At least they now knew what her plans were, though it was still not clear why she had come to Leuven in the first place.
Because she was fluent in Flemish, Jela could follow the Afrikaans of the email reasonably well. The gist of it was that the Caz woman was on her way back to Ghent and from there to South Africa.
Thank goodness, the daughter had replied immediately. Of course Jela could not read the emails this Caz sent, only the answers. But the daughter’s reply had included the original mail. Very handy.
He only hoped the Caz woman would still try to contact Ammie Pauwels before she left. He had to get to Ghent as soon as possible. When she arrived there tomorrow, they had to know where they stood.
Eighteen
Friday, September 26
Caz
Ghent
Strange that Tieneke had not replied to her message, Caz thought as she waited in front of the Ghent-Dampoort station building for bus number three. She would undoubtedly be relieved to hear that Caz was on her way back to South Africa.
Caz had her two euros ready when the bus stopped. By this time she knew how long it would take to get to the Ghent Bruges stop. Quite the seasoned traveller, aren’t you, she mocked herself, smiling at the thought.
But she would probably never get used to relying on public transport. Not that she would dare to drive a car over here, even if she had one at her disposal. The courteousness of the local drivers totally intimidated her.
In South Africa she considered herself a good driver compared to the rest, but here she would be terrified of making a mistake. Driving on the right side of the road further complicated matters. Especially around traffic circles, and there were hordes of them.
She got off at the stop and went into the corner shop. Chocolates for Tieneke and a bottle of wine for herself. On the spur of the moment she took a six-pack of kriek to the cash register. Tieneke liked it, after all. Maybe it would improve her mood.
Babette recognized her and smiled. “You’ve been away for a few days?”
Caz nodded and returned the smile. “I was in Doel and Leuven, but I’m going back home shortly.” See, she told herself, it wasn’t so hard to open up to people.
Babette gave her her change. “I’m glad you were in time to see Fien before she passed on.”
Caz nodded, at a loss what to reply.
“I see the two tenants in Tieneke’s rental home left early this morning. I was under the impression the older one was going to stay longer. Tieneke said something about a month and it definitely hasn’t been that long.”
“Tieneke’s rental home?”
“Yes, the house next door that she rents out. Clever to do it on a weekly basis. Erdem of the B&B on the corner has to have the linen washed three, four times a week as the guests come and go. On the other hand, I suppose he makes more money.”
Tieneke owned two adjoining houses. That was news. Goes to show what you can do if you lead a sober life. Valuable assets, considering Tieneke didn’t have a job. Property couldn’t be cheap. Especially if you converted it to rand.
“I must say,” Babette continued, “personally I don’t know whether I’d like African tenants. Two men, besides. But it’s Tieneke’s decision and money is money. I know her grandmother, who left the house Tieneke lives in to Fien, would turn in her grave. She wouldn’t have approved of black neighbors, not even temporarily.”
And Caz had thought racism didn’t exist in Belgium. Well, well.
“Like Fien, she lived to a ripe old age. I remember Fien’s mother well. I was pertrified of her. Cranky, like you wouldn’t believe. My mother told me Fien and Hans lived with her at first, but a year or so into the marriage the atmosphere became unbearable. That was why they left for South Africa. The old lady couldn’t stand Hans. Maybe because he was a Dutchman.”
Now she had a clearer picture of Fien’s parental home. Also a victim, it seemed. Caz put the chocolates and wine into her backpack and hooked her fingers through the six-pack of kriek.
At Tieneke’s home she pressed the doorbell and faint ly heard it ring inside. All the curtains were drawn, as usual. Next door as well. No movement this time. Not in the house on the right either, but she had never seen movement there.
She still found the rows of attached houses odd. The rectangular strips of garden at the back, separated by neatly clipped box hedges and ending against the back walls of the garages, as well.
They were quite impractical too, especially in a country known for its copious rains, cold winters and snow. You had to walk the length of the garden to reach the garage, and if you wanted to pick up someone in front of the house, as Tieneke had done, you had to drive halfway around the block to get to the front door.
Caz rang the bell again and turned to look at the shop. Babette was smoking outside, her eyes on the passers-by. No wonder she knew so much about everybody.
There was still no reaction from Tieneke. Caz’s fingers hurt from the weight of the kriek. Tieneke might be at the back or in the bathroom. Or asleep. Caz waited a while before trying again.
Still no reaction.
Damn. She had texted Tieneke, telling her she would be there just after lunch. It was three now. Could Tieneke have gone out? But why not send a message to say when she’d be back?
Caz put down the kriek and rubbed her aching fingers before pressing the bell again. Still no reaction. She looked over her shoulder again, but Babette had gone inside.
What now? There was no restaurant close by where she could sit and wait. Not that she knew of anyway.
Caz took out her cellphone. No, no message from Tieneke. She hoped her phone wasn’t on the blink. Lately the battery didn’t last long and she thought the phone felt warmer than it should.
She sent another text message. Tieneke, I’m here at your house. When will you be home?
Caz frowned. She could swear she’d heard a sound inside the house just after she had sent the message. Tieneke?
