In the afternoon I made my way to Werther's house. It was freezing a little but there wasn't a breath of wind. Standing in the porch, I didn't ring the bell immediately but studied the green painted door. Above the little nameplate which read 'J. Nieland', there was a circular enamel sign with a five-armed, green star surrounded by the inscription Esperanto Parolata. I listened at the letter box but heard nothing other than the rustle of silence. The draught brushing my face conveyed a vague, indeterminate scent I believed never to have smelled before; it reminded me of new curtains, matting or upholstery, but with something unknown mixed in. 'This scent is made by magic power and is kept in a bottle,' I said inwardly. I rang the bell.
A large woman with a broad, pale face answered the door. She remained standing at the top of the stairs without saying or asking a thing. 'This afternoon's Saturday afternoon,' I called out, 'and I could come. I've come for Werther.' The woman did not move but merely nodded a moment. I ascended the stairs. When I arrived at the top she still didn't say anything but only looked at me, searchingly.
She looked odd. Her wrinkled, oldish-looking face had a mouth which apparently was unable to close completely: coarse, yellow teeth remained visible. She had little eyes, like a chicken's or a pigeon's; these stared deep from their sockets and moved almost imperceptibly. The upper half of her head was surrounded by drab, fluffy hair.
'I'm Werther's mother,' she said suddenly, smiled, and all of a sudden she made a few tripping dance steps on the floor; I thought for a moment she'd tripped up, but this couldn't be the case. The landing was dusky, doors with yellow frosted glass opening out on to it. For an instant I thought the scent was being generated to stupefy me and lock me up in a chest.
'You've got a sore finger, I see,' she said. 'I'd better take off your coat carefully.' While she was helping me, she again made those strange steps. 'And who are you?' she asked. 'A friend of Werther's?' She caught hold of me by the neck. 'I'm Elmer; I could come this afternoon, Werther said so,' I said hoarsely. I couldn't go down any longer as Werther's mother was standing in front of the stairwell.
Werther said that, did he now?' she said. 'I no longer have a say. You're naughty rascals. Are you naughty sometimes, too?' 'I don't know,' I said softly. 'You don't know, do you?' she asked, taking me by the shoulders, squeezing them and giving me a few mild slaps on my bum. Then she pushed me on ahead of her, into the kitchen.
Here, Werther was standing in front of the windows of the veranda door, looking out. With a little fork, he was eating bottled mussels from a dish. 'I'm Elmer; you know me, I was coming,' I said quickly. We had to build the windmill.'
The kitchen was very bare. There was only a small wooden table standing in it.
Without replying, Werther continued to spear mussels and eat them. 'Their little trunk-thingies are the nicest,' he said, holding up a mussel with a pale, trailing appendage. 'I eat them last.'
'Is his trunk-thingy the nicest?' his mother asked, who had remained standing at the kitchen door. 'And you eat it all? How mean. How would you like it if I ate the nicest bit of you?' She smiled and snorted. Werther stared at her for a moment and then he began to giggle.
Werther's mother gave me a fork. 'Have as many as you like,' she said. 'You can take off the trunk-thingy if you don't like it.' At this, Werther laughed loudly. I speared a mussel, but in bringing it up I twisted it round into a position that prevented a trail from hanging down and brought it quickly to my mouth. It didn't taste nice to me and I now focussed on fishing out bits of onion. His mother followed my movements.
'Werther, we've got to start on the windmill,' I said, for I wanted to get out on to the veranda. He did not reply. 'If there happens to be someone who's good at building windmills, you've got to make use of it,' I went on. 'It's stupid not to make a start in that case. Someone who knows a lot about windmills should become the leader at once.' I spoke softly because his mother was listening. Werther asked whether we could get down to some work on the veranda.
'You can't,' she said curtly. 'I don't want woodwork and mess there, what with all the muck you walk into the house.'
'When you've left the kitchen we'll do it anyway perhaps,' said Werther. 'Indeed?' she asked. 'Then you need to be punished barebotty again, and your nice little friend too.' Werther produced the beginnings of a smile but then he looked down at the floor. His mother came towards me a little and said, loudly: 'Elmer,' - it surprised me that she had remembered my name so soon - 'they're such rascals: real scallywags, that's what they are.'
