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Fiction

What You’ve Given Up Hoping for Counts Twice as Much, She’d Discovered

By Griet Op de Beeck
Translated from Dutch by Michele Hutchison
A woman finally finds love, then has her dream date derailed.

ONE

Even when she looked in a mirror she had a smile on her face these days; when she went down the stairs there was practically a skip in her step, and now and again, a tune would come humming out of her. What you’ve given up hoping for counts twice as much, Kathleen had discovered.

After her divorce, there’d been Emiel. He had Crohn’s disease. It hadn’t been officially diagnosed but he assumed he had it, given the unreliability of his bowels. He didn’t dare go to restaurants, the cinema was tricky, too, since he worried about having to run out halfway through, and he only reluctantly visited friends of hers. To be honest, what he liked most was to simply stay home, and even though she loved going out, she was prepared to accept this. If she were him, she’d have actually gone to see a specialist to get a proper diagnosis, but for some reason or other, Emiel kept refusing to go and who was she not to respect other people’s fears? But the fact he could barely talk about anything other than his bowel movements and his diet, and the way he assumed life had only been invented to torture him, well, after a while it began to weigh on her own joie de vivre.

Then came Barry. He only took a bath once a week like he’d learned as a child. His beard came down to his chest and always smelled at least a bit of old dishwater. He liked to crack jokes and was insulted if she didn’t laugh at them, and he never picked up when she called, not even that one time when it had been an emergency and she’d rung four times in a row. The very first time they had sex, he slapped her hard across the face; he couldn’t come without doing that.

Later she found Franz with a z, that’s how he wrote it, even though it wasn’t like that in his passport. He couldn’t tolerate her not reading and enjoying the same books, picking out the same films, enjoying the same Leonard Cohen tracks on repeat, admiring the same actors, or when she didn’t like Thai and Japanese food as much as he did, particularly that one dish with the little octopuses, when she wasn’t bothered by the lady next door with the ugly dog in the same way or that TV presenter with the big head and funny lips. Even when they watched TV together, he’d turn to her every time he found something funny, as though he couldn’t laugh unless she did too, as though he could only exist if she were part of him. But Kathleen played along. She thought affably that it would serve to expand her world, and she discovered that keeping her opinions to herself wasn’t half as difficult as she’d initially thought. At the end of the day, there was something wrong with everybody. But then he took up Nordic walking.

The only thing Sylvain could talk about was his ex-wife, to whom he’d return immediately if she’d have him back, he declared, holding Kathleen in his arms. He was only telling her this because he wanted to be honest with Kathleen.

And Wilfried never looked her in the eye. When he talked to her, his eyes consistently searched for a spot high on the wall behind her. He was exceptionally clever, but only interested in technology in fact, which he could talk to her about for hours using scientific terms, which he did. He never hugged her, only kissed her during sex, and as a form of greeting, he’d pinch one of her upper arms twice, his way of showing affection, she presumed. If anyone did that now, so many years later, she’d get a sick feeling in her stomach, like when you’ve eaten too much chocolate.

And then finally, there was Mick. They were crazy about each other but he had five children with three different women and all five of them had one thing in common: they hated her, and after a while it proved fatal to their relationship.

Apart from one, they’d all been the ones to leave her. Each time, more than a parting, it was like an assault on her laboriously gathered-together belief in what she was capable of. Love had kicked her in the stomach. After Mick, Kathleen resolved to become a happy single. She never would have succeeded.

But all of a sudden Dries popped up; she met him at a girlfriend’s party. She’d lost her coat and he helped her look for it. Afterward, he pinched a bottle of whisky from the bar cabinet and they disappeared into the night together. They sat on a park bench until five in the morning. They’d laughed at the stupidest things, confessed to everything they were ashamed of, talked about dreams and various forms of regret, discovered how much affinity they had.

When they were too tired to find the right words and were sitting just staring into the water, they saw a quacking duck with her offspring. Then they noticed that one duckling was getting separated from the rest, and at that instant, he spontaneously waded into the water up to his waist to reunite the bird with the flock. Before she had got home in the early morning, he’d already texted her to ask whether he could cook for her that evening, and he turned out to be a good cook, too.

Dries was the man who made her look differently at everything she thought she’d already seen. He continuously helped her escape from all kinds of self-loathing. He worshipped her between thin sheets with eager tenderness—coercive, warm, close. He didn’t ask her for anything, but as time went by, he dared take more and more of what she was so happy to give him. He made her weak and happy, often both at the same time; he made her think about the essential, he pushed her on. He was the man Kathleen had stopped believing existed, who then turned out to exist after all. They made plans for a wild journey after she had breathlessly sat listening to his stories about his adventures in places that appealed to the imagination.

