De Gier turned pages, eager to discover another phrase that might fill a gap. What else was the literary woman think- ing? In no way will I ever be satisfied… here I am, left to my own resources… How boring… I could climb the walls… alone…
Clear enough. Mem, unsatisfied, hollow in her soul, locked in a solitude created by her willful and often absent husband, was ready to jump through her restraining walls. Egged on by the equally unhappy Gyske to find a solution, no matter how painful. But was Mem wrong?
Where did the finger of justice point? de Gier thought theoretically, for he himself couldn't care less. If order had been disturbed, it wasn't his order. He was quite content to heat pea soup from cans and bathe a rat.
He strolled through the room, circled the Louis XVI chair, and counted a row of roses on the wallpaper.
Was order disturbed? Shouldn't someone like Douwe be deftly removed? Hadn't Mem been kind enough to do society a favor? The commissaris, once on her trail, would corner her and interrogate the woman politely. Then what? Lead her on to an institute for the elderly insane? Mem wasn't quite that old.
De Gier picked up a scrap of paper left by Grypstra on the other side of the table. He read the names of the sheep exporters who had been stripped of their profits by Douwe. He read the names of the men and their towns:
Pry Wydema, Mummerwoods
Tyark Tamminga, Blya
Yelte Pryk, Acklum
Weird names-he wondered if there was a proper pronunciation. So far the names meant little. What if the unused Mauser had been used after all, and later cleaned and reloaded, slipped back into the door pocket of Douwe's Citroen? Too much effort in too little time? The shot might have attracted attention. The caliber was wrong too. A ninemillimeter bullet might have smashed Douwe's skull. Could Mem, like the freedom fighter in the book, have risked a trip to Belgium to buy a more suitable weapon that would make less noise?
He could leave it at that for now. Since when had minding someone else's job been profitable to him?
The doorbell rang. The sergeant, deep in thought, opened the door. "Yes? Good evening, miss."
"Hi," Miss said brightly.
"Hi," de Gier said. He checked his watch. Eleven, a little late for a visit. "Miss," the sergeant said, "Adjutant and Mrs. Oppenhuyzen are on holiday in their summer house in Engwierum, at the coast I believe. I'm looking after the house in their absence. De Gier is my name."
"Hi."
De Gier scratched his buttocks, first the left, then the right. "You don't understand? You speak only Frisian?" He paused. "I can read some now, but I don't speak it yet. Can you read Dutch? Shall I write it down for you? Wait, I'll speak slowly. Listen, miss. The adjutant, right? Adjutant Oppenhuyzen? With his, uh, wyfe? Gone away?" He waved widely.
"It's me," the young woman said. "Hylkje. Hylkje Hilarius? Corporal? Motorcycle brigade? Now dressed in civilian clothes? Come to fetch you for a beer? You're still following so far?"
"Right," de Gier said gratefully. "Skinned. Stripped out of your leather. You're even more attractive than I had dared hope. How delightful life can be if, for once, disappointment is taken away for a moment. Do come in."
"Five minutes," Hylkje said. She curled up in the Louis XVI chair, her long denim-clad legs twined loosely, her breasts tightly outlined in a velvet T-shirt, her perfect teeth displayed in a warm smile between stiff blond ponytails, innocently standing away from her cheekbones daubed with rouge, her sparkling blue eyes shadowed cleverly to maximum provocative effect.
"Where is that rat?" Hylkje asked.
De Gier ran upstairs and came back with Eddy. "You can hold on to him. I'll fetch his cheese."
Hylkje withdrew into the embrace of the chair, but Eddy stood against her shirt, his pointed pink nose trembling between her breasts.
"Bah," Hylkje squeaked.
"Harmless little chap," de Gier said. "Smells nice too. Just washed him with lemon-scented dishwash detergent. Here, Eddy, have some cheese."
Hylkje held the morsel between her fingertips. Eddy snatched at it with darting little paws. His yellow teeth sank into the cheese.
"Now who would ever keep a rat?" Hylkje asked. "I've got a rabbit. Durk looks better, and feels nice and flurry. Makes me itch a little at times, but otherwise he's the sweetest thing."
"I've got a cat," de Grier said.
Hylkje grabbed hold of Eddy and gave him back. De Gier took the rat upstairs. He came back in two bounds. Hylkje observed the sergeant's movements with approval. "You wanted to upset me, right? Thought I would scream the ceiling down? Frighten the little woman? Missed out again?"
"Men are weaker," de Gier said. "I've known it for some time. I keep trying, but women always floor me. Doesn't take them long either. Now that I know it doesn't make me feel so bad."
"What else do you have except a cat? A wyf? Bern"
"Don't know all the words yet," de Gier said. "Haven't met any bern yet in the local literature. Some Frisian animal that hasn't yet crossed the dike?"
"Frisian children."
"Never had any," de Gier said, "of any source. I would really rather have nothing at all, but that's hard to get. There are the necessities. Got to live somewhere, and once you have an apartment, there's furniture that flies in, and plants on the balcony, and the cat sneaking about. There are always the complications. I've got neighbors, too, to look after the cat when I'm away."
"You never have visitors?"
"Grijpstra drops in. Not too often. Too bulky. The apartment is small."
"The adjutant is your friend?" Hylkje stared at the sergeant's chest.
"Yes." De Gier analyzed Hylkje's steady gaze. "Oh, you mean it that way? No, no, are you crazy?"
Hylkje jumped off the low seat and walked around de Gier. "You sure, now? I hate to start off wrong. Last week I was shopping in the Gardens here, and there was this man, as handsome as you are, dressed well too, the very same type, a most attractive male. I smiled a bit and he didn't even see me, and then there were suddenly two of them. The other had been looking at a window display."
"There's only one of me."
"Not an uncommon variety," Hylkje said. "They pop up on the screen and on magazine covers. Wide shoulders and fall mustaches. Strong bones covered with firm flesh."
"I'm a normal male," de Gier said, "at your service."
"It'd be easier if you were married," Hylkje said. "You came up the dike, you're around for a few days, and then you're gone again, forever. No problems, if you can see what I mean. Durk and I have a good life, but a change… at times… variety… a dream…"
"Aren't you going a little far?" de Gier asked. "I'm sorry I was silly enough to try and frighten you with Eddy. You've evened things out now, don't overdo it. I'm normal. I adore and cherish women."
"Unattached males are often hard to handle," Hylkje said. "They make for heavy going. If they're married, there's something to pull them back and I'll be rid of them again."
"Who's being hard to handle here?" de Gier asked. "Did I throw myself at you? I thought we were going out for a beer?"
"Asshole," Hylkje said, smiling politely.
De Gier grinned. He gave her his arm. They walked to the door together. He pulled his arm back and opened the door.
"Are you usually so well mannered?" Hylkje asked. "Or is this an act for the occasion?"
"No," de Gier said. "I was taught to be civil, by my mother. If I wasn't, I was hit. Conditioned behavior. Pavlov's dog. Ring the bell and the animal slavers."
"Is your mother still alive?"
"I take flowers to her grave," de Gier said, "every other Sunday. We hated each other, when we didn't share some love. I have her engagement photo above my bed. My father is in it too. He wears a bowler hat."