She took a piece of grubby white cardboard - presumably the bare left-overs of a calendar - from the fireplace, turned it over and in front of the window she began to decipher a text written down on it in ink. 'At the time, it has to be five years ago at least, I used to write down what they did, now and then,' she said. She then began to read out loud:
'While I'm in the kitchen I hear Werther in the garden. Quite so. He's there with Martha. He's on the swing. Then she wants to get on again, and when she's on it, he wants to get on again. Such teasing!'
'We were living in Tuindorp Oostzaan at the time,' she remarked by-the-by. 'Have you ever been there?' 'No, I've never been there but I do know where it is,' I said, carefully. She read on:
'There's snow everywhere so no shortage of pranks. They're terrible squabblers. Werther is the strongest, for Martha gets it rubbed in the most. She's made to taste defeat. I stand in the kitchen and I hear and see it all, though they don't think I do. I see it all, believe you me. Though they don't think I do, the little devils.'
Her eyesight had to be poor for she held the cardboard right up close to her eyes. She scoured ahead rapidly and continued:
'Now it's summer. Everything's in full flower. Werther's off to the swimming baths with Martha. Yesterday they did their swimming dry, in the bedroom. He was given a pair of swimming trunks, blue ones. Proud of them as anything, he was!'
Here the text appeared to have ended. Silence fell. Werther looked out. His mother put the cardboard back, halted for a moment, and all of a sudden she said as she looked at the table: 'I liked writing that down. It's handy 'cause you can read it again some time later.'
'When was this exactly?' I asked. 'Five years or so ago,' she replied.
'Yes,' I said, 'but doesn't it mention a day or date?' 'No,' she said, 'it's all completely for fun, of course. Only recently there was someone who said it had been very good to write that down. Who was it again, Werther?' He thought. All three of us were standing still.
'We're going inside,' she then said. She pushed us out ahead of her towards the adjoining room; there was nothing else in it except for a table with a ping-pong net and four little benches. I stood there for a moment, undecided, for I didn't know whether I was allowed to go on ahead into the room facing the street, the sliding doors of which were open; but a small man sitting there with his back towards us in a red, plush easy chair, gestured to us. He was Werther's father.
Only when he moved did I notice him. 'It's quite alright for the two of you to come and sit here, Werther,' he said, 'as long as you watch what you're doing a bit.' He had a gaunt, yellow face, lined and with drawn down eyebrows. His grey eyes looked tired or sad. He spoke as if reluctant, as if speaking wore him out. He had narrow shoulders. I calculated that he must be smaller than Werther's mother.
He was apparently doing nothing but think, for there was no book or newspaper lying on the little round table in front of him, nor was he smoking. I didn't know whether to shake his hand or not; I clumsily moved my feet a few times and then I sat down in one of the easy chairs. Werther went and stood by the window.
Whereas the room we had passed through was almost empty - only a thin scrap of matting lying on the floor there - this one was filled to overflowing: there were six side tables with lace doylies, at least, benches and foot stools; wherever this was possible, crocheted cushions had been put down. The wallpaper was dark and had a design of large, brown autumn leaves. There were eight wall lamps: two metal one
s, two fretwork ones in the shape of a pointed hat and four cylindrical ones made of parchment painted with sailing ships. On the mantelpiece over the fire which made the doyly flutter because of the heat, among three gnomes, a shepherdess and a porcelain toadstool, stood a brass statue depicting a naked worker with a hammer across his shoulder. 'As long as you don't sit there scratching the armrests with your nails,' Werther's mother said. She went back to the kitchen.
'Are you at school with Werther7' his father asked. 'No,' I replied, 'I'm a friend I think.' At this moment the sun came out and sharply lit up his head and the thin neck that also turned out to be covered in lines. On his skull, in the hair cover, a sparse patch became visible of which the skin appeared to be scabby and inflamed. As I observed this, I got a feeling of hate and pity both at once.