Kathleen kept on waiting for the day he turned out to be a serial killer, or that he was leading a double life and had a wife, three children, and a guinea pig in another city, or that he was dying of a creeping hereditary illness that would cruelly tear them apart, but they’d known each other for five months and four days now and still nothing had come to light. If there was any justice in life, the two of them would stay together for the rest of time, a girlfriend had claimed recently. Kathleen hadn’t said anything to the contrary.

She stood before the mirror in a dress she had paid a little too much for and hoped Dries would like it. She opted for the shoes with the serious heels he found sexy and applied her perfume in seven different places. He’d be arriving in a minute to pick her up for a dinner at his boss’s house. He hadn’t been working for the company for long and she could tell he was nervous about it. She didn’t have to go if she didn’t feel like it, he didn’t know if she’d find it much fun with his colleagues who were duller than dishwater, but she’d insisted. She put on lipstick and the necklace he’d given her the week before and then her coat in preparation.

Outside, it seemed like the rain would never stop. In the glow of the street lamp, all that water reminded her of windblown dust in the brightest sunlight—it was pretty. In the olden days, she’d feel glum whenever she woke up and heard rain drumming against the windowpanes. When she heard his car approach, she hurried out to the drive. Even though the last time had been yesterday, she was delighted to see him again. Nothing was lovelier than to continually be reunited with the other.

 

TWO

Kathleen was worried her dress wasn’t appropriate. The aperitif was brought into the “lounge,” as Dries’s boss called it, a square room with lots of glass, looking out over an enormous garden filled with old trees. The voluptuous sofa seemed endless too, it could easily accommodate eight. Kathleen turned down all the appetizers because she was afraid to stain the pale gray fabric. Dries tried his very best and wasn’t completely sure it was enough, she could see that. It moved her because she hadn’t yet seen him like this, he was more of the tough, leave-everything-to-me type.

To her left at the table there was a guy called John. He was wearing a loud red tie and smelled of Camembert. He reminded her of Franz with the z, yet she still attempted a conversation.

They were served Bouchot mussels in a saffron sauce as an appetizer, and even though mussels were the only things Kathleen really didn’t like, especially since she’d had a bad one that time, with all the consequences, she wanted to give it a go so as not to insult anyone, and actually they were quite tasty. When the hired waiter came to take the plates, Dries cracked a joke that made the entire table laugh and made her glow with pride. It was all going to be fine.

“Where’s the bathroom please?” Kathleen asked Dries’s boss after the main course.

“You can use the upstairs one, the guest bathroom has just been painted and it’s not completely dry. Most inconvenient, tradesmen never finish on time. Go upstairs, along the corridor, the bathroom’s the second door on the left.”

Kathleen hoisted her handbag over her shoulder and climbed the spiral staircase. The house looked as if nobody lived in it, even though they had two young children. She tiptoed cautiously along the corridor. Just to be sure, Kathleen knocked and waited a while.

The bathroom was about the same size as her bedroom, it had a walk-in shower with smoked glass and a two-person Jacuzzi. Kathleen lifted up the toilet lid and even though she wasn’t looking, she saw it. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a big one before. Not that she’d made any comparative studies, in general Kathleen didn’t look at the contents of toilet bowls, but in this case it didn’t take much to notice the colossus. The way it was lying there: challenging, commanding, unavoidable, it seemed more like something that had come from a bear, or a different kind of mammal that ate much more than any person would ever be capable of.

She immediately began to perspire. She wished she could simply change stalls, like in a bar. Go back downstairs without doing her business, that’s what she’d do, her need to pee had already disappeared at the sight of the filled toilet. But then she realized that her table companions had explicitly seen her disappear to the bathroom, whoever used the toilet after her would think she’d left it there boorishly. It might even be Dries, he had a small bladder, she’d already noticed that.

Kathleen flushed, the water came pouring down with appropriate enthusiasm, but remained high for a while before sinking to halfway down the toilet bowl. To her disgust, she watched it all with fascination. After an initial pause, some movement appeared in the water, thank god, a gentle kind of bubbling, as though it was trying with all its might and main to carry away the number two. The bubbling became churning and finally the water disappeared, though it left the turd unmercifully behind.

The cistern refilled. She wondered whether it was worth trying again. Next time the water might stay as high as it had been permanently. But what else should she do? She crossed her fingers, pressed the larger of the two buttons emphatically and, just like she was convinced she’d win whenever she bought lottery scratch cards, she became convinced that this second attempt would be successful. She heard the frothing, sucking sound of water that wanted to return to the sea. But the stubborn brown-black whopper remained behind in all its glory.

The sight of it was becoming more and more unbearable. She looked around the bathroom hesitantly, searching for something that could save her. A toilet brush was mounted to the wall in a stainless steel holder. Theoretically it offered opportunities, but if she set to work with it, there would be questions about who had desecrated for all eternity this design piece, which was almost as bad. She saw two cups next to the sink but shuddered at the mere thought. And then her gaze fell on the tiny bucket and spade next to the three rubber ducks on the edge of the Jacuzzi. They must belong to the boss’s cute toddler she’d seen pictures of. For a while, she stared from the bucket and spade to the bin, before dismissing it as the dumbest idea ever. Of course there was another option, but the thought of it made her gag.

