The glass of the veranda was all steamed up. He dusted down his trousers, looked at his hand, which was slightly grazed.
He felt his way along the garden fence for the last few feet of his walk back to the house, breathing heavily. He peed against the fence, holding his penis with one hand.
After several unsuccessful attempts, he found the keyhole. He crawled up the steep stairs to his room flat on his front, so as not to run any risks, holding the basket up in the air with one hand. He just managed to hang his new shirt on one of the coat hangers and put his trousers over the chair. Then he fell heavily into bed.
After breakfast on Sunday morning he went to church. There was no Catholic service, so Scholten went to the Gereformeerde Kerk. The bare church and the plain liturgy left him cold for a long time; he looked around for Anna Pattenier, didn’t see her, let his thoughts wander, sank back into the dream of his afternoon sleep the day before.
But at some point during one of the solemn, hoarsely sung hymns it caught up with him after all. Tears came into his eyes, he bowed his head, his shoulders shook. What he had done descended on him like a huge heavy weight, threatening to press him into the ground. He felt it at his throat, on his chest, on his back.
His lips moved, he spoke silently in despair and remorse. “Hilde, Hilde, forgive me, what have I done, dear God, forgive me, I must have been mad, I didn’t know what I was doing.” Fear shook him, hot and cold shivers ran down his back. Tears fell on his clasped hands.
He saw Hilde before him, fallen from the steps, grazed all over. Head injuries, yes, and some broken bones, and then lying in the water of the lake for almost two days. He put both hands over his face. Pity tormented him, compunction, remorse, yes, and a deep sense of horror. “What have I done?”
He did not calm down again until the end of the service. Composed now, he said several Our Fathers and Hail Marys, dedicating them to Hilde. Only when the congregation was leaving the church did he conclude his prayer. He prayed: “Dear God, don’t forsake me. Save me. And give her poor soul eternal peace. Amen. And save me. Amen.”
Walking slowly, head bent, he went back. He fetched the cat from his room, put it on its leash and walked up and down outside the house with it. After the cat had done its business he took it upstairs again. He wanted to be alone now, all alone.
He climbed up the dune and was going to climb down to the beach but hesitated. He looked round. Then he went back to the house. “The poor animal can’t help it.” He fetched the cat and took it for a walk along the beach and through the dunes.
At twelve-thirty he went into the café on the beach promenade with his basket. He had decided it would be better to have lunch before starting to drive back.
Anna Pattenier was not as busy as the evening before. She even sat down at Scholten’s table with him for a moment. She did not get up until the landlady called to her from the kitchen. “Anneke!” He watched her walk away.
Later she came back and stood by him for a while. She folded her arms under her breasts and leaned against the side of the table, which pressed into her thigh.
Scholten cut a piece off his rump steak and said her job must be very stressful. She said yes, it was, but very interesting too with all the different guests, and it was all right today and probably wouldn’t be so bad this evening, Sundays were never very busy. And tomorrow was her day off.
Scholten chewed, nodded, said: “Wonderful.” He swallowed and asked what she did on her day off. She said tomorrow morning she’d be going into Amsterdam, she wanted to do some shopping, but she hoped to be back by the afternoon, and then she’d lie in the bathtub, have a really good bubble bath, lots and lots of bubbles, she always did that on her day off, and then she’d spoil herself, she usually didn’t even get dressed again after her bath, she just lounged around in her dressing gown, didn’t go out of doors, and in the evening she read for a bit or watched television.
Scholten nodded, cut another piece off the steak and asked when she was going to Amsterdam in the morning. She said, well, unfortunately rather early, she had to get the nine o’clock bus at the latest or it was so crowded, and she didn’t like that.
Scholten chewed, nodded. He piled lettuce on his fork. He was about to convey the fork to his mouth, then stopped and put it down.
Coming to a sudden decision, he dismissed all the irksome, worrying, frightening ideas lying in wait behind him. He said if she liked he could give her a lift to Amsterdam in his car.
