Gerbrand Bakker - June

‘Johan?’

Zeeger.

‘Y-es?’ Johan says, without looking down.

‘What’s she doing?’

‘S-itting.’

Anna Kaan raises a finger to her lips.

‘What else?’

‘N-othing.’

‘Johan,’ she says quietly. ‘Go back down. I’ll come soon.’

‘N-o, now.’

‘I’ll come soon, really. Take that ladder away. Look, I’ve got my own ladder.’

Johan looks at her. ‘M-um,’ he whispers.

She’d like to pull him up over the edge of the straw, hugging him tight, stroking his forehead and his back, rubbing his feet, especially if he really has walked all the way from Schagen. She’d like to go back in time to drag him off that bloody motorbike, or tip sand and salt into the petrol tank. If she could, she’d put him back on the breast. But more than anything, she can’t bear looking at him. He has to go away. ‘Don’t. Don’t say anything. Go back down.’

‘N-o.’ He climbs another rung.

‘I’m coming. Really. Soon.’

‘Anna!’

‘Keep out of it!’ No, don’t shout. Don’t shout at Zeeger.

‘Come back, Johan,’ Zeeger calls. ‘Come back down. Don’t climb any higher.’

‘Y-ou h-ave to come w-ith me,’ Johan whispers.

‘Grandma!’ Dieke shouts. Why does that child keep shouting at me? Does she really want me to come down? You’d expect her to dislike me.

Anna Kaan reaches for the parade sword, but it’s too far away. She flops over onto her side, getting her legs tangled in the process. All fours then, it’s only Johan. If anyone else had been standing on the ladder she might have thought twice. She groans, everything’s a strain. First she finds the empty advocaat bottle, which she picks up and flings back over her shoulder without thinking. It lands where the aluminium ladder was lying just a few minutes ago.

‘Daddy! Glass!’

‘Yes, Diek, now she’s throwing real bottles. Fortunately we’re not standing over there.’

‘I’m going inside.’ Jan. He doesn’t want any part of it.

As far as she’s concerned he can go, but at the same time she wants to scream that he has to stay there. Everyone has to stay. They have to do their very best to get her down. All of them, no exceptions. Why isn’t Klaas’s wife here anyway? But they have to go too, and the sooner the better. And that bull? What’s that bull doing now? Is he looking out through his bars and enjoying the company? She can’t hear him. Why is Rekel too scared to come in? Where’s that bad-tempered Barbary duck? She’s got her hands on the sword now and struggles over to the edge of the straw. To her youngest son. ‘Johan,’ she whispers. ‘Here.’ The edge of the straw, but she makes sure to stay out of sight of the others.

‘W-hat do I do with this?’ He looks at her. She sees the muscles of his shoulders and chest quivering. The white of his shirt is a very stark contrast to his skin. What do they do in that home, go to the beach all day?

‘Give it to your father. I want you to go now. I’ll come soon.’

‘All right,’ he says, holding out one hand.

‘Give it to your father, then he can hang it back up under the bookshelf.’ God, as long as the boy doesn’t fall. ‘Here, hang it over your shoulder and push it round to your back, otherwise you might get it caught between you and the ladder.’

Johan follows her instructions. Excruciatingly slowly. It’s excruciating to see him holding on first with one hand and then the other.

‘Anna!’ Zeeger again.

She doesn’t answer, swearing under her breath. Next thing all that shouting will frighten the boy and he’ll let go with both hands at the same time. Johan has stopped looking at her, he’s concentrating on the trip back down and the sword over his shoulder. He’s already gone. Like a child, that’s how fast his attention fades and turns to something else.

‘Yeah? What’s the idea?’

‘I have to give it to you. H-ang it up. On the bookshelf.’

‘Is she coming down?’

‘No.’

‘What did she say?’

‘I’ve for-gotten.’

Zeeger sighs.

Dirk answers by finally butting in.

‘Teatime, Diek.’

‘But what about Grandma?’

‘Grandma will come down. She can’t stay up there forever.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘S-teak!’ yells Johan. ‘With chips!’

Dirk keeps snorting, and by the sound of it he’s banging his head against the iron bars every now and then too. The straw trembles, the wood groans. The swallows have stopped flying in and out. Anna Kaan tries not to think. She can’t stay up here forever. That bull, won’t he ever stop? They’ve walked off and nobody thought to remove the ladder.

A little longer. Steak. Cold water. Don’t think about the wedding anniversary, or earlier celebrations, the granddaughter, don’t think about quinces or Notaris apples, grey Volkswagen vans, the Saturday evening to come. No, just a little longer, the day she was too late, she doesn’t even remember why, but that was why the old Queen pulled off her leather glove. She puffs warm air on her cold hands then rubs her knees, which have now grown cold as well.

Zeeger Kaan turned on the deep fryer and fried up some chips and croquettes. The steaks were still in the freezer, there wasn’t enough time to thaw them out. He considered cooking some French beans, but a single glance at the felled chestnuts was enough to dissuade him. This is the time of year to eat outside at the table near the side door, but Johan and Jan sat down at the kitchen table.

Besides things like ‘Wh-ere’s the k-etchup?’ and ‘You going to leave the trees lying there like that?’ they hardly speak during the meal. (Yes, he thinks, maybe I will leave them lying there a while.) Jan drinks two bottles of beer, Johan and he drink water. Johan asks for beer too, but Zeeger doesn’t think he’s allowed to have it. All three have sweat running down their faces. When everything’s finished, Dieke rushes in. ‘Fishing!’ she says. ‘Dad’s ready!’

‘Yeah!’ says Johan. ‘Ang-ling!’ Johan has been crazy about fishing his whole life, that’s why he calls it angling.

‘But not too long,’ Jan says. ‘The ferry doesn’t run all night.’

They’re biting surprisingly well. All the floats are pointing straight up. There’s a bucket in the middle of the bridge for everyone to slip their fish into. When Dieke catches one, Klaas takes the hook out of its mouth. Every now and then they hear the sound of a very hard head banging against iron bars in the barn.

‘Don’t know what’s got into Dirk,’ Zeeger says.

‘It was a bit busy for him today, I think,’ says his oldest son, who then shouts ‘Two!’ and raises his rod. A small catfish is wriggling on the hook.

‘We should take size into account too,’ says his second son.

‘N-o!’ yells his youngest son, who’s up to four. Four tiddlers.

‘Or what kind of fish,’ says Jan.

‘What’s worth the most then? A catfish or a bream?’ Klaas asks.

‘Rekel! Here, boy!’ Zeeger calls. The dog is lying under the back willow. It’s not the first time he’s called him, but he stays put, lying stubbornly with his head turned away.

‘Re-kel doesn’t like f-ishing.’

‘No, he’s cross because you threw him in the ditch,’ says Dieke.

‘Did you throw Rekel in the ditch?’

‘Y-es.’

‘Me too.’

‘Me too.’

‘Oh,’ says Zeeger Kaan. ‘That explains it.’

‘Diek, how many fish are in the bucket now?’ Klaas asks.

Dieke sticks her rod through the railing of the bridge and bends over the bucket. ‘I can’t count them, they won’t stay still.’

Klaas looks in the bucket too and starts to count out loud.