‘Counting?’
‘Yep. If you see the lightning and the thunder comes nine seconds later, then the thunderstorm’s three kilometres away. The less seconds, the closer it is. When there was hardly anything left to count, I pulled myself up on top of the cubicle door and, just when I had my head up over the door, the lightning hit the water.’
Dieke thinks of Evelien and hopes a thunderstorm doesn’t come now.
‘It was like a blanket of light over the water. Everywhere, from the paddling pool to zone four. I got such a fright that I let go of the top of the door.’
‘And then?’
‘It was like I’d seen the swimming pool’s skeleton.’
‘Huh?’
‘As if the swimming pool had been turned inside out.’
‘And Uncle Johan?’
‘He was sitting on the bench shivering.’
‘Inside out,’ says Dieke. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘I didn’t get it either. It was weird.’
‘Why wasn’t Daddy at the swimming pool?’
‘He already had two certificates. He preferred to go swimming in the canal. He thought the pool was childish.’
‘If lightning hits the swimming pool does it kill you?’
‘Yes, I think it would.’ Uncle Jan slides the T-shirt on his head back and forth a couple of times, as if it’s itchy underneath. ‘That headstone’ll be dry now, don’t you think?’
‘Is that your wife under the ground?’ Dieke asks.
‘You what?’
‘Your wife?’
‘I don’t have a wife. Never have.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because.’
‘Oh,’ says Dieke.
‘This is your auntie buried here.’
‘I don’t have any aunties.’
‘Um, no, you don’t. Because she’s here.’
‘Who?’
‘Oof,’ says Uncle Jan. ‘Hang on a sec.’ He tips everything out of the bucket and walks over to the little house with it. Then he comes back and puts the bucket, which is filled up almost to the rim, down in front of her. ‘Dip your head in here if you get too hot.’
‘Do it yourself,’ she says.
‘OK.’ He kneels down, puts his hands on the ground either side of the bucket and sticks his whole head in, T-shirt and all.
After a while, Dieke starts whistling. Sometimes things go faster if you whistle. ‘Uncle Jan!’ she calls. But he can’t hear her, of course. What else did he say a minute ago, when they were sitting on the bench? That when you’re dead, the world doesn’t exist any more? She pulls on his shoulder, which is oily, her hand slides off. She grabs the knot of the T-shirt and pulls her uncle’s head up out of the bucket.
‘At last,’ he says.
‘Not funny,’ says Dieke.
‘I was only joking. I was waiting for you to rescue me.’ He leaves the soaking T-shirt where it is, tied around his head. Water trickles out of his nose. ‘Ow,’ he says, brushing bits of shell off his knees. ‘Why don’t you go see if those blue tits are still in the tree?’
She bends forward, thinking of the day she got her swimming card, takes a deep breath and plunges her head into the bucket. She’ll show him. She can already feel the hand reaching to pull her out again, her shoulder’s itching a little. She opens her eyes and quickly closes them again. Why doesn’t Uncle Jan help? She’s had her head stuck in this bucket for at least a minute now. I should have breathed in more first, she thinks. Just a little bit longer now. She can do it, even if her chest already feels like it’s full of cotton wool. Come on, pull me out! She jerks her head back up and feels her wet hair slap her on the back. ‘Why didn’t you do anything?’ she bawls.
Uncle Jan stands there very calmly and looks down at her with his arms crossed. ‘You don’t want the world to stop existing yet, do you?’ he says.
He kneels down in front of the headstone and picks up the brush and the tin of paint.
‘What do I do?’
‘I just told you. Go and have a look at the blue tits.’
She waits a very long time before turning around and reluctantly setting out for the tree and the bench. She closes her eyes tight and pretends the world no longer exists. When she thinks she’s made it to the tree, she opens them again. Yes, the birds are still sitting on their branch, sucking air in and blowing it out again. She feels sorry for them, but she can’t do anything to help. The zip of her bag is open, she sticks an arm in and grabs an apple. ‘Do you want an apple now too?’ she calls.
‘Sure.’
She gets the second apple out and walks back. When Uncle Jan goes to take the apple, she pulls it back. ‘Never do that again,’ she says.
‘I promise.’ They eat their apples on opposite sides of the grave, facing each other.
‘The birds were still there,’ she says.
He doesn’t say anything.
‘How old is this auntie?’ she asks.
‘Two.’
‘Two? She can’t be. How old are you? Thirty?’
‘Ha! Forty-six. You understand that this auntie was one of Grandma’s children?’
‘Huh?’
‘I’m one of Grandma’s children too, right?’ He spits out a bite. ‘Yuck, that was a bad bit.’
‘Um…’
‘Don’t worry about it. We have to think of something for you to do. Or would you rather go home?’
‘No.’
Uncle Jan looks around. ‘Would you like to clean some of the other stones?’
‘Sure.’
‘Good.’
‘Do I have to do it with the cuddle bone?’
‘No, just water will be fine.’ He walks over to the path, picks up the wet rag and shakes out the shell grit. ‘Here’s a rag. Is there enough water in the bucket?’
‘Yes,’ says Dieke.
Uncle Jan comes back to the shell path and points out a stone, one that’s lying down, completely smooth and brownish.
‘Who’s under here?’ she asks.
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘No.’ She dips the rag in the water, wrings it out and starts to rub the stone clean, the tip of her tongue soon appearing between her almost clenched teeth.
‘Daddy!’ He’d walked up without her noticing.
‘Hi, Dieke.’
‘There’s lots of dead people under here!’ she shouts excitedly. ‘I’m cleaning them.’
‘No.’
‘I am.’
‘Did your uncle tell you to do that?’
‘No, I thought of it myself,’ she lies.
Her father walks over to Uncle Jan. She stands up and follows him. He puts his hands on his hips and watches Uncle Jan at work. ‘You shouldn’t do it that way,’ he says.
‘What do you mean?’
‘You have to lie the stone down flat. That’d be a lot easier.’
‘Can we do that?’
‘We can try.’
Her father and Uncle Jan take hold of the headstone and wobble it back and forth a little until they’re able to lift it up. They lay the top part of the stone on the raised edge of the grave.
‘Are you taking it apart?’ she asks.
‘We’ll put it back later,’ her father says. ‘It’s not a problem.’ He sits down on a nearby grave, pulls his tobacco pouch out of a back pocket and rolls a cigarette.
She looks closely from one to the other. They really do look a lot like each other, but at the same time not at all. Her father’s older, at least she thinks he is, and that’s strange, because her uncle looks older. Uncle Jan dips the brush in the paint tin and bends over the stone. Her father lights his cigarette. One smokes, the other paints. She was cleaning and she goes back to that. Neither man says anything, but it’s still a lot nicer now. There’s something beautiful about working in silence; she can sense that. It means something. When, after a while, Uncle Jan says, ‘It’s no good like this, we have to stand it up again,’ she doesn’t even react. She only looks up when she catches sight of someone coming down the shell path. ‘Dog!’ she shouts. And that big lady with black hair. The dog and woman march past her without a word.