Werther stepped back from the window. 'When I leave school I'll be going to the literary-economic High School,' he said. 'What things do you learn there?'
'Many languages,' his father replied. 'Languages, mainly.' What sort of languages?' Werther went on asking. 'French, German, English,' was the man's short reply. His hands were moving on either side of his chair as if he wanted to begin plucking at the material. I saw that on the inside of the feet the leather uppers of his shoes were parting from the soles.
'And no Esperanto at AT Werther asked. His father merely shook his head.
'And what kind of language is that,' I asked partly addressing Werther and partly his father. The latter straightened himself and looked at me severely. 'Do you really want to know or are you just curious?' he asked. 'If you're really interested, I don't mind telling you.' 'Yes, I'd really love to know about it,' said I.
He looked at me again, hesitating a moment. 'In the previous century,' he then said, 'in 1887, if you want to know exactly, a very great man - I don't mean in the sense of being tall, but plucky, very learned - he made a language out of a whole lot of other languages. Werther, you know who that was alright.'
'Zadelhof,' said Werther. 'Doctor Zamenhof,' corrected his father. 'Louis Lazarus Zamenhof. If you're interested, I can tell you lots more about him. He was a man who lived in Byalystok, in Russian Poland. No less than four, five languages were spoken there. And he decided to put an end to that confusion of tongues and so he compiled Esperanto, the world language. He took something from all languages. 'And' is an example for you. 'Kai' was taken from the Greek. That's how he did it'
'That sign with the star, on the door, that's about this,' Werther said.
'When someone from some foreign country or other comes here and he's learned Esperanto, then we can talk to one another and we understand each other,' his father went on. 'That's the great work of Doctor Zamenhof.' He fell silent a moment.
'But there are still too few people who are prepared to put their shoulder to the wheel,' he now said, half to himself, pondering. 'For, all too often I run into acquaintances who ask me something about it from time to time. But when I say: you must go and learn that language then they don't. They think it's too difficult to learn those words, they say.'
He let his hands rest between his knees and peered at the carpet. 'Would you like to learn?' he suddenly asked me. 'I don't know,' I replied. 'I don't know if I could: 'You don't have to start immediately,' he said, 'but if I give you a brochure - that's a kind of little book - to take away with you, you'd be able to understand that, wouldn't you?' 'I don't know,' I said. 'That isn't Esperanto,' he pressed on, 'but it tells of how that Doctor Zamenhof thought it up. That's very interesting. I'll give you one to take away with you later on; but will I get it back? It has to be paid for normally, when someone buys it - fifteen cents: For a moment it seemed as if he was going to get up to look for it but he continued to sit there.
'We're going to play ping-gong; Werther said. He took me along to the room we had passed through, pulled out the leaves of the table and took the bats and the ball from a cupboard. 'I don't know how it goes,' I said. He explained the rules to me but I only listened superficially and peered out to one side: on a veranda on the opposite side of the gardens a big alsatian was walking to and fro, barking occasionally and persistently poking his head between the balusters; doing so, he would get stuck and, whining, would wrench himself loose again. I realised that he couldn't go anywhere and couldn't even jump over the balustrade because his run-up would be too short.
We began to play. Werther s father had continued to sit there the way we had found him.
When we had been at it a while, Werther's mother came in from the kitchen. She went and stood next to the table and followed the ball with her eyes. When she had done this a little while she began to make grabbing gestures but she didn't snatch it, just. 'Mother, you're ruining the game completely,' Werther said. Instantly, his mother stayed her hand and regarded him with a staring gaze. 'You look nice when you play so fervently,' she said; 'you're quite a pretty little boy really. Or a pretty boy, we'd better say: At these words, Werther stopped playing and quickly looked at his father in the front room. He was still sitting motionless, his back towards us. The ball dropped behind Werther on the ground. His mother picked it up quickly and pretended to walk away with it. Pressed by Werther, she put it back down on the table again, however.
'Something like that's fun,' she said to me. 'I like pranks just as much as you two do. When we used to play outside, we'd make such fools of ourselves! You didn't think so, did you? I could have fun like nobody's business, I could. I'm mentally young, you know.'