In faint despair, she flushed just one last time. The toilet made slurping and churning sounds, it sounded almost hopeful, Kathleen thought, and at that moment someone knocked on the door. Kathleen’s heart missed a beat.

“Occupied.” It sounded hoarse.

She stood there as quiet as a mouse. Fiddling at the door.

“Occupied!” Bellowing now.

“Oh, sorry,” someone shouted back.

It was Dries’s boss’s wife! If Kathleen had had to guess which of the company wanted to use the toilet now, she’d have been her very last choice.

Kathleen waited for the liberating sound of high heels on the move, but heard nothing. Dries’s boss’s wife was just standing there waiting her turn. Not entirely incomprehensible. How long had Kathleen been in the bathroom by now? It must be ten minutes, perhaps even fifteen, which of course would only confirm suspicions that Kathleen was the producer of this mega-turd. She gave it another glance, and no, the fellow hadn’t smoothly slipped away in the few seconds. Something had to happen now. The unthinkable, if necessary.

She always carried a strong plastic bag in her handbag, saving the planet was in the details. Almost sick with disgust, she pulled the bag around her left hand, took the spade in her right hand, stood over the toilet, her face turned away so that she could only just see what she was doing, and aimed first one and then the second half of the turd into the bag. Kathleen spun the bag around and around to contain its unwanted bounty and then folded the ends around it. Filled with revulsion, she checked whether it was secure. She heard Dries’s boss’s wife cough on the other side of the door. It was hard to tell whether it was a coincidental cough, or one that meant “I’m-standing-here-waiting-for-god’s-sake-hurry-up.”

Kathleen flushed one last time, holding the spade under the running water before putting it back in the bucket, ostensibly clean. This was by no means ideal, but ideal wasn’t exactly the code word this evening. After placing the package in her handbag and washing her hands, she came out bearing a deadpan expression.

She could hardly believe what she had done, but she walked back into the room wearing her most innocent smile. Anything for her Dries.

 

THREE

It was hard not to be distracted. Afterward she’d be sleeping over at Dries’s and she had to get rid of her unwanted bounty. Now and then, she tugged her large handbag a little closer to her and sniffed, just to make sure, but for now she didn’t have to worry about that. During the dessert, she studied the other guests, the million-dollar question was which of them had produced the specimen. While they were eating, no one had left the table, and she hadn’t paid any attention to who had left the room while they were having the aperitif in the lounge, she’d only had eyes for Dries. Intuitively she wanted to eliminate all of the women, but that one there with the red hair and swimmer’s shoulders looked like she was capable of plenty. John was her other most likely contender.

In the meantime, she tried not to wonder what the others in general, and Dries’s boss’s wife in particular, had thought of her unhealthily long absence just now. The more the evening progressed, the more her need to pee grew, since she hadn’t been able to go in the depths of her misery. Yet she refused to return to the place of doom, who knew what she might find in the toilet next.

They drove home and Dries was happy with how the evening had gone. “Everyone loved you, you know, when you went to the loo, three different people told me how nice they thought you.”

The look in Dries’s eyes as he said this was something that could keep Kathleen afloat for a week. She was sitting with her bag on her lap and trying to cleverly disguise her discomfort. She had to make sure they planned in a pit stop so that she could dump the plastic bag.

“Could we stop off at a convenience store? I need to buy tampons, I forgot and I might need them early tomorrow morning. Sorry, so stupid of me,” she laughed.

“No problem, love, there’s one just a bit further up, I think.”

Dries parked the car, unfortunately right in front of the shop, but inside there were often bins for ice-cream wrappers and so on. Don’t panic, she thought, it’ll be fine.

She had her hand on the door handle.

“Be right back.”

“I’ll come with you. I feel like something unsophisticated after that much too healthy fruit pudding they just gave us, don’t you?”

Her smile was incriminating. She wanted to say that she’d pick up something, but he’d already slammed the door.

The rain clattered down so hard it was ricocheting off the street. Dries opened the car door for her, held his long raincoat over both of their heads, and they sprinted into the shop. Once they were inside, he leaned over the freezer compartment to study the ice creams. Kathleen walked to the rack with toiletries as she looked for a bin, which of course wasn’t there. Bloody hell. Kathleen had to get rid of the bag whatever it took. If necessary, in any place she could leave it without being noticed: this was an emergency. She’d apologize to the shop owner in her mind, hopefully he wouldn’t open the bag before he threw it away. Kathleen spotted quite a large space behind the shampoo and the bubble bath, that might be an option. She heard the shop door tinkle, oh no, another person to potentially witness what she was up to.

