"I fought the Arrest Team, sir."
"You lost? So why did they complain to me?"
"I sort of not-lost, sir."
"I'm in a bad mood," the commissaris said. "You must excuse me."
"Tomorrow you'll have your car again, sir."
'True," the commissaris said. "Visit me again tomorrow, my spirits should be up."
Waiting at the streetcar stop together, they felt better together. "Bald Ary," the commissaris said, "and Fritz with the Tuft, in Friesland too. Yes, things may be looking up."
His streetcar came first. Cardozo waved good-bye.
\\\\\ 6 /////
The Commissaris, who had only just got out into the new day, looked fresh in the early sunlight. His light gray three-piece summer suit contrasted pleasantly with the luscious colors of the begonia flowers in the windows. His small head, under the last few hairs neatly combed across his gleaming skull, rose energetically from the collar of a starched white shirt that held a bright blue tie clasped with a large pearl set in silver. He related his adventure with the barkeep Troelstra and the possibility of future charges against the criminal Bald Ary and his mate, Fritz with the Tuft.
Cardozo listened.
De Gier came in. "Moarn" he said.
The commissaris and Cardozo questioned the sergeant soundlessly, from under raised eyebrows.
"Moarn?" de Gier asked. "Haven't I fattened the vowels sufficiently? Is my accent blurring my meaning?"
The commissaris's and Cardozo's eyebrows were still up.
"Can I sit down?"
"We are accustomed here," the commissaris said, "to wishing each other a good morning first. After that we can sit down."
"But I did wish you a good morning," de Gier said. "In the Frisian language. You're Frisian, I believe?" He held up a small black book. "My dictionary, the word is listed." He held up a multicolored book. "And this is a novel, or rather a bundle of Frisian stories, called"-he read the title- "We're Out of Condiments at Home, and Other Stories, in Frisian, that is."
"Sit down," the commissaris said.
De Gier sat down. "Excellent stories, sir, and all connected. About a lady. A Frisian lady, about the suffering she gets herself into out there. In her stories she calls herself Martha. Literature is interesting, don't you think? Truthful and schizophrenic. We split ourselves, allow the split part to grow and change its name."
"Goinga?" Cardozo asked, taking the book away from de Gier. "Is that her real name? Sounds like Hungarian-Finnish to me."
"Frisian is very foreign," de Gier said, "but understandable to me. Even more, because the novel is female. I've been studying the female mind for a while, and she won't escape me, not even in a foreign language. Most of the words I can guess, and the few exceptions I've looked up. There's some confusion about the negative, which they express as positive, but once you've turned it around again, there's nothing to miss."
"Our linguistic wonderboy," the commissaris said, "and the eternal victim of his fantasies about the miracle of Woman. Did you return my car?"
"But sir," de Gier said, "there may be a female suspect. This book is filled with clues."
"My car? Is it here?"
"Yes sir. It was too late last night, and this morning I overslept a little. I didn't cause you any inconvenience, I hope?"
"You did," the commissaris said. "I'm not used to the streetcars anymore. They sell tickets in the cigar stores now, not on the cars. Without a ticket, I was caught twice and paid two fines. Twice a lady offered me her seat. I've been robbed and insulted."
"Good car," de Gier said. "I didn't see much on the way up, for Grypstra likes to speed, but when I came back, the Inland Sea was beautiful; there was this slow swell, touched up by moonlight, and everywhere the bobbing birds. I got out three times to try and take it all in. I had the feeling of being between nowhere and nowhere. I no longer belonged, but I was still around. Do you feel what I was feeling?"
'To be nowhere?"
"Free," de Gier said. "Aren't we served koffie? In Fries-land we were served koffie everywhere."
"KoffieT the commissaris said.
"It just means coffee," de Gier said. "As I knew. I bought these books yesterday, before we set out, in a store specializing in foreign languages. Swahili, North Borneo-ese, even a Blackfoot Indian grammar. Blackfoot Indians use only verbs. They conjugate a table. Not bad, eh? Seeing that even tables do constantly change. But I happened to need Frisian, which they stocked. They stock just about anything in that store."
The commissaris telephoned and ordered coffee.
"Grijpstra is a lout behind the wheel," de Gier said. "He kept twisting and turning, but perhaps that's the right thing to do, for Friesland twists and turns too. The alleys in Leeu-warden all bit their own tails. We got lost a lot, and the local police found us and rode ahead, to take us to their headquarters. The Leeuwarden Police are housed in a cube, and some distance from the city, so that they can drive into their hunting ground in a straight line, but once they're in, they'll be going round and round again."
"Did you enjoy the Belgian endives, sir?" Cardozo asked.
"No," the commissaris said. "Then what happened, de Gier?"
"Douwe was no good," de Gier said. "His wife is a nice lady. Her name is Mem, meaning 'mother' in Frisian. She poured a good cup of koffie"
The coffee was brought in. De Gier accepted the tray and served the commissaris and Cardozo. "There you are. Did you make some progress, Cardozo?"
"Found Scherjoen's car, on Prince Henry Quay. Same brand as the commissaris's, but probably in better shape, for you two must have ruined the commissaris's Citroen already. Scherjoen's car has been towed in. A pistol was found in the driver's door pocket. Old-model Mauser. Not recently fired."
"Was Douwe rich?" the commissaris asked.
"Owned a country estate, which is now Mem's. There are no children." De Gier described the hawthorns, the evening lowing of a cow (a plaintive but beautiful stretched sound, suspended above a wide meadow), and the superior architecture of Frisian country buildings.
"Rich," the commissaris said. "And you liked his wife?"
"Her true name is Krista," de Gier said, "and she does have Christ's eyes, and a crown of thorns. Maybe she has lost the thorns now, because of Douwe's death."
"Details," the commissaris said. "Give us more."
"It's so otherwise out there," de Gier said. "Beautiful, detached; the colors, sir, the shades are so subtle. Remember the Jehovah's Witnesses, when they come to the door? Resurrection? Heaven on future earth? Heaven is there now. No crime, unfortunately-very little for the likes of us to do. The nobleman Lasius of Burmania acts as the chief constable of the capital-only acting, of course; maybe heaven is a stage too-what a wonderful man he is, truly civilized, correct in every situation. He wanted to know what Grjjpstra might be doing there. Frisians don't go wrong, and if they do, they slide down the dike first, so if we look for misbehavior, we should watch them here. Not that we were unwelcome- that noble man Lasius of Burmania didn't give me that impression. Grupstra was even given a house. For free. The house belongs to a Frisian adjutant who's on holiday at present."
"So you really know nothing," Cardozo said.
"Should I know more?" de Gier asked. "Grypstra won't allow me to do any work. I'm on paid leave, I understand. There's no need for me. Okay, maybe to do some shopping. I'll be going back in a minute. It's handy, Grypstra said, to have me around, perhaps. But there's nothing I'm supposed to do. That's why I observed all that exceptional beauty. If you're not involved in the activity, you sort of float, and while looking down much can be seen. You follow, Cardozo?"
"No," Cardozo said. "Ary and Fritz, sir?"