She said: “Oh.” And then she said oh, but she couldn’t accept. Scholten said of course she could accept; he’d like to give her a lift. She asked if he had business in Amsterdam himself. He said not exactly, but that made no difference. He smiled. He said: “I’m a free man, after all. No one can tell me what to do, understand?”
She said she’d have to think it over, decide whether she could accept. He said there was nothing to think over, he was happy to do it, and if she liked he’d go shopping with her, or wait while she did her shopping, and then he could give her a lift back too.
She said no, no, he really mustn’t. And what had she done to deserve it?
Scholten looked up from his plate. He smiled and said: “I like you.”
She laughed, turned her head half away, looked sideways at him. “Herr Scholten, I think you are a great Casanova!” she said in Dutch.
Scholten laughed, raised his glass and took a long draught of beer, looked at her over the rim of the glass.
She came back to his table a couple more times. They agreed that he would pick her up at the entrance to the side street where she lived at quarter past nine. He left the café at three, slightly drunk.
He went back to his room. Lay on the bed. He refused to think about all the things he must do to avert trouble and all possible complications. After ten minutes he fell asleep, relaxed.
He got up at six, took the cat for a long walk, went to the café for supper at seven-thirty. Anna Pattenier was busy, but that didn’t trouble him. He watched her walking up and down, paid her compliments when she came over to his table. She came over quite often.
She came even when his glass was still full.
When he felt ready for bed he paid and left. He took the cat for another little walk. There was a clear starry sky above the dunes, but in the west a few silvery wisps of mist rose over the sea.
In the dark room, the sinister thing made its way up to him again. Scholten tossed and turned, plumped up the pillow, mopped the sweat from his brow. After a while he leaned over to the end of the bed, picked up the cat and cuddled it. He fell asleep to the sound of its purring.
25
He got up in good time on Monday morning. After breakfast he took the cat out. Half an hour later he brought it back to the room. He put it down on the bed, turned back again. The cat was standing there looking at him, waving its tail. He whispered: “I’ll be back soon, Manny, you can’t come with me now, be a good boy, I’ll be back soon, understand?” The cat mewed and jumped off the bed. He quickly closed the door.
He looked at his watch. Eight-thirty. He climbed downstairs and knocked at the living-room door. The old lady was sitting in an armchair doing crochet. He asked if he could make a phone call to Germany; he’d give her three gulden, it wouldn’t take long. The old lady nodded. “Yes, yes, goed, goed.”
He dialled the firm’s office number. He had to dial it three times before he got through. Rosa Thelen answered. He said: “Rosie? Hello, Rosie. I can’t come in to work today.”
Rosa cried: “For heaven’s sake, Herr Scholten, where are you? We’ve been so worried. We called your home, and no one answered, and then we called Herr Wallmann’s weekend house, and no one answered there either. Where are you?”
“In Holland.”
“Where? Holland? What are you doing there?”
“It happened all of a sudden. Listen, Rosie, I can’t talk very long, it’s a bit difficult.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not at all well. I was taken ill here yesterday.”
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br /> “For goodness’ sake, what’s the matter with you?”
“It’s my heart and my circulation and so on. But I’m beginning to feel better. I think I’ll be able to come home tomorrow, but I can’t make it today. Tell Büttgenbach, would you?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Right, Rosie, then . . .”
“Wait a moment, Herr Scholten, wait a moment! Tell me the address, so at least we know where you are.”
Scholten hesitated.
Rosa said: “Herr Scholten? Where are you?”
He said: “In Heemswijk.”
“What?”
“Heemswijk. Everyone here knows it. Not far from Amsterdam.”
“And your address?”
“I’m not sure of the address exactly.”
“Then at least tell me the phone number.”
Scholten broke out in a sweat.
Rosa said: “We must be able to get in touch and make sure you’re all right.”
He read out the phone number.
Rosa said: “Right, I’ve got that.”
Scholten said: “I must ring off, Rosie. And the doctor said I wasn’t to get up again today. I only got out of bed to phone you.”