“Everybody on the ground, now!” Two men in balaclavas stood there looking at them, each holding a handgun pointing at them and the shop owner. One of them locked the door.

The other shouted for a second time, “Now!”

Their movements were jumpy, their bodies gangly and thin, they looked more like boys than men, boys that stood there dripping like wet dogs. Kathleen heard Dries panting behind her. She knelt down and then quickly leaned over because her bottom sticking up right in Dries’s face can’t have been that attractive. She turned around and saw that Dries was lying flat on the ground with his face turned away from the assailants, and thus also from her. The floor was wet and covered in the slimy tracks of all the shoes that had come in and out all evening; she hung about halfway down, supporting herself on her underarms. The compromising handbag lay beside her.

The man at the counter just stayed where he was, his hands in the air. Maybe he didn’t think “everybody” meant him or maybe he didn’t speak Dutch, or he was just terrified, who could tell. The smaller of the two men threw a bag onto the counter. He waved his gun in front of the man’s face and then gestured at the cash register with the barrel. The manager immediately began putting all the banknotes into the bag, a sad spectator of his own losses, which he immediately accepted. His resigned calm contrasted sharply with the nervousness of the robbers, two hungry tigers in an undersized cage.

The smaller one wagged the barrel of his gun up and down in front of the shop owner’s eyes from time to time, as though he were showing the man the right moves. Kathleen wondered for an instant whether there might be a discreet alarm button somewhere to alert the police. But one of the strip-lights was broken, the woodwork on the door and window frames was desperately in need of a coat of paint, and the dust bunnies under the racks betrayed the absence of a paid cleaner. There wasn’t going to be any sophisticated alarm system here.

Since the two boys just carried on staring, the man now started pouring coins into the bag. The guys muttered something.

“More,” the taller one cried to the manager.

He shook his head. “All there is,” he replied.

He pointed at his till, lifted up the tray to show there was nothing hidden underneath it. Then he held his hands above his head again.

The smaller man pushed the man against the cabinet behind him, his right arm shoved up under the man’s chin.

“Where’ve you hidden the rest?”

“Nothing, no,” his voice sounded shaky now.

Kathleen tried to look back again, in search of Dries.

“Don’t move,” the taller one roared at her.

The smaller one flung open cabinets, throwing things around. The other seemed annoyed, he whistled between his teeth, paced to the door yet again, turned around, and then Kathleen saw it happen: he slipped on the wet floor and fell mercilessly with one leg stretched out, the back of his head hitting the tiles. He swore.

“Jeez,” the small one roared.

Karma, Kathleen thought. The other helped him to his feet, while keeping his gun pointed at the manager, as though he was capable of shooting without looking.

“We gotta get outta here, man!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Kathleen wished she could feel Dries, if only a finger on her leg; she discreetly shunted one foot backward, he’d surely notice, cautiously trying to catch a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye.

When she looked up again, she saw the smaller man’s boots in front of her nose.

“You too, give us everything.”

He threw the bag on the floor.

“C’mon, man, this is taking too long,” the taller one spluttered again.

He rubbed the back of his head, it looked stupid with the balaclava between his hand and the skin.

“Money, jewelry, phone.”

His nervous boots lingered.

“C’mon,” the other snapped in agitation.

Kathleen gestured whether she might sit. He nodded. She fumbled nervously at her handbag, but all she could feel was the plastic bag. She had to put everything she could find on the floor as quickly as possible so that he wouldn’t look in her purse. What would Dries think? How would romance be possible ever again if this came to light?

By now, the robber had Dries’s wallet, telephone, and watch. But she didn’t find what she was looking for. She hadn’t come out tonight without her wallet had she? She found a hair tie, two paper handkerchiefs in their wrapping, nose spray, a lipstick, her diary, some small change, an individually packed intimate hygiene wipe, and that dark secret of hers, but no money.

“We’ve got to go now, man,” the other man shouted as though it was the only thing he could say.

“I forgot my wallet. Take this.”

Kathleen took her phone from her coat pocket and shoved it at his feet. She undid her necklace, even though Dries had given it to her, and handed in her earrings and her bracelet which had barely cost anything, anything to avoid them asking for her handbag.

“What do you mean, forgot?”

“We’ve just been out to dinner at someone’s house, I didn’t need any money.”

“What about paying here, how were you gonna do that? In kind was it?”

He fumbled behind the button of her blouse with one finger and pulled the fabric forward. Kathleen cursed herself for not doing up her coat. He studied her décolleté with a grin, she could smell his sweat, Kathleen brusquely pulled one shoulder back and clamped her handbag beneath her arms.

“Give me that bag, you bitch.”

Anything but the bag. The thief moved his head still closer, Kathleen held her breath. The coldness of those two eyes surrounded by so much black wool.

“Sorry, I really don’t have anything . . .” Her voice shook.

