The Evenings

by Gerard Reve

  “Well, Viktor,” Frits asked once they were seated, “are you in a serious mood tonight? Mr Jaap tells me that you are the serious type.” “I’m amusing myself greatly,” Viktor replied.

  “You’ll join us for another shot, won’t you?” asked Jaap. Viktor followed the two of them to the bar. It was crowded and they had to wait.

  “You are studying,” Frits said once they were seated again, “but what is science? It is absolutely nothing.” Viktor smiled. “Consider if you will,” said Frits—“will you forgive me, my lady, if I broach a subject that may command little interest on your part?” he asked Joosje—“consider if you will that they, with all their science, have not yet succeeded in making even a single, common grain of sand.” He rubbed his fingertips together, as though letting sand run through them. “They are unable to do that.”

  “Quite right, sir,” Jaap said. “This table is brown. But do you also see it as brown? You call the colour that I call brown, brown as well. But it is perfectly possible that you see brown in the same way that I see blue. Work that one out, if you can.” He laughed, made as if he were spitting into his hands, and thumped Viktor on the chest. “Am I right?” he asked. “Have you heard the one about the man who went on holiday all alone?”

  The room around them grew fuller. “He was carrying on with a girl he’d met at the hotel where he was staying. This evening he goes to bed with her. There is a knock. A telegram is slid under the door. He reads it: wife gravely ill, urgent, immediate return requested. He folds it up again, licks the seal and pastes it together neatly, then places it on the shelf above his bed. He climbs into bed and says: Won’t I be shocked in the morning!” Viktor burst into loud laughter. Frits and Joosje smiled.

  “There is a great deal of affliction in the world,” said Frits, “that much is certain.”

  “Time for a drink, wouldn’t you say?” Jaap asked. He fetched two glasses of sherry, for Viktor and for Joosje, then went with Frits to the bar. They emptied their glasses and walked together to the urinals. When they returned, arm in arm, Joosje said: “You two mustn’t go wandering off like that, I can barely hold on to your chairs any more. They keep asking about them.”

  Frits leaned forward, hands on the table, looked at Viktor and asked: “Do you forget a great deal?” “That depends, Frits,” he replied. “We need to talk,” Frits went on, “I need to talk. Let us talk about something.” “I have no objection,” said Viktor. “Let them say whatever they like about you,” Frits continued, “but you are a decent person.” “Don’t exaggerate,” Viktor said.

  Jaap had his arm around Joosje. They were talking quietly. “Exaggeration or no,” said Frits, “the truth will out. You know, Viktor, are you able to forget things? Do you remember that weird business of mine, that very weird business back then? You do still remember that, or don’t you?” “Yes,” said Viktor, “I still remember.” “Good,” Frits said, “but still, you’ve forgotten it completely. You have forgotten, haven’t you? You don’t remember any more. Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t remember it any more.” “Absolutely,” said Viktor.

  “Good,” Frits went on, staring at the table. “Am I keeping you?” “Not in the slightest,” said Viktor. “Perhaps I have told you this before,” said Frits, fingertips pressed together. “It was in March of forty-five, or in February. I think it was February. Once a week, an old man came to eat at our house. Each Saturday, I believe it was. He came a couple of times. And then he did not show up. On Wednesday we heard that he was dead. An acquaintance had gone to visit him. He opened the door and the two of them sat in his room. Then his chest began to hurt, and suddenly he was dead.” “Yes, I heard about that,” Viktor said. “Mrs Schaapskooi,” Frits continued, “once asked my mother whether we couldn’t have a lady, who lived alone, over for dinner. Yes, that was no problem. Three times a week. She was a very skinny little woman. She carried a cane. We were having wheat. Soak it for a few days and then cook it thoroughly, it’s quite tasty. She ate a healthy portion of it and then needed to lie down on the divan. She said: I’m feeling a bit woozy. Then she left. When she got home, she fainted on the stairs. She developed a fever right away. The neighbours fed her water with a teaspoon. Through her teeth. The next morning she had lost consciousness completely, and a few hours later she was dead. They found cupboards full of linen that had never been used. And money, stocks and bonds.”