“Well, you go right back to bed again. I’ll tell Herr Büttgenbach at once.”
“See you, Rosie.”
“Herr Scholten! Just a moment. What about your wife? Is she at least all right so that she can look after you?”
“Yes, yes, everything’s okay. See you, Rosie.”
“See you, Herr Scholten! Look after yourself!”
Scholten hung up. He mopped the sweat from his brow. The old woman was looking at him with interest.
Scholten said: “Listen, Granny. Me ill. Verstaan? I go to bed.”
The old lady looked at him, silently moving her lips.
Scholten said: “Listen. I ill.” He pointed to his breast with his finger, then placed one hand on his forehead, the other on his heart and moaned. “I in bed.” He put both hands together, laid his head sideways on them. “No phone.” He shook his head, made a vigorous gesture of rejection. “No phone!”
The old lady nodded, moved her lips intently. Suddenly she burst into loud laughter. “Ah, yes, yes, I understand!” she said in Dutch. “You’re sick! I understand. No phone!” She laughed again and nodded. “Yes, yes!”
Relieved, Scholten took out his wallet, gave her a five-gulden note, said: “That’s right, thank you, Granny. Dank u wel.”
“Alstublieft, meneer.” She laughed and nodded.
Scholten went to the bank. He made out a cheque for three hundred marks and exchanged them for gulden. At ten past nine he parked opposite the side street. Five minutes later he saw Anna Pattenier walking down the street with a firm tread. She was wearing boots that fitted her calves snugly and a coat with a little fur collar. Scholten’s heart beat faster.
Amsterdam was fresh and clean. Scholten navigated his way through the crowds of people in the shopping centre at Anna Pattenier’s side, walking very upright, his head held high. He cracked jokes. Once Anna stopped and shook with laughter.
They went into three department stores, two pharmacists, a perfumery and three boutiques. Around eleven he bought her a bottle of scent in the perfumery. It was one she had pushed away because it was too expensive for her. She didn’t want to accept it, but he told the salesgirl to pack it up and paid in cash.
Around one o’clock he wrote a cheque for 268 gulden in the last boutique. Anna had tried several dresses on, he had sat on a small curved chair outside the changing room, casting a sideways glance at it now and then, as if by chance. Through the gap beside the curtain he had seen her bare shoulder, and it looked as if she were wearing a black bra.
He had been asked what he thought about the dresses she tried on, and he had said he thought the green one suited her best. Anna was pleased, because she liked the green one best too, but she hadn’t been quite sure whether it looked good on her.
Scholten rose from his chair while the salesgirl was hanging the other dresses up, went over to Anna and asked in a low voice if he could pay for the dress, he’d like to give it to her as a present. Anna said no, no, no, no, absolutely out of the question, she gestured with both hands and shook her head, but he wasn’t giving way, after all, the salesgirl was standing there with the dress over her arm, smiling, and then Anna gave in, she said all right, but she must buy him a present too.
Out in the street Anna suddenly stopped, took hold of both his ears, kissed him on the mouth and said: “Jupp, je bent een schat!”
“I’m a what? A cat?”
She was convulsed with laughter. “No, no, not a cat. Een schat! A treasure, it means, a darling.”
Scholten felt happy. He asked if he could call her Anneke. She wondered how he knew the name. He said: “I heard the landlady in the café call you that.” She said only her friends could call her Anneke. And the landlady. And Scholten.
Scholten said it was about time for a good lunch. She said no, no, no, not yet. She dragged him on, and soon they were standing outside the window of a gentleman’s outfitters. She pointed to a green pullover and said it would suit him very well, and it went with her dress too. Scholten said: “No, certainly not. Anyway, I have plenty of pullovers.”
She insisted. In the end she dragged him into the shop and bought him a shirt, blue with a very thin stripe. She found a tie to go with it. The tie was very expensive, and so was the shirt. Scholten stood there in happy silence as she paid. His eyes were moist.