All of a sudden, she saw him move back and then strike out with the butt of the gun. A crack against her temple, a crunch. Kathleen fell and felt a boot stamp into her stomach, and again.

“C’mon, man, that bag and away, dammit!”

The little one stamped again, her kidneys now. Pain shot down her back. She tried to protect her face with her hands, still keeping hold of her bag. Suddenly the manager launched himself at the thief. The taller one came closer, pointing his shaking weapon. The two men wrestled on the floor, Kathleen tried to get up, stamped at the smaller one’s back with the heel of her shoe but in no time he was on top of the shop owner. He punched him full in the face. A dull crack. The tall one pulled the other one by his shoulder. “Stop it, you fool, c’mon.”

The little one didn’t seem to hear anything, kicked the man in the head, who screamed as though he was being beaten to death. Then he began to kick his stomach, and again, and again, and again until the man vomited.

“Idiot,” the tall one fumbled for the bag and pulled the smaller one forcefully by the shoulder, “C’mon, you rookie.”

The beanpole walked toward the door, the other storming after him. The door tinkled and then a hazy silence.

Kathleen crawled painfully to her feet. She touched her forehead: wet, blood. She was a little dizzy but made her way to the man. “Sir?” His eyes were shut. “Sir, are you all right, sir?” Kathleen didn’t know why she thought he might react to English, perhaps he’d spoken with an accent just now. She gently shook his shoulder, his face looked terrible and his vomit was a strange russet color. His chest was rising and falling, at least there was that.

She got up. What now? Panic was having all naturalness fly out of you. “Dries?” Where was he now? “Dries?!” She had to get help, find a phone. “Drie-hies?” She went to the door that led to the back of the shop. There was an old-fashioned telephone. Someone answered at once, Kathleen told her story, but she didn’t know the name of the street. “Dries?” Again no reaction. Finally she spotted an envelope lying near the phone; she dictated the address; she was afraid help would arrive too late thanks to her dithering.

She didn’t see him sitting there hidden between the shelf of preserves and the wall until she went back into the shop. “Dries?” He didn’t respond or look at her. It wasn’t until she reached him that she saw that the crotch and inside legs of his beige trousers were darker than the rest.

 

FOUR

Kathleen looked at him, the way he was lying there, neck and head buckled to the stretcher, the stranger who had saved her. It was too soon to tell, further examinations were necessary, the paramedics said. They gave her a compress which she had to hold pressed to her head. She could go with them to get her wound stitched and her head looked at, but they’d have to leave at once. “I’ll just check.”

Kathleen went over to Dries, she’d never longed for him more. He was in the back of the shop on a stool, a blanket wrapped around his middle. He stared at the ground, his face pale, a hand clutching his forehead. “Shall we go in the ambulance? Or just me and you come later? Or shall we drive to the hospital? You can drive, can’t you?”

Dries didn’t reply.

“I have to let them know, they’re waiting.”

When he still didn’t respond, she told the ambulance personnel, “I’ll stay here, thanks.”

Dries sat there as though he could no longer carry his own weight. The two people who usually had such good conversation remained silent. He didn’t ask how she was, she wondered how to help him but didn’t have any bright ideas. Her head pounded. He was disgusted by her, of course, she hadn’t wanted to give them her stupid handbag and it was her fault that brave man had been beaten. Maybe she should just confess everything. But a story about shit? Kathleen sat down next to him. She cleared her throat but that was all. She got up again and looked for a key so that they could lock the door behind them.

When she returned, Dries was in exactly in the same position, his shoulders drawn and cramped.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Dries growled, “Yes, having the time of my life.”

This type of cynicism wasn’t like him.

“I should have given them my bag, it was just . . .”

He didn’t look at her and she lost the courage to finish the sentence. He pulled the blanket further over himself.

“I’m glad that they didn’t turn on you, at least.” She used her softest voice.

She laid a hand against his cheek, he pulled his head away. Kathleen waited a while, hoping he would say something. She wanted to kiss him but didn’t know if she’d be able to cope if he drew back. “Shall we go? We’re not going to feel any better if we stay here, are we?”

“Go on, I’m coming.”

“You’ve got the car keys, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

He made no move to hand them over to her.

Kathleen stared outside shakily, at the patchy light, the out-of-focus world. Rain splashed angrily against the windows, a black and white cat raced past. The emptiness of the street unsettled her. Kathleen thought about the manager, his arms in the air, his howls, she thought about Dries and his turned-away gaze, about the repulsive poop in her bag, and she felt a tear linger in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t forget your handbag.”

Kathleen didn’t know whether the bitter undertone was really there or was just a figment of her imagination.

She struggled to lock the door and after some fumbling, dropped the keys into the letterbox. There was a trashcan a few feet down the street, finally free of that burden, she thought as she pushed the bag through the hole.

Kathleen sat next to him in the car.

“Oops, I’m making everything wet.”

