Gerbrand Bakker - June

‘Where?’ asked Jan.

‘To see Auntie Tinie.’

‘Why?’

‘You’ll find out later.’

‘But I’m almost home.’

‘I know.’

‘What’s the baker doing there?’

‘Come on.’ Uncle Aris laid a hand on his shoulder.

He turned his bike around. The checked swimming bag slipped down off his shoulders. He looked back one last time. The van door was closed. Uncle Aris didn’t say anything.

‘I can say “r”,’ said Jan.

‘That’s clever of you. Say it then.’

‘I just did.’

‘Do it again.’

‘Rrrrrrr,’ said Jan.

‘Excellent,’ said Uncle Aris, staring straight ahead. ‘That’s a real “r”.’

Jan couldn’t be bothered any more. He felt like his ‘r’ had become completely meaningless. They turned left to ride back towards the village. Into a headwind.

‘Hi,’ he said to Auntie Tinie and Peter. But mainly to Johan. ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’ Johan said. ‘Eating.’ He had his right elbow on the round kitchen table and was holding a spoon that was way too big in his right hand. His other arm was resting next to his body. He was sitting crooked and staring at Uncle Aris with big eyes. Jan looked away, ashamed that he had left Johan behind at the swimming pool and realising now, from the size of the spoon and how crookedly he was sitting, that he was still little. He was also ashamed of his sulking and his ‘r’. Auntie Tinie hugged him and kissed him as if it was the last chance she would ever have to hug or kiss him. She ruffled his swimming-pool hair. Then, after putting a bowl of Bambix on the table in front of him, she absent-mindedly smoothed it down again. She didn’t sit down. Uncle Aris did, but didn’t eat anything.

Peter was eating. The corners of his mouth were still black from the liquorice shoelace and he stared at the Kaan brothers. ‘Why don’t you sit down?’ he asked his mother.

‘Shh,’ said Auntie Tinie. ‘Be quiet.’

Jan looked at the bowl of cereal in front of him. Whenever he ate at Auntie Tinie’s, he always got something yummy. He loved Bambix. He knew it was baby cereal, but he didn’t care, it tasted a lot better than the Brinta they had at home. Auntie Tinie’s fried rice was a lot better than his mother’s too, with lots of tomato paste and meat out of a tin you had to open by turning a key. He didn’t feel like Bambix now. It wasn’t even teatime yet. Uncle Aris and Auntie Tinie looked at each other. Johan was still sitting slumped on his chair. Peter had emptied his bowl and was about to say something. He opened his mouth, but thought better of it and leant back. Jan stared at his lukewarm cereal. It was quiet in the kitchen, the orange clock was ticking.

Then there was a sound. Auntie Tinie turned to face the window, both hands pressed to her chest. An ambulance drove past. Uncle Aris brushed something off the plastic tablecloth with a large hand. The sound faded quickly.

Peter couldn’t resist any longer. ‘What is it?’

Johan started crying. ‘I want to go home!’ he bawled.

Jan stuck a finger in the cereal. Almost cold and way too thick by now, anyway.

That evening Peter, Jan and Johan sat in a brand-new bath in a brand-new bathroom. There was something wrong with the tub: it didn’t seem to have been finished properly. The enamel was rough, very finely rough, but they didn’t realise until they got out again. Auntie Tinie rubbed them with a soapy flannel as if she was scrubbing potatoes, and washed their hair twice. Jan and Johan didn’t say a word; they liked Auntie Tinie. Peter whinged and moaned, and kept on shouting ‘Ow!’ After that it started to burn, sting and itch.

They had to stay the night. They wanted to know why, but got no answer. Nobody mentioned the Queen, it was as if she hadn’t even been to visit. They went to bed. Jan and Peter in one bed together and Johan in the other bed crossways at the foot of theirs. Peter soon fell asleep and Jan pushed him out onto the floor. He did that often, especially when Peter stayed at their house. He found it annoying, having someone next to him in bed like that, snoring contentedly or smacking their lips, while he couldn’t get to sleep because someone was next to him. Peter didn’t even wake up. Jan sat up straight and scratched his arms and legs. They kept on burning. He tore off the blanket and threw it on top of Peter. He pulled the sheet up to his chin, it was light and thin.

‘Jan?’

‘Yeah?’

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I’m itchy.’

‘Me too.’

It was almost completely dark in the bedroom. Outside, it was still light. There were even birds singing. The curtains were thick and heavy. Johan started to cry softly. Jan’s head started to get itchy too; his hair was way too clean, his scalp rubbed dry by Auntie Tinie’s strong fingers. The phone rang, four times.

‘Johan?’

No sound from the other bed.

‘Come here.’ Jan heard Johan climb out of bed and, because his eyes were already used to the darkness, he saw him step carefully over Peter. He held the sheet up. Johan slid in next to him and sniffed loudly two or three times.

‘Something terrible’s happened,’ he said.

‘Yeah,’ said Jan. ‘Maybe with Hanne.’

‘Where’s Klaas?’

‘I don’t know. Home, I guess.’

Johan scratched his neck.

‘The baker,’ said Jan.

‘What about him?’

‘He’s got something to do with it.’

‘With what?’

‘He didn’t look right.’

When they woke up the next morning, Peter was in the other bed. Jan and Johan stared at him until he woke up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and looked around with surprise. ‘How’d I get here ?’ he asked. An hour later he had to go to school while Jan and Johan were allowed to stay at Auntie Tinie’s. Peter shouted that it wasn’t fair. His mother gave him a whack.

Wednesday evening they went home. Klaas was already there. Or still there. They gathered in the hall, in front of Hanne’s bedroom. Anna opened the door and they went in one by one. There was a small coffin under the cracked window, as if the coffin had been positioned there deliberately to catch the light for as long as possible. Tinus sauntered in through the open door as well. He sniffed at the coffin and was about to jump up against it. ‘Get,’ said Zeeger, pushing the dog aside with one foot.

Hanging on the wall opposite the windows was a cloth of coarse material attached by rings to two bamboo rods, one at the top and one at the bottom. Grandma Kaan had made it. There were three Piccaninnies black as black on it, a fire with a pot, a few palm trees, a straw hut. The Piccaninnies were made of pieces of material and two of them had rings in their ears. The third Piccaninny only had one ring. The fire was made of pointy bits of yellow material, the trees from strips of green cloth. The roof of the straw hut was real straw and the poles holding up the cooking pot were satay sticks. There was a big orangey-red sun in one of the top corners, exactly the same kind of sun as the one shining in through the bedroom window at just that moment. The wall hanging had been there for a very long time. Klaas, Jan and Johan had reached the age of two in a bed under the three Piccaninnies black as black. No matter what happened outside, whether it was stormy or hailing, still or misty, nothing in the bedroom, nothing in the whole house was safer than Grandmother Kaan’s homemade wall hanging.

‘Go on,’ said Anna. She pushed her three sons towards the coffin. Jan mainly kept his eyes on Klaas and Johan because he was frightened by the strange yellow dress Hanne was wearing. Bought by the district nurse who, when she got to the children’s clothing shop in Schagen, didn’t know what exactly Anna Kaan had meant by ‘something smart’. Klaas and Johan couldn’t keep it up long either. Klaas stared out the window. Johan cleared his throat and looked up at Zeeger.