Yes, there it was again. A soft ping. It sounded as if it were coming from Tieneke’s bedroom right above the front door.
Bloody hell. Tieneke had gone somewhere and left her cellphone at home. That would explain everything. She should have let Tieneke know last night that she was coming, but she didn’t think it would be a problem to wait until this morning.
Caz consoled herself with the thought that Tieneke cooked supper every night at five and ate at half past six on the dot. She had kept it up even after Fien’s death. A two-hour wait at most. But where could she go?
Or did Tieneke leave on purpose because she didn’t want Caz to stay the night? But why not say so? Maybe getting other lodgings for the night wasn’t a bad idea anyway. Yes, it might be the best solution.
Caz walked past the shop, to the house on the corner opposite the bus stop. Maybe she would be lucky, like in Leuven.
It took a while after she had rung the bell, but at last there were footsteps. The same man who had welcomed his two guests the week before opened the door.
“Good day?”
“Hello. I believe you rent out rooms?”
He nodded. “But only through airbnb.”
Was she imagining it or was he looking her up and down? She remembered there had also been a kind of screening process before Jennie had accepted her. She’d had to send a copy of her passport by email and provide reasons for her visit. Fortunately she had a copy on her laptop as part of her communication with the travel agent on the subject of extra medical cover.
“My sister lives further down the street, but she’s not home. I urgently need a room for the night. You don’t happen to have one available?” Oh shit, it’s Friday, she realized. Weekend.
“I do, but the minimum stay is two nights. And we’ll have to go through airbnb. I don’t want to end up being blacklisted. They send me a lot of clients.” She seemed to have passed the initial test.
&
nbsp; “That’s okay.” Maybe she should just stay there until she managed to change her flight.
“Very well. The name is Erdem.” He pushed the handle of her suitcase into the slot and picked it up. “You’re lucky. I had a cancellation, so I can put you in the room with the roof terrace. The other one is rather small.”
“I’m Caz. Thank you so much, Erdem.” Only now did she realize he had quite a dark complexion. Turkish? Could be.
He pointed at the kriek. “Shall I put those in the fridge?”
“That would be nice.” To hell with Tieneke. She wished she had moved in here long ago.
Erdem showed her the kitchen and the coffee and breakfast cereals, put away the kriek and led her up a flight of stairs. The room was modern, airy and tidy, the terrace sizeable.
“Can I bring you anything to drink? Coffee? A Coke?” he asked kindly after he had put the suitcase on the bed.
“Anything cold would be lovely, thanks.”
When he left, Caz walked out onto the terrace and saw a table and chairs and a few potted plants.
The Coke Zero Erdem brought a few moments later was ice cold. When she had quenched her thirst, she took out her cellphone again to let Tieneke know she had found a place to stay overnight. Maybe Tieneke had been at home and just didn’t feel like having Caz stay over. Anyhow, even if she wasn’t home and had left her phone behind, Tieneke was bound to get all the messages when she returned.
For the time being she could just relax.
Luc
Damme
The moment he reached home, Luc got into the shower, then put on a pair of jeans and pulled on a fresh shirt. He rolled up the sleeves. It was wonderful weather for the time of year.
Unlike other evenings, he immediately poured himself a glass of wine and sat down on his patio with the cellphone in his hand. It was a spare phone with an extra SIM card he had never used before. Maybe he was being overcautious, but rather safe than sorry.
He still didn’t understand how Caz Colijn had got onto Lieve, but the fact remained that she did. And she was looking for him. If she was looking for Ammie and found out that Lieve was Ammie’s carer, why would she ask that he contact her? He could only assume that she didn’t know who Lieve was, didn’t know where Ammie was, but that she knew Ammie was his stepmother. How did she know his name? And where did she get Lieve’s number?
It was no use speculating. The point was: should he contact her or not?
If not, he should put the bloody phone down. If he was going to, he should decide on an approach.
He took a sip of wine. In vino veritas, they say, but wine couldn’t give answers or make decisions on his behalf.
Received message from LL but Luc DeReu not available, he typed tentatively in English. Okay then, how would she interpret it? She would certainly ask herself how the so-called messenger knew about Lieve’s message? Did it matter? Probably.
I am LDR’s colleague, he continued. Why do you want to contact him? Maybe I can help?
He thought for a while about an alias, decided on TU. The small screen turned black while he hesitated. After the third sip of wine he pressed the send button and immediately regretted it.
Complications. He wasn’t a man for complications and this could only turn into a complication. Couldn’t he just have left it? Verdorie, what now?
Half an hour later, just as the rice was coming to the boil, his phone beeped. In his haste to pick it up, the spoon fell from his hand and drops of the curry mixture he had been stirring spattered over the floor. He hardly noticed.
It’s personal. Would be glad if you could give him the number so he can contact me himself. Thanks. CC.
Luc chewed on his upper lip. How should he proceed? He raked his fingers through his hair. He was badly in need of a haircut. He had planned to go before the opening ceremony but didn’t get round to it. His hair grew as though he shampooed with manure.
Know Luc very well, he finally replied. He’s out of reach at present. Would like to help. TU.