She was aiming for airiness to pave the way for a conversation.

Dries carefully draped the blanket over his trousers and started the car.

“Yeah, course, if you’re going to go wandering up and down the street.”

Kathleen didn’t know what to say. She heard the turn signal, his hands gliding along the leather steering wheel. Then he pulled at the blanket for the thousandth time. She tried to breathe through her mouth.

The windshield wipers swept back and forth on their fastest setting. She looked at the road but the only thing she could see was Dries’s face, refusing to look at her, and the broken face of the man in the night shop. She got a cramp in her arm from holding the compress and swapped hands. If she let herself go, her teeth would chatter. The cold seemed to crawl into her, a companion that was there to stay.

Once he’d freshened up, it would all be better. They’d drive to the hospital for her head, and he’d hold her hand, and she’d say she’d tell him the whole story later and then he’d understand, and they’d find out how the shop owner was doing and hear he’d soon be back to his old self, wouldn’t be long, and they’d hug because they were so happy for him and just in general, together, and they’d chatter away as usual on their way to his or her house, it wouldn’t matter, they’d say. And they’d be reunited again as they had been continuously for the past five months. That’s how it would go, later, once he’d freshened up, she was sure. Somewhat sure.

“Wat niet meer wordt verwacht telt dubbel had zij ontdekt” © Griet op den Beeck. First published in Gij nu (Amsterdam: Prometheus, 2016). By arrangement with the publisher. Translation © 2016 by Michele Hutchison. All rights reserved.

English Dutch (Original)

ONE

Even when she looked in a mirror she had a smile on her face these days; when she went down the stairs there was practically a skip in her step, and now and again, a tune would come humming out of her. What you’ve given up hoping for counts twice as much, Kathleen had discovered.

After her divorce, there’d been Emiel. He had Crohn’s disease. It hadn’t been officially diagnosed but he assumed he had it, given the unreliability of his bowels. He didn’t dare go to restaurants, the cinema was tricky, too, since he worried about having to run out halfway through, and he only reluctantly visited friends of hers. To be honest, what he liked most was to simply stay home, and even though she loved going out, she was prepared to accept this. If she were him, she’d have actually gone to see a specialist to get a proper diagnosis, but for some reason or other, Emiel kept refusing to go and who was she not to respect other people’s fears? But the fact he could barely talk about anything other than his bowel movements and his diet, and the way he assumed life had only been invented to torture him, well, after a while it began to weigh on her own joie de vivre.

Then came Barry. He only took a bath once a week like he’d learned as a child. His beard came down to his chest and always smelled at least a bit of old dishwater. He liked to crack jokes and was insulted if she didn’t laugh at them, and he never picked up when she called, not even that one time when it had been an emergency and she’d rung four times in a row. The very first time they had sex, he slapped her hard across the face; he couldn’t come without doing that.

Later she found Franz with a z, that’s how he wrote it, even though it wasn’t like that in his passport. He couldn’t tolerate her not reading and enjoying the same books, picking out the same films, enjoying the same Leonard Cohen tracks on repeat, admiring the same actors, or when she didn’t like Thai and Japanese food as much as he did, particularly that one dish with the little octopuses, when she wasn’t bothered by the lady next door with the ugly dog in the same way or that TV presenter with the big head and funny lips. Even when they watched TV together, he’d turn to her every time he found something funny, as though he couldn’t laugh unless she did too, as though he could only exist if she were part of him. But Kathleen played along. She thought affably that it would serve to expand her world, and she discovered that keeping her opinions to herself wasn’t half as difficult as she’d initially thought. At the end of the day, there was something wrong with everybody. But then he took up Nordic walking.

The only thing Sylvain could talk about was his ex-wife, to whom he’d return immediately if she’d have him back, he declared, holding Kathleen in his arms. He was only telling her this because he wanted to be honest with Kathleen.

And Wilfried never looked her in the eye. When he talked to her, his eyes consistently searched for a spot high on the wall behind her. He was exceptionally clever, but only interested in technology in fact, which he could talk to her about for hours using scientific terms, which he did. He never hugged her, only kissed her during sex, and as a form of greeting, he’d pinch one of her upper arms twice, his way of showing affection, she presumed. If anyone did that now, so many years later, she’d get a sick feeling in her stomach, like when you’ve eaten too much chocolate.

And then finally, there was Mick. They were crazy about each other but he had five children with three different women and all five of them had one thing in common: they hated her, and after a while it proved fatal to their relationship.

Apart from one, they’d all been the ones to leave her. Each time, more than a parting, it was like an assault on her laboriously gathered-together belief in what she was capable of. Love had kicked her in the stomach. After Mick, Kathleen resolved to become a happy single. She never would have succeeded.