She took away my bat and assumed my place. 'Now me against you, Werther' she said. She did quick shakes with her upper torso, as though she was listening to music.
They began to play. Having missed the ball four times, she tossed the bat on to the table though the match had not ended yet. Werther's the champion,' she said. 'Congratulations.' She stepped up to him with outstretched hand but when he wanted to grasp it she made a feint, passing his hand, and she grabbed him in his crotch for a moment. He giggled and jumped away. 'You're the lovely Werther,' she said. He had jumped towards the sliding doors and was looking at his father. The latter fumed his head. 'Did you hear that?' he asked. 'What was that, father,' Werther asked in a frightened voice, 'I didn't hear a thing.'
There was a moment of silence. Werther's mother took up the bat and swung it airily to and fro, as if she was conducting the music. I looked down at the floor. 'The chest is opening up,' I thought.
Outside, a kind of bellowing yowl resounded. From time to time its pitch would rise. For a moment I thought it was a low siren but then I realised it had to be a voice. 'It's here in front, in the street,' Werther's father said. He got up. We all walked over to the window.
On the pavement along the municipal garden stood a thin man with a dark-green, hairy coat. He had a bony, weathered face displaying an embittered expression. In his right hand he held a large, tin loud-hailer: a megaphone, I knew. We had only just arrived at the window when he put it to his mouth and let out a long drawn out, deep noise that sounded like 'Hoo!'. He twisted his head slowly from side to side. Thereupon he cried out: War draws near. Be on your guard!' He left instantly at a fast walking pace and disappeared round the comer.
I didn't know whether I should laugh or keep a sorry silence. I did realise that it must be impossible to understand all that happened and that there were things that remained mysterious, causing a fog of fear to arise.
'It's that potty Verfhuis chap,' Werther said. 'The one who lives on the Onderlangs.' His mother shook her head with a pitying expression. 'It's a morbid inclination,' she said, 'a morbid inclination.' Werther's father said nothing and went and sat in his place again. A potent fear came over me, that he would go and find that booklet now. (I believed he would then read something from it to me and, if I didn't understand, seal me into a barrel or a sack.)
We should go to the kitchen,' I said softly to Werther. 'I have to speak with you urgently, alone.' We made our way there. Silence reigned; only the gas beneath a kettle hissed quietly. Almost no sound from outsi
de penetrated either.
'I have made several discoveries,' I said. 'It's alright to tell you. If you come along to my house now I can show you things that are very important. I also have a burial vault that's real.' I desired to get out of his house as quickly as possible. He assented but first he wanted to go and say that he was leaving.
'You mustn't do that,' I said emphatically, "cause it's a secret. That's how enemies could come to hear of it and they'll start to follow us then.'
Without a sound, we descended the stairs and hurried away. Back at my place we first sauntered round the garden. The slight wind made the shrubs rustle almost inaudibly. We went and hung from a branch of the laburnum until it broke off and we planted it upright in the soil. Then Werther asked where the burial vault was. I took him to the box room where we went and sat on an old mat and draped jute sacking in front of the entrance so nobody would be able to look in. 'This is the burial vault of Deep Death,' said I. Werther said nothing and looked listlessly into the half light. 'We have to found the club,' I said. 'Then we can make burial vaults. For they're much needed.'
All of a sudden I remembered that I had found a dead starling the previous day which I had hidden under leaves in a corner of the garden. We have to go outside,' I said, 'the ceremony's about to begin.' We sought out the dead creature after which I made a wood fire. On this I burned the body from which foaming brown juices bubbled up. A charred lump was what was left, smelling strangely; I put it in a boat-shaped date box. In a little earth mound I raised quickly, I dug a blind tunnel, the walls of which I reinforced with bits of wood: I slid the box inside; having sealed the opening I sprinkled the top of the mound with fine coal ash. 'The secret bird has gone into the earth,' I sang inwardly. I repeated this sentence many times but dared not utter it out loud.
The Dedalus Book of Dutch Fantasy Page 28