  “Goodness,” said Jaap, who was now listening in. “Those were the people who ate at your house, am I right?”

  “Then they asked us to feed a sixteen-year-old boy. Yes, my mother says, but only if he came every day. He was a tall, dark boy. Very thin. He was afraid to talk. The first day, he sits down at the table. My father says: Wim—his name was Wim—we had two people who ate with us before, an old man and an old woman. Yes, sir, the boy says. They both died, my father says, and the idea is that you don’t die on us. The boy turned bright red and said: Yes, yes, of course not. He didn’t know which way to look. After dinner he just sat by the window. In the kitchen, my mother asked me: why is he sitting there like that? I told her: the boy was brought up well. They taught him that, when you eat at someone’s house, you don’t simply get up and walk out after dinner. Then she said to him: Wim, you may go if you like. Goodbye, ma’am, goodbye, sir, he says, and he was gone. The next day one of his younger brothers comes to the house. He said: Wim is ill. There goes number three, my father said. The brother stayed for dinner: that way they didn’t have to waste a meal. But the next day Wim had recovered. And he ate with us every day for the duration. When the packages came floating down out of the sky, their family received an extra one, because there were seven of them. Later, in the summer, Wim brought us lettuce from their garden, they had an allotment. And when my brother’s stove cracked, Wim’s father—he is a blacksmith—welded a hoop around it. Very thick, very strong. For free, he wouldn’t accept payment for it. Disinterested assistance. Am I boring you?”

  “No,” said Viktor, “decidedly not. Go on. I am listening.”

  “You see,” Frits said, “had it been up to me, they would not have eaten with us. I was always telling my mother: you’re insane. Before you know it we won’t have anything left. You shouldn’t do it. That’s the way I was. That is the way I am. Isn’t that despicable?” Viktor pursed his lips and shook his head slowly. Jaap had risen to his feet and was standing a few steps from the table, conversing with a tall, skinny man.

  “When it was over,” Frits went on, “we still had dozens of pounds of wheat, kilos of beans and peas. But it is the fear. That is the worst of it.”

  “You are not particularly cheerful this evening,” Viktor said. Frits looked at his watch. “At the tone, the time will be nine thirty,” he said. “There will be a brief, thirty-second intermission, after which our programme will continue.”

  Jaap came back. “We’ll have another one,” he said. “And then we shall take a piss,” said Frits. They drank, went to the lavatories and on their way remained standing beside the dance floor for a moment. All the tables there were occupied as well. The gramophone was playing a foxtrot. Many of the visitors stood and talked on the floor itself, so that the dancers had difficulty making their way without colliding.

  “You do know, don’t you,” Frits said when they walked on, “that everything could be entirely different?” “I haven’t had the opportunity to make a study of that yet,” Jaap said. They stood humming before the porcelain urinals. When they came back and were seated in their chairs, Frits said: “In China, when one saws wood, the main motion is not pushing, the way it is with us, but pulling. When one drives a screw there, one turns it to the left.”

  “There are many strange things afoot,” said Jaap. “Come and sit here,” he called out to the tall man to whom he had been talking only minutes earlier. The man looked for a chair, took one that had remained unguarded for a moment at a nearby table, and sat down with them.

  “Herbert Witlijn,” Jaap said. “No need to shake hands. So tell u
s, how are things?” The man, who looked to be a few years past thirty, wore a brown chequered suit with a grey shirt. His face was sallow, with dark eyes that looked, at the corners, as though they were inflamed with moisture or fatigue. His black hair was pomaded and parted down the middle. He drummed with two fingers on the tabletop, without replying.

  “Do you people believe,” Frits asked, “that it is right for one to live in moderation?” “You’re always asking such deep questions,” Jaap said, “you really should stop that.”

  “My sincerest apologies,” said Frits. “I would not want anyone in this company to find me an annoyance.” He held out his hand to Jaap, then bent over and laid his head on the table. “That noggin of yours takes up far too much space,” Viktor said.

  “Mr Lijnman,” Frits said then, addressing the thin man, “are you not of the opinion that eating meat, if not a sin, should in any case be denounced as being unhealthy?” “I have reservations about that,” the man said, “but I will give it some thought.” Frits peered at the man’s mouth, from which a tooth was missing.