But all of a sudden Dries popped up; she met him at a girlfriend’s party. She’d lost her coat and he helped her look for it. Afterward, he pinched a bottle of whisky from the bar cabinet and they disappeared into the night together. They sat on a park bench until five in the morning. They’d laughed at the stupidest things, confessed to everything they were ashamed of, talked about dreams and various forms of regret, discovered how much affinity they had.

When they were too tired to find the right words and were sitting just staring into the water, they saw a quacking duck with her offspring. Then they noticed that one duckling was getting separated from the rest, and at that instant, he spontaneously waded into the water up to his waist to reunite the bird with the flock. Before she had got home in the early morning, he’d already texted her to ask whether he could cook for her that evening, and he turned out to be a good cook, too.

Dries was the man who made her look differently at everything she thought she’d already seen. He continuously helped her escape from all kinds of self-loathing. He worshipped her between thin sheets with eager tenderness—coercive, warm, close. He didn’t ask her for anything, but as time went by, he dared take more and more of what she was so happy to give him. He made her weak and happy, often both at the same time; he made her think about the essential, he pushed her on. He was the man Kathleen had stopped believing existed, who then turned out to exist after all. They made plans for a wild journey after she had breathlessly sat listening to his stories about his adventures in places that appealed to the imagination.

Kathleen kept on waiting for the day he turned out to be a serial killer, or that he was leading a double life and had a wife, three children, and a guinea pig in another city, or that he was dying of a creeping hereditary illness that would cruelly tear them apart, but they’d known each other for five months and four days now and still nothing had come to light. If there was any justice in life, the two of them would stay together for the rest of time, a girlfriend had claimed recently. Kathleen hadn’t said anything to the contrary.

She stood before the mirror in a dress she had paid a little too much for and hoped Dries would like it. She opted for the shoes with the serious heels he found sexy and applied her perfume in seven different places. He’d be arriving in a minute to pick her up for a dinner at his boss’s house. He hadn’t been working for the company for long and she could tell he was nervous about it. She didn’t have to go if she didn’t feel like it, he didn’t know if she’d find it much fun with his colleagues who were duller than dishwater, but she’d insisted. She put on lipstick and the necklace he’d given her the week before and then her coat in preparation.

Outside, it seemed like the rain would never stop. In the glow of the street lamp, all that water reminded her of windblown dust in the brightest sunlight—it was pretty. In the olden days, she’d feel glum whenever she woke up and heard rain drumming against the windowpanes. When she heard his car approach, she hurried out to the drive. Even though the last time had been yesterday, she was delighted to see him again. Nothing was lovelier than to continually be reunited with the other.

 

TWO

Kathleen was worried her dress wasn’t appropriate. The aperitif was brought into the “lounge,” as Dries’s boss called it, a square room with lots of glass, looking out over an enormous garden filled with old trees. The voluptuous sofa seemed endless too, it could easily accommodate eight. Kathleen turned down all the appetizers because she was afraid to stain the pale gray fabric. Dries tried his very best and wasn’t completely sure it was enough, she could see that. It moved her because she hadn’t yet seen him like this, he was more of the tough, leave-everything-to-me type.

To her left at the table there was a guy called John. He was wearing a loud red tie and smelled of Camembert. He reminded her of Franz with the z, yet she still attempted a conversation.

They were served Bouchot mussels in a saffron sauce as an appetizer, and even though mussels were the only things Kathleen really didn’t like, especially since she’d had a bad one that time, with all the consequences, she wanted to give it a go so as not to insult anyone, and actually they were quite tasty. When the hired waiter came to take the plates, Dries cracked a joke that made the entire table laugh and made her glow with pride. It was all going to be fine.

“Where’s the bathroom please?” Kathleen asked Dries’s boss after the main course.

“You can use the upstairs one, the guest bathroom has just been painted and it’s not completely dry. Most inconvenient, tradesmen never finish on time. Go upstairs, along the corridor, the bathroom’s the second door on the left.”

Kathleen hoisted her handbag over her shoulder and climbed the spiral staircase. The house looked as if nobody lived in it, even though they had two young children. She tiptoed cautiously along the corridor. Just to be sure, Kathleen knocked and waited a while.

The bathroom was about the same size as her bedroom, it had a walk-in shower with smoked glass and a two-person Jacuzzi. Kathleen lifted up the toilet lid and even though she wasn’t looking, she saw it. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such a big one before. Not that she’d made any comparative studies, in general Kathleen didn’t look at the contents of toilet bowls, but in this case it didn’t take much to notice the colossus. The way it was lying there: challenging, commanding, unavoidable, it seemed more like something that had come from a bear, or a different kind of mammal that ate much more than any person would ever be capable of.

She immediately began to perspire. She wished she could simply change stalls, like in a bar. Go back downstairs without doing her business, that’s what she’d do, her need to pee had already disappeared at the sight of the filled toilet. But then she realized that her table companions had explicitly seen her disappear to the bathroom, whoever used the toilet after her would think she’d left it there boorishly. It might even be Dries, he had a small bladder, she’d already noticed that.