She took his arm. As they left the shop, she asked: “Jupp, are you married?”
Scholten said: “I’m a widower.”
They ate in a good restaurant. After the soup Scholten reached for Anneke’s hand and stroked it. She smiled at him.
They were back beside the sea at about four. The sky had clouded over. Scholten parked opposite the side street. He took Anna’s packages and followed her. She stopped outside the door of a little house with low windows.
“Another cup of coffee? Or a cup of tea?”
“Coffee would be nice. And a schnapps if you have any.” She laughed. Still in her coat, she put the coffee water on the gas, poured two glasses of schnapps. She took off her coat, threw it over the sofa and dropped into an armchair, stretching her legs.
Scholten looked around. “It’s comfortable here.”
“You like it?”
“Wonderful.”
She put one leg over the other and began tugging at her boot.
“Here, let me do that,” he said. She stretched the leg out to him. He took hold of the boot, pulled. He looked nervously at the window. A woman was walking down the street, almost within reach. The curtain left three-quarters of the window clear to anyone’s view.
He said: “Can we do it when people outside can look in?”
She laughed. “You’re only taking my boots off. That won’t interest anyone.”
He pulled at the boot again. When it was off, he put a hand on her foot and said: “But I’d like to do more.”
Anna laughed. She sighed. “Jupp, we’re too old for that sort of thing. And much too sensible.”
“Too old, are we? Draw the curtain, and then I’ll show you.”
She laughed. “It’s not the kind of curtain you can draw.”
He took her second boot off, stood up, tried the curtain. “So it isn’t.” He looked at her. “Then let’s go into the bedroom.”
“I thought you were a nice man.”
“I am. It’s just because I’m so nice I’d like to go into the bedroom with you.”
She laughed. “You stay here and drink your coffee and your schnapps while I put on something else.” She stood up, took her boots and coat and went into the back room. She left the door ajar.
He clasped his hands between his knees, pressed them together, swayed his torso to and fro, smiling with delight. He had to stop himself shouting out loud for happiness. He took another sip of coffee. Then he stood up and went to
the door of the back room. He knocked.
“Yes?”
“Can I come in?”
He heard her laugh. Then she sighed. “Jupp, what did I say to you? You must be sensible.”
He gently opened the door.
“I am. It wouldn’t be very sensible to stay in there drinking coffee.”
Her feet were bare; she was holding a dressing gown in front of her breasts. He saw her naked shoulders, her hips, part of her thigh.
He said, his throat constricted: “Put that dressing gown down. Just for a moment.”
She looked at him, shook her head. “Jupp, I’m not pretty. And I’m much too old.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense. You’re a wonderful woman.” He went over to her, placed his hands on her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and cool. He swallowed. “You’re driving me crazy.” He drew her towards him.
She held the dressing gown tight in both hands. She put her head on his shoulder. He heard her breathing faster and deeper. His excitement grew. He ran his hands over her bare back.
She said, into the hollow of his throat: “Does it always have to be so quick?”
“How do you mean, quick? Life is short. Who knows how much longer we have to live?” He massaged her back, tried to bring his hands forward and get at her breasts. She pressed the dressing gown to her body.
He said in a voice that he hardly recognized as his own: “What are you doing?” He cleared his throat. “Do you want to drive me even crazier?”
She raised her head from his shoulder and looked at him. “Why don’t you even give me a kiss?”
He kissed her. A sound escaped his throat as he felt her return the kiss, tenderly, very carefully.
He put his fingers inside her panties, took her bottom in both hands and pressed it to him, beginning to move his lower body.
She removed her lips from his, laid her face against his throat again. Her breathing was heavy.
He suddenly felt and heard her sobbing against his shoulder. He said in a strangely small, hoarse voice, “What’s the matter?” He went on moving his lower body, trying to get one of his hands round to the front of the panties.
When she sobbed again, violently, he stopped. He leaned his head and chest back and looked at her. “What is it?”
Black Ice Page 17