  “Give it some thought,” he said, rapping his knuckles quietly on the table, “give it some thought. That’s what they all say. But that won’t get us anywhere.”

  “What is he talking about?” Joosje asked. “Eating meat won’t kill you, in any case,” Viktor said. “I am familiar with your stance,” Frits went on, shaking Viktor’s hand now. “It is a view that elicits respect, but which is nevertheless—despicable. Because what is it you are saying? You say: will they eat no meat? Fine. For the vegetarians, steamed mackerel will be placed at their disposal.” Filling his cheeks with air, he exhaled.

  “Yes, indeed,” Jaap said, “there is much room for improvement when it comes to our nutrition. A great deal. Very little attention is given it. But whether the eminent Dr van Egters is right, that is the question facing us this evening.”

  “I would like to hear the opinion of our honoured guest,” said Frits. “Mr Lijnman”—he placed his hand on the wrist of him to whom he spoke—“what are your views on nutrition?” “Say something, at least,” Joosje said quietly. “Listen,” said the man, “any number of years ago, at the newspaper, we organized a contest for young people between the ages of something and something. With lots of prizes. A quarter-page announcement on Saturday evening. The assignment was to write an essay on any subject. The winner would receive training as a journalist.”

  “You approach your point by means of a detour,” Frits said, “but that is no objection. What you have to say, that is what matters.”

  “There was a boy from Groningen, or from Drenthe,” the man continued, “who won and came to work at the paper in Amsterdam. He had a room and ate in town, in cafeterias. He worked with us for about nine months, then he fell ill. That happened a few times, in fairly rapid succession. Then he would recover for a few weeks. Then he fell ill again. And about six days later, he died. The doctor said then that what killed him was eating in cafeterias—always that same, badly cooked food.”

  “That is quite something, what you’re telling us there,” said Frits thoughtfully. “I am a layman, but I can tell you right now that the cause of death was salt. Salt is the kidneys’ ruin. Things take place around us. Yet we barely notice them. We have ears but we hear not, eyes but do not see.” He scratched his head. “Isn’t it about time we left?” Joosje asked Viktor quietly. “In a bit,” he replied.

  “Let’s have another,” Jaap said. Arm in arm with Frits, he went to the bar. “It is awfully crowded in here again,” said Frits, after they had emptied their glasses. He took a drink along for the tall man and placed it carefully on the table. He had the sensation that all the guests were screaming at the top of their lungs. “They do scream frightfully loud here,” he said. “I believe the women scream loudest of all. Would it truly be so hard for them to make a little less noise?” He tried to take a few steps, but lost his way entirely and remained leaning against the wall, close to the door, beside a blinking slot machine. Through the smoke, which stung his eyes, he tried to make out the people in the crowd. Someone laid a hand on his shoulder and said softly: “Don’t you worry your head about it, lad, everyone here is feeling exactly the same way.” Frits turned and saw a man with a wrinkled face standing before him. “Thank you kindly,” he said, and shook the stranger’s hand. Then he went back to his table.

  “We must remain friends for ever,” he said, leaning and resting his head in his left hand, “isn’t that right, Jaap? And Viktor? The two of you are dear to my heart in equal measure.” “And you, sir,” he continued, speaking to the tall man, “you I do not know, and therefore it would be wrong to expect any commitment from me. But nothing would displease me more than to have you think that I am pressing for an estrangement. Far from it.” He shook the man’s hand.

  “This gentleman is a thinker, Herbert,” said Jaap, “as am I. But Mr van Egters is a thinker by calling.” He leaned his head against Joosje’s breast. Viktor studied the ceiling.

  “I know very well,” said Frits, “that you, Viktor, you are feeling annoyed no end. But you are a man of comportment. I can appreciate that. I am in the right mood.” “Now in all seriousness,” he said to Joosje and Jaap, “is it not so that most people think too little on those who have died, who have left this earthly bourn? God sees all things.”

  The tall man, it seemed, spotted an acquaintance in the crowd. He stood up and disappeared.

  “What does your watch say, Frits, my boy?” asked Jaap. “It is a quarter past ten,” Frits answered. “Yet still we must keep in mind that God is the beginning and the end of all things. Eating meat is sinful.”

  “That seems to be on your mind lately,” said Viktor. He was cleaning his nails with a stub of matchstick.

  “It is not only that,” said Frits. “If only that were all. But they eat copiously. As God is my witness. They eat fresh white bread in the late evening hours.” “Who?” Joosje asked. “People in general. Our fellow citizens,” Frits replied, leaning back. “They drink coffee in the late evening hours. Everyone knows that is the body’s demise. And the soul is damaged.”

  “The soul is damaged,” said Jaap, sitting up straight. “Don’t misunderstand,” Frits continued. “This is not intended as a rebuke. But I see it. All those whose eyes are not sealed and who look around them must see it.”

  “Not everyone is equally acute,” said Jaap. “That which for us is too simple for words is, for another, a formidable temple of wisdom. Take that cousin of mine, Uuk, for example. You’ve met him, haven’t you?” “Oh yes,” said Frits, “a fine, upstanding fellow. Beyond reproach. As are all your acquaintances. Simple, industrious folk. I say that without insinuation, believe me.” “Of course,” Jaap said, wiping the ash from the table and continuing: “Uuk is certainly not a stupid fellow. But not long ago he let someone palm off a copper ring on him for fifteen guilders.” “You’re jesting,” Frits said. “Tell us more,” said Viktor. “Someone who said he was a seaman and that his ship was leaving in an hour and a half,” said Jaap. “That he was not allowed to take gold on board.”

  “First one laughs,” said Frits, “but it is a hideous thing. One human being cheating another. In full sight of the Creator.”

  “He is a very strange fellow. Not dumb at all,” Jaap went on, “but there are some things he doesn’t understand. He’s walking down the street, someone taps on the window. He goes in right away. It was a whore, of course, but he thought she was calling him in to chase away a mouse or to help her move a cupboard. Wonders never cease.”

  “We have made a mess,” said Frits, pointing at the tabletop. “We are very uncouth.” “Let’s go watch them dance,” Jaap said, “we might learn something.”

  They got up and elbowed their way through. Viktor was in front; Jaap, Joosje and Frits followed in single file. They forced their way to a corner of the dance floor and sat down on a long bench along the wall.

  “We are too old to take part in this,” said Frits. “T
he decline of Western civilization. Still, it is wonderful, being young.”

  “Shall we have another?” Jaap asked. “No, better not,” said Frits, “wait a bit.” “A cigarette then,” said Jaap, offering his around.

  A lady sat down at a grand piano, not far from them. The gramophone stopped and the couples on the dance floor waited. “Come on,” people shouted. “This is that old cowboy song ‘Don’t Fence Me In’,” said Jaap, when the pianist started in. He bobbed his head and neck like a bird at water. “When I was little,” Frits said, “I could never stand piano music. A human being is a sensitive creature.” Jaap was leaning against Joosje now and had stopped moving.

  “Listen,” Frits said to Viktor, putting an arm around his shoulder. “Am I too grave?” “Gravity from time to time can do no harm,” Viktor answered. “Do you believe that science offers any significant meaning?” Frits asked. Viktor remained silent.

  The pianist started in on another melody. “I know this one,” said Frits, “this is ‘Give Me Five More Minutes’. A delightful tune.” He leaned forward and bounced his fists on his knees to the rhythm. “Every man has his story,” he said, “but it is seldom an important one.”

  “Have you met Boomgaard?” Viktor asked. “He knows a lot about philosophy.” “Boomgaard, no,” said Frits, “not a familiar name. I’m afraid not.” “No?” Viktor marvelled. “He is a lecturer, but he also teaches secondary school. Classical languages. At Berends Gymnasium. He’s been there for about six years now. You went there, didn’t you?”

  “That was before my time,” said Frits. “How old are you, exactly?” Viktor asked. “You almost have to have met him.”

  “Twenty-three I am now,” said Frits. He stuck his index finger in the air. “But don’t forget,” he said. “I left school in fourth class. Not because I was too stupid, though.”