Kathleen flushed, the water came pouring down with appropriate enthusiasm, but remained high for a while before sinking to halfway down the toilet bowl. To her disgust, she watched it all with fascination. After an initial pause, some movement appeared in the water, thank god, a gentle kind of bubbling, as though it was trying with all its might and main to carry away the number two. The bubbling became churning and finally the water disappeared, though it left the turd unmercifully behind.

The cistern refilled. She wondered whether it was worth trying again. Next time the water might stay as high as it had been permanently. But what else should she do? She crossed her fingers, pressed the larger of the two buttons emphatically and, just like she was convinced she’d win whenever she bought lottery scratch cards, she became convinced that this second attempt would be successful. She heard the frothing, sucking sound of water that wanted to return to the sea. But the stubborn brown-black whopper remained behind in all its glory.

The sight of it was becoming more and more unbearable. She looked around the bathroom hesitantly, searching for something that could save her. A toilet brush was mounted to the wall in a stainless steel holder. Theoretically it offered opportunities, but if she set to work with it, there would be questions about who had desecrated for all eternity this design piece, which was almost as bad. She saw two cups next to the sink but shuddered at the mere thought. And then her gaze fell on the tiny bucket and spade next to the three rubber ducks on the edge of the Jacuzzi. They must belong to the boss’s cute toddler she’d seen pictures of. For a while, she stared from the bucket and spade to the bin, before dismissing it as the dumbest idea ever. Of course there was another option, but the thought of it made her gag.

In faint despair, she flushed just one last time. The toilet made slurping and churning sounds, it sounded almost hopeful, Kathleen thought, and at that moment someone knocked on the door. Kathleen’s heart missed a beat.

“Occupied.” It sounded hoarse.

She stood there as quiet as a mouse. Fiddling at the door.

“Occupied!” Bellowing now.

“Oh, sorry,” someone shouted back.

It was Dries’s boss’s wife! If Kathleen had had to guess which of the company wanted to use the toilet now, she’d have been her very last choice.

Kathleen waited for the liberating sound of high heels on the move, but heard nothing. Dries’s boss’s wife was just standing there waiting her turn. Not entirely incomprehensible. How long had Kathleen been in the bathroom by now? It must be ten minutes, perhaps even fifteen, which of course would only confirm suspicions that Kathleen was the producer of this mega-turd. She gave it another glance, and no, the fellow hadn’t smoothly slipped away in the few seconds. Something had to happen now. The unthinkable, if necessary.

She always carried a strong plastic bag in her handbag, saving the planet was in the details. Almost sick with disgust, she pulled the bag around her left hand, took the spade in her right hand, stood over the toilet, her face turned away so that she could only just see what she was doing, and aimed first one and then the second half of the turd into the bag. Kathleen spun the bag around and around to contain its unwanted bounty and then folded the ends around it. Filled with revulsion, she checked whether it was secure. She heard Dries’s boss’s wife cough on the other side of the door. It was hard to tell whether it was a coincidental cough, or one that meant “I’m-standing-here-waiting-for-god’s-sake-hurry-up.”

Kathleen flushed one last time, holding the spade under the running water before putting it back in the bucket, ostensibly clean. This was by no means ideal, but ideal wasn’t exactly the code word this evening. After placing the package in her handbag and washing her hands, she came out bearing a deadpan expression.

She could hardly believe what she had done, but she walked back into the room wearing her most innocent smile. Anything for her Dries.

 

THREE

It was hard not to be distracted. Afterward she’d be sleeping over at Dries’s and she had to get rid of her unwanted bounty. Now and then, she tugged her large handbag a little closer to her and sniffed, just to make sure, but for now she didn’t have to worry about that. During the dessert, she studied the other guests, the million-dollar question was which of them had produced the specimen. While they were eating, no one had left the table, and she hadn’t paid any attention to who had left the room while they were having the aperitif in the lounge, she’d only had eyes for Dries. Intuitively she wanted to eliminate all of the women, but that one there with the red hair and swimmer’s shoulders looked like she was capable of plenty. John was her other most likely contender.

In the meantime, she tried not to wonder what the others in general, and Dries’s boss’s wife in particular, had thought of her unhealthily long absence just now. The more the evening progressed, the more her need to pee grew, since she hadn’t been able to go in the depths of her misery. Yet she refused to return to the place of doom, who knew what she might find in the toilet next.

They drove home and Dries was happy with how the evening had gone. “Everyone loved you, you know, when you went to the loo, three different people told me how nice they thought you.”

The look in Dries’s eyes as he said this was something that could keep Kathleen afloat for a week. She was sitting with her bag on her lap and trying to cleverly disguise her discomfort. She had to make sure they planned in a pit stop so that she could dump the plastic bag.

“Could we stop off at a convenience store? I need to buy tampons, I forgot and I