Hylkje's car was a Deux Chevaux, high on its wheels and colored bright orange. She maneuvered it cleverly through winding alleys. A passing church tower pointed the hands of its clock straight up. "Isn't it getting late?" de Gier asked. "Surely provincial pubs close early?"
"Our beer house goes on until one, and later, for the likes of us."
"The police?"
"And the other powers," Hylkje said, "as you will see."
"And the ordinary folks? Common pleasure is cut off by midnight?"
Hylkje pointed at a square house straddling two canals. "A sex club, open until four. Soft drugs are sold downstairs, and hard drugs in the loft."
"With police protection?"
"The Municipal Police ignore the house somewhat. It's known as 'channeling the tension.' When they close everything down, they don't know where it goes. It's also a hangout for colonial types and citizens from the province next door. The foreign element, their private niche."
The little car reached a square surrounded by impressive buildings. Hylkje defined their plastered gables. "Provincial Government, the mayor's office, the Queen's representation. All the powers that lead us, and the pub in between, for when the pressure depresses."
De Gier stopped to look at the stately stone shapes. High windows stared back, arrogantly sedate. Flowing walls ended in slowly rising gable tops holding up a golden lion stepping out of a sky-blue plaster frame. Downstairs, wide pavements led, step by slow step, to very large doors painted in lush greens offset by copper ornaments. From the square rose huge trees with overhanging branches, rustling their loads of leaves.
"Nice and quiet," de Gier asked.*The law lives here?"
"We don't care for being told what to do," Hylkje said. "We have better ideas ourselves; the law knows that and hardly interferes. The result is peace, not the clamor you're used to in the nether parts."
"Do you ever visit the other end of the dike?"
"I've been there. I was a cop in Amsterdam for a year. Some police like to swagger down there, and it invites reaction. Some motorcyclists rode me down one night. Hurt my leg, couldn't wear a dress for years. Scar tissue-the cylinder of my own bike burned my shin. They pushed me over from the side and were off again."
"Revenge burns in your gentle soul?"
"A little less every day. A beer, Sergeant?"
The pub spread out under low, heavy beams. Hylkje was greeted by an aged bartender, hopping about spryly behind the weathered shelves and counters in the back. The glasses were foaming already, waiting to be beheaded by the wooden skimmer in the old man's bony hand.
"Working for the same boss?" the bartender asked, pointing his scraggly beard and gleaming sharp nose at de Gier.
"He's ours," Hylkje said. "But from down below. Maybe you can trust him, Doris."
"Rinus," de Gier said. "All yours, forever after."
"Don't stay long," Doris cackled. "Keep the bad elements down on your end. We've got it good here, and it may still last for a while." The wrinkles around his eyes folded in and out. The dark beady eyes glinted. "Meanwhile, enjoy what we can offer. Have her and strong beer."
"He's here to work," Hylkje said.
"I can recommend her," Doris said loudly.
"That's enough," Hylkje said, "or we'll go to another pub."
"Still have your cold?" Doris asked.
"It's my voice," Hylkje said. "If you weren't so decrepit and a little more male, you might find the low pitch exciting. Do your job, Doris, there are customers waiting."
Doris was off, carrying a tray, shouting insults at clients in the rear. "I quite like your voice," de Gier said.
"You too? It isn't nice to criticize the voice of your hostess. People used to say I lowed."
"Like a cow."
"A what?"
"Don't keep taking what I say the wrong way," de Gier said. "Here in Friesland, the sound is romantic. Yesterday, in Dingjum, I heard how lovely the sound can be. We landed in a meadow, and once the chopper was gone, the silence was audible and the cow chanted through it, softly. She sang, the way you do when you talk."
"A cow," Hylkje said, "swinging her udders. I don't do that. A cow chews, burps, and chews again-I don't do that either. A cow digests everything five times. A cow is gross. A cow has diarrhea."
"I didn't get a good look at her," de Gier said. "She was behind us and we had to go ahead, but she was, of course, a small good-tempered beast, on slender legs, with a dainty body and tender eyes."
"You should watch your approach," Hylkje said. "You won't get far with me this way."
De Gier asked for more beer.
"Closing time," Doris shouted. "Away with you. I don't care for your company. Out. Maybe I'll fill you up tomorrow again. There's the door. Go on. The police are due any second now."
He passed Hylkje and de Gier their beers. "You're doing okay, son. Keep pushing now, you hear? Or are you planning to be around for a while and hoping for something better?"
The police entered, but there was only one of them. He moved next to Hylkje. "Meet my friend," Hylkje said. "This is Officer First-Class Eldor Janssen. Sergeant de Gier. Colleagues and subjects of the same queen."
Customers squeezed out through the door, harassed by Doris's shouts and waving fists. The constable had finished his coffee and moved along. Here and there a customer still slumped behind a table. Doris closed the curtains. "Right, now what will it be?" He filled the slurred orders. The door opened. "All closed up," Doris shouted. "Out, or I'll call the cops."
The trespassing customer aimed for the bar. "So open up again. I work for the boss. Hi, Hylkje." Lieutenant Sudema covered one eye with an unsteady hand. "Hi, you too."
De Gier straightened. "Evening, sir."
Doris locked the door and supported the lieutenant simultaneously, for Sudema was losing ground. "Whoa!" Then he was back on his feet, flapping both hands. Doris withdrew behind the counter. The lieutenant slipped again, swinging his arms in desperation. Hylkje pushed, de Gier pulled, and the lieutenant found a stool.
"Now what?" Hylkje asked. "Got yourself sozzled?"
"Completely and helplessly intoxicated," the lieutenant said. "Been everywhere already. Mixed the local brew with all available imports. I'm still not quite where I'd like to be. Does anyone know why?" He held on to the bartop while Doris poured beer. Lieutenant Sudema raised his glass. "Your very good health. Nobody knows why? Because tomorrow I have to take my kitchen cupboard down. My wife fucks in there. Not with me, you know. I sleep in my father's antique bed." The lieutenant closed both eyes and drank to his father's image, mumbling devoutly. "There you go, old boy. Thanks indeed. I don't want this life at all. A lot of hard work and I'm busy already. Insufficient staff and a station deluged with complaints and charges. Tons of tomatoes in die greenhouse. Will it ever end? When I destroy that cupboard, the wall will fall out of the house. I'll have to place posts." He opened an eye and tried to wipe the foam off his mouth. "One more." He looked about in triumph. "For everyone."
Doris filled glasses and delivered. The officials shouted toasts.
"Why does your wife copulate in a cupboard?" Hylkje asked.
"So that she may debauch herself in secret." One of the lieutenant's eyes focused on de Gier, the other wandered. "You have a wife?"
"No," de Gier said.
"Help yourself to Hylkje," Lieutenant Sudema said. "She's all yours." He lurched toward Hylkje, kept back by de Gier's suddenly extended arm. "You like cupboards too?"
"I don't mind where I do it," Hylkje said.
"Didn't even know it could be done," Lieutenant Sudema said. "Stupid, eh?" He nodded upward while he sucked more foam. "Couldn't you tell me, Sir? Why don't You ever fill in gaps?"
"He guides us into suffering," Doris said softly.
"Doris," Hylkje said softly.
"Doesn't He?" Doris unfolded both his beady eyes. "And don't only drunks know what He is up to?" He snarled. "Enough of this, I'll sweep you out." The broom swishing in Doris's hands drove protesting customers to the door.