping the open window, head as close as possible to the windowsill. It was impossible just to lie down again and pull the sheet back up. I got out of bed, walked to the door, opened it cautiously and slipped out onto the landing. I waited a moment until my eyes had adjusted to the darkness. I took a few steps and knelt down in front of Henk’s bedroom door. They’re old panel doors, with oversized keyholes. At first I only saw movement, after a while shapes became visible too. Riet was hidden except for her lower legs, Henk filled almost the entire keyhole. I was down on one knee with the other leg up. I slipped a hand into my underpants. Back then we used to wear big, white underpants with strong elastic. Always clean, because — as Mother said — you never knew when you might end up in hospital. I was concentrating so much on watching that the warm throbbing of my penis against my belly took me by surprise. I began following Henk’s movements, with my eyes and with my hand. Until I got a cramp in the leg that was raised. I had to stand up. In the process I looked at the small skylight at the end of the landing, which showed me moonlit poplars and myself, getting up in front of a closed door with one hand still in my underpants. I curled my toes to get rid of the cramp in my calf.

For some reason I couldn’t go back to my own bedroom. Maybe because I could hear them there, and knew I would see them before me. I tiptoed to the ever-open door of the new room, went in and lay down on the blue carpet under the window. I fell asleep and woke up very early the next morning. Only then did I return to my own bed. Henk hadn’t come back yet.

August 1966, almost forty years ago. Sometimes I don’t understand how I could have grown so old. If I look into the mirror, I still see the eighteen- or nineteen-year-old behind my weather-beaten mug. And I still ask myself who I was watching that night.

“Where do you come from?” asks Ronald.

“Brabant,” says Henk.

“Hey,” says Ronald, looking at me, “that’s where that lady came from.”

“That’s right,” I say, “that lady was Henk’s mother.”

“Do you work here?” asks Teun.

“Yep.”

“Where do you sleep then?”

“Upstairs.”

“Is that lady here too?”

“No, Ronald,” I say. “Just Henk.”

“Can we have a look some time?” Teun asks Henk.

“Sure.”

Teun and Ronald jump up immediately. I can’t remember them ever going upstairs before. This is their chance. Ronald even leaves half his cake for it.

“Come on,” says Henk. Suddenly he looks very big. Or is it Teun and Ronald who look small? They walk out of the kitchen. “These stairs are really steep!” I hear Ronald call a little later.

I go over to the side window and try to look into Ada’s house. Her kitchen window is just a little too far away. Then I do something I’ve never done before. I walk to the bureau and take out the binoculars. From upstairs I hear the voices of Henk, Teun and Ronald, I can’t make out what they’re saying. I go back to the side window, this time with the binoculars. More than five hundred yards away, at the kitchen window of the next farm, Ada is peering at me through her binoculars.

Apart from the fact that we both have something before our eyes and can’t look at each other directly, there is nothing advantageous about this situation. I don’t know what to do, Ada doesn’t know what to do. We are welded together by two pieces of plastic and a few lenses. The first one to lower their binoculars has lost and knows that the other will watch them slink off. Then Ada raises her hand and waves cautiously. I wave back, half-heartedly. “Let me go first,” I hear Henk say on the landing. Without another thought about winning, losing or slinking off, I lower the binoculars, hurry over to the bureau and put them back where they belong.

“Henk let me try his Walkman!” shouts Ronald.

“And?” I ask, while pretending to look for something in the bureau.

“Henk needs posters on his walls,” is Teun’s assessment.

“They thought it was a bit bare,” says Henk.

“And we’re going fishing,” says Ronald.

“When spring comes,” says Henk.

“That’s right,” I say, “the fish are all in the mud now.”

“The boys were upstairs a minute ago,” says Father.

“Yeah, Henk showed them his room.”

“They didn’t come in to see me.”

“Ronald is scared of you, didn’t you notice that on New Year’s Eve?”

“Scared? Why?”

“Because you’re an old man.”

“He never used to be scared of me.”

“You used to be able to walk.” I’m using Father’s bedroom as a hiding place. Henk, Teun and Ronald are still in the kitchen. They drink tea and eat cake. I can’t get a thing down, wet or dry, I’m too nervous. Ada and her binoculars, Henk and the boys together, the telephone conversation with Riet a few days ago. I had to get out of the kitchen and it’s still too early to go and milk. Up here I’m surrounded by the old days, the dull ticking of the clock, the photos, the parental bed. Father himself. I sit on the chair at the window. On the branch in the ash, the hooded crow is washing its feathers. Even the bird is familiar now.