He sent the message and watched the screen as if he had suddenly grown deaf and wouldn’t be able to hear the sound of the phone. Ten minutes later there was still no message. Only the smell of burned rice.
The rice! Verdikkeme!
Caz
Ghent
How could she tell a bloody stranger she wanted to find out whether her birth mother was alive? She didn’t know Luc DeReu from a bar of soap, let alone his colleague.
Wasn’t it a bit too kind to stand in for a friend and colleague in a personal matter? Must be a woman. Men aren’t usually so willing to offer help on behalf of someone else.
But something didn’t make sense. Unless TU was a girlfriend trying to find out whether DeReu was cheating on her. Had she caused trouble for the man? Lieve Luykens would probably have said it was a woman who had left the message for DeReu.
Damn. She should have let it go. Maybe this was a sign to let sleeping dogs lie. On the other hand, if she had received a message like that, meant for the man in her life, she might also have been concerned. Not that she had any personal experience of being in a close relationship.
A knock on her door made her look up. “Caz?”
“Come in, Erdem.”
He put his head around the door. “I’m going to Ghent and I’ll be going past the Korenmarkt. I can drop you there, if you want. You must be hungry, and there aren’t any restaurants around here. Only takeaway joints.”
Caz made a quick decision. “That would be nice, thanks.”
He smiled. “I’ll pick you up at the front in five minutes, okay?”
“Thanks.” She ran her fingers through her curls, applied some lipstick and sprayed perfume on her wrists. It would have to do. She would take a shower later.
When they drove past Tieneke’s house, it was pitch dark. Not even a chink of light showed through the drawn curtains at the windows on either side of the front door. Strange. Tieneke always left the light on in the hallway. Even during the day.
Caz shivered when she thought of that awful little hallway. With the perpetually drawn curtains, apparently to shield them from people looking in, it was like a gateway to depression.
Luc
Damme
He had felt like dumping the blackened pot along with the rice. Luckily he didn’t. Now it was almost clean again after a heavy bout of scouring and scrubbing. A short soak with a bleach solution and it would be good to go again.
The floor was gleaming. He’d run the mop over the entire surface. Now he was ravenous. An omelette, he decided. The curry mixture meant for the rice could serve as filling.
Bloody cellphone. Bloody woman who started something, then simply withdrew. As if he had time to waste.
Better to concentrate on his work. After his partial breakthrough with the students today he wanted to go through his lectures for Monday again. With the thrill of success still fresh, he wanted to try to put some life into them. Try new, exciting approaches.
He probably shouldn’t expect youngsters to be as moved by the absurdity and tragedy of greed, ambition and the lust for power as he was. They didn’t understand that kind of thing. Not in its practical form, anyhow. He had to make it real for them so that they could understand their own greed and ambition. Understand where the lust for power came from. Recognize that its seed nestles in each of us. Realize how it can escalate once it germinates. Only then might they begin to understand why those three factors were responsible for the greatest tragedies and crimes against humanity.
The omelette turned out perfect. The curry mixture had drawn a little water but it wasn’t too bad. Actually quite delicious.
Content, at least physically, he took out his laptop.
Moments later he was staring despondently at the title of his lecture on the screen. Joseph Kony as strategist and militarist, seen against the ba
ckground of the failed Operation Lightning Thunder of 2008.
Yes, indeed. A topic that would make every student sit up and take notice. They probably couldn’t wait to hear how a monster they’d never heard of had warded off an attack planned with surgical precision by an entire alphabet of acronyms. In a country none of them was ever likely to visit.
Luc inserted a footnote: Who is Joseph Kony? And a second one: Why and how did he orchestrate one of the worst ever reigns of terror in countries like the DRC and Uganda? Why has no one been able to stop him?
He deleted the second part of the footnote and wrote a third footnote to himself: In the title you give away the outcome of the operation. If it were a novel, would you have wanted to continue reading, knowing the conclusion?
He jumped when the cellphone at his elbow announced the arrival of a text message. CC, he read on the screen. Verdikkeme. Just as he was making headway. With a sigh he opened the message.
I don’t know Luc DeReu at all. But I had hoped he would know whether my birth mother, his stepmother, was still alive. Her name is Ammie Pauwels. I think even a good friend of his won’t be able to help me with that. But thanks for the offer. CC.
Caz
Ghent
There. She hoped she had reassured the woman that Caz Colijn held no threat for her.
Caz had just paid for her pea soup and kriek at a restaurant situated some way out of the crush when her cellphone pinged again. Why do you want to know? I see from your number you’re in South Africa.
Caz frowned. The tone was almost rude after the earlier friendliness. A jealous, suspicious lover? Presently in Belgium. For a short while. Only found out here I didn’t grow up with my biological parents. Think it’s logical for anyone to try and find out whether the biological parent you’ve just found out about is still alive. LDR was the sensible place to start. Sorry to have troubled you.
Now she sounded peeved, she realized after she had sent the message. Be that as it may. She got up, slung the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, waved at the genial owner who was trading jokes at one of the tables, and headed for the Korenmarkt bus stop.
Sacrificed Page 20
