Harry Mulisch - The Discovery of Heaven

"We sometimes have the impression that he understands things."

"Let's hope so. How is my esteemed mother-in-law faring?"

"Fine. Come and see us soon."

Onno replaced the receiver, but held on to it and sighed. Since Quinten's first birthday, two months ago, he hadn't been back in Drenthe; so many Quists with their retinue had appeared, and fellow tenants of the castle, and even the mother of his mother-in-law, that he had scarcely had an opportunity to spend any time with Quinten. He had had to spend that thirtieth of May mainly massaging his family, who had seen for the first time how a Quist was being brought up by his grandmother and his father's friend.

With his hands still on the receiver, he looked at his watch. It was eleven o'clock. The five hours still separating him from Max's lunar moment seemed insurmountably long to him. Hearing Max's voice had done him good; it had suddenly torn him away from the drudgery of his work. Of course he could just go to bed, Max would never know, or wasn't there someone who could keep him company? Couldn't he look someone up?

At the same moment he knew he who he was going to ring — but the brainwave gave him such a shock that it took him a couple of seconds to get over it. He still knew the number by heart.

"Helga?"

"Yes, who's that?"

"How awful. Don't you even recognize my voice anymore?"

"Onno! What a surprise! How are you?"

"Well, I expect you heard a bit about all of it. Uh, a lot has happened."

"Awful. I wanted to write to you, but I didn't know what kind of tone to take. Is there any change in her condition?"

"No."

"And your son? How old is he now?"

"Just over a year."

"Does he live with you? How do you manage? Aren't you an alderman at the moment?"

"I live alone. He's being brought up by my mother-in-law and by Max— you know, the chap you were so crazy about. They live in Drenthe."

"Isn't that a bit odd?"

"A little, yes, but it's the ideal solution. Of course he's got some new girlfriend there already, but we don't talk about that kind of thing anymore. And what about you? What are you getting up to?"

"At this moment? I'm sitting reading."

"What?"

"You'll laugh: the council report in the paper."

"You're sitting reading the newspaper? Haven't you read what's going to happen in a few hours?"

"What?"

"Tonight a man is going to set foot on the moon."

"So what? As long as he doesn't slip over. Is that why you're calling? Since when have you been interested in that kind of thing?"

"Since five minutes ago. Max called and said that I had to watch."

"And so you're going to."

"Helga, the shrill note in your voice is not escaping me. I don't give a damn about celestial bodies, including the earth; but I'm glad he did so, because that gives me a chance to ask you to receive me, so we can watch it together."

"I don't know if I want to, Onno."

"And, of course, I'm the one who determines what you want?"

"No, not for some time. How do you know that I haven't long since found another boyfriend, who is now lying languidly on the sofa?"

"Because I know that no grass can grow where I once stood."

"Onno, have you really not changed at all?"

"I'll be with you in a quarter of an hour — and if you don't open the door, I shall abolish the Art Historical Institute tomorrow. First thing in the morning."

"Of course all you want to do is bring your dirty laundry."

"Listen, dear Helga. Do you know how the Habsburgs were buried?"

"I beg your pardon? The what were buried?"

"The Habsburgs. The Austro-Hungarian monarchs."

"How they were buried?"

"Surely you know?"

"What in heaven's name are you getting at?"

"Listen. The cortege of the coffin arrived at the Kapuzinergruft in Vienna and then the major domo or someone knocked three times on the door with his staff. From inside you then heard the trembling voice of an old monk, asking, 'Who is there?' And then the major domo said, 'His Imperial, Royal and Apostolic Majesty, emperor of Austria, king of Hungary' and another five hundred and eighty-six such titles. Afterward there was a silence inside, after which he knocked three times on the door again and rattled off the same list. And after he had knocked for the third time on the door and the monk had again asked, 'Who is there,' the major domo answered, 'A poor sinner.' And only then did the doors slowly open."

"And what do you mean by that?"

"Do I have to make myself clearer? With my tail between my legs, I'm telling you that I've had enough of playing outside — if that still means anything to you."

After first appropriating the rooms of the apartment, Quinten had broadened his world to the whole castle with the result that he kept getting lost every day. From the wonderful baby who had teethed after three months, a toddler had emerged who delighted everyone with his beauty. Selma Kern said repeatedly to Sophia that her husband was addicted to QuQu's appearance. He was often called QuQu, since Mr. Spier consistently addressed him as Q — moreover to point him to the door just as consistently, since he did not wish to converse with someone who didn't say anything back. "You learn Dutch first, Q."

However, at the Kerns' on the other side of his own floor, he was always welcome; if the artist was not carving in his studio in one of the coach houses, he could not take his eyes off the child. Martha, his ten-year-old daughter, a skinny blond girl, was also crazy about him and had resigned herself to the fact that he could not speak. With her legs crossed, she sat with him on the ground and handed him a pinecone or a shell to study, or pointed the white doves out to him. Once when a dove alighted on his crown and stayed there cooing softly, Kern spread his arms out in pleasure, as though he wanted to fly himself, and remained in that attitude looking at Quinten, who did not move either and in turn didn't take his eyes off Selma, in her black dress.

"This is just out of this world!" he exclaimed.

A large folder already contained scores of drawings of Quinten, in which the eyes became bigger and bigger, made vivid blue with the tip of the middle finger with methylene powder; he also appeared subsequently with a scepter and an orb in his hands, seated on a voluptuous cushion, or as pope with a tiara on his head. According to Selma, Kern's daughter had never inspired him in this way. He had asked Max whether Onno would agree to him exhibiting the series one day; whereupon Max assured him that he could probably persuade Onno to open the exhibition, but then he would have to be prepared for the latter to claim all the honor for himself as father. Undoubtedly, he would dream up some kind of structure in which there was nothing left for the artist but the stupid duplication of reality— that is: the proof of his complete superfluousness.

"He would probably call that the 'parrot principle' or some such thing," said Max — again realizing how Onno had become part of his own being.

Upstairs, at the Proctors', among the gruesome black umbrellas, Quinten looked at the electric train — saw how when the train was approaching the curve, suddenly little Arendje pulled the handle of the transformer right over to the right with a jerk, so that the train derailed and fell on his back, and he convulsed with laughter, thrashing his legs in the air with demonic pleasure. Quinten looked at this with the same expression he had used when looking at the train.

Then he went exploring in the northern part of the attic. One room there was always locked, and invariably that was the first one whose handle he rattled. When that had no effect, he clambered around in the baron's musty, crammed storage room, over rolled-up carpets, books tied with string, among upturned chairs and tables, fallen chandeliers, cupboards, boxes, and piles of clothes, on which he sometimes fell asleep — and where he was finally found by a relieved Sophia or Max: