Gerbrand Bakker - June

‘Yes, Dieke,’ her father says.

‘Does it look pretty again?’

‘Perfect.’

‘And my stone? Is that still pretty too?’

‘It is.’

‘And the little birds?’

‘Which little birds?’

‘In the tree next to the bench.’

‘I only saw one bird.’

‘But there were two, and they had to breathe really hard because it’s so hot.’

‘Oh. One must have flown away for a moment to get something to eat.’

‘That’s right,’ says Uncle Jan. ‘Birds get hungry too sometimes.’

As if she doesn’t know that. Her father and Uncle Jan walk into the yard, both pushing their bikes. The bucket hanging off Uncle Jan’s handlebars taps against the frame. Uncle Johan is still lying on the ground. Rekel is getting wilder and wilder. Nobody’s said anything about the trees or Grandma. Is it all normal to them, or what? Not to her. Grandpa’s front garden is an enormous mess, a big jumble of branches and leaves, and one of the trees is lying on Grandma’s vegetable garden. She’s going to be cross later. Uncle Johan has stood up. He’s picked Rekel up and is carrying him over to the ditch. ‘What are you doing?’ she asks.

‘Re-kel’s hot. He needs to s-wim.’ With the dog in his arms, Uncle Johan walks down the bank of the ditch.

‘Are you going to throw him in the water?’

‘Y-es.’ Uncle Johan lets go of Rekel, who falls into the ditch with a big splash and disappears underwater. When he comes up, he splutters furiously. He swims to the other side, climbs out, creeps under a chestnut branch like an enormous wet rat and goes around to the back of the house, where he lies down under the rear willow, not looking back once.

‘Now he’s cross with you,’ she says.

‘N-o he’s not! He loves me. I’m his f-avourite h-uman!’

It’s as if everyone’s gone crazy today. Her mother’s grumpy and she doesn’t know why. Just because of the pot? It wasn’t that bad. Uncle Johan throwing Rekel in the ditch for no reason, but yeah, Uncle Johan does lots of strange things because he had that accident, of course. Grandpa cutting down three trees and leaving them in the garden. Grandma up on the straw and not even answering when she asks her a question. And her father breaking everything.

Uncle Johan comes up from the ditch and follows her father and Uncle Jan into the barn. Now she’s alone in the yard again. What a strange day. If she’d just gone to the swimming pool this morning, maybe none of this would have happened. Or else it would have happened, but without her being there! She looks in through the kitchen window. Her mother is standing at the sink holding a tea towel. She doesn’t look out. Dieke looks in the other direction, at Grandpa’s house. Grandpa is just coming out of the side door. He pulls on his clogs and comes over the bridge. He doesn’t seem to notice her and then he too disappears into the barn. She runs over quickly, the tops of her yellow boots slapping against her shins.

How am I going to get down? she thinks. How the hell am I going to get down? The heat has got under her skin. The water’s finished, she’s eaten her way through a whole packet of Viennese biscuits, drained a bottle of advocaat, and now — it must already be six or so? — the heat, which until recently was just surrounding her, has crept into her body. She’s lying on her back and rubs her breastbone with two fingers to suppress a persistent nausea. She has a slight nagging headache and notices that her hands still feel cold to the touch. When she rubs them together, it’s like she has chilblains on her fingers. What am I trying to prove? Why am I lying here making a fool of myself? The rectangle of sky she can see through the hole in the roof hasn’t grown any paler. She can forget about that drop of rain.

Her sons are down below. And Zeeger. With Dieke blaring away in between. ‘Horrible boys,’ Anna mumbles, but even that’s half-hearted. Everything’s half-hearted here. Don’t they hear the creaking? It actually sounds more like groaning now, as if the beams and timbers and even the tile laths are worn out and defeated, as if they’re crawling with an army of woodworms and borers. They’re talking loudly, of course; they want her to hear that they’re talking about her.

‘It’s over there, next to the hay cart.’

‘You think she doesn’t know that herself?’

‘I’d say she does.’

‘M-ay be.’

‘She’s not mad.’

‘Grandma!’

‘Leave it, Diek. She won’t answer anyway.’

‘Why not?’

‘Do you always answer when I ask you something?’

She’s quiet for a moment. ‘No.’

‘Well, then.’

‘I’ll d-o it.’

‘Wait, that thing’s heavier than you think. Klaas, give him a hand.’

‘I’m starting to get hungry.’

It’s so hard for her to just keep lying there. She’s desperate to see what’s going on. I’m tipsy, she thinks. A bit drunk. Of course I know that this rickety thing lying here next to me isn’t the only ladder. Of course Jan’s hungry, he’s spent the whole day at the cemetery, but that’s his own fault and I don’t have an ounce of pity for him, and you can bet your life Zeeger didn’t give him anything to take or remind him to make some sandwiches. Maybe Klaas’s wife gave Dieke something to eat. She grabs the empty one-and-a-half-litre bottle and throws it over the edge of the straw.

‘Look!’

‘Yes, Diek, Grandma’s thrown down a bottle. Fortunately empty. And fortunately, it’s made of plastic.’

‘Where’s Rekel?’

‘Outside. He’s too scared to come in here.’

‘She’s got the parade sword up there too.’

‘Huh? What for?’

‘Boy, if I knew that…’

‘She b-etter n-ot throw that.’

‘Of course she won’t, Johan. Now walk the ladder up carefully, don’t slide it out until it’s vertical. Make sure it’s on the right side of the rafters.’

Slowly, Anna Kaan sits up. She grabs her ankles and pulls her stiff legs towards her until she’s sitting almost cross-legged. She straightens her dress at the shoulders and puts her hands on her knees. The straw rustles when they lean the aluminium ladder against it, momentarily drowning out the hordes of borers and woodworms. Her tummy rumbles, her back is itchy, it’s as if the creepy-crawlies are all over her and inside her at the same time. The top of the ladder appears and then sits back down a little. Each step that’s taken vibrates in the bales of straw; she keeps count and around the time she’s expecting a head, Johan’s thick red hair appears. They look at each other for a moment.

‘M-um?’ says Johan.

‘Johan,’ she says, as quietly as possible. ‘Will you be careful?’

‘Y-es.’

‘Don’t shout.’

‘N-o.’

Why Johan? She forces herself to look at him. Her Johan, her big, strong, handsome youngest son. Slowness and rage in a single body, dull eyes and gleaming hair. A boy to look after, but not really.

‘You coming?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘W-hy not?’

‘Go back down. Carefully.’

‘N-o.’

‘Please, Johan.’

‘J-an made it really p-retty.’

‘I’m sure he did.’

‘He only s-lipped once with the p-aint.’

‘That’s fine, Johan.’

‘I got l-ittle s-tones.’

Is Johan the raindrop she’s been waiting for? He rang her yesterday. With the absurd question as to where was the best place to buy little stones. She didn’t understand at first, then it gradually dawned on her. They hadn’t listened to her. They’d pressed ahead with the job they’d talked about at the dinner. Jan had arrived. No doubt Klaas and Zeeger spent quite a while hanging around the cemetery too, despite her being dead set against it. ‘No question of it,’ she’d said. And how did Johan get to the cemetery from Schagen? Surely he hadn’t come all the way on foot? Zeeger must have told him Jan was coming, but she’d missed that. She’ll stay up here a little longer after all, so they don’t start to think she’s come round. All those men, doing things, organising things. Who’s the boss around here anyway? Me, surely? And I expressly told them not to do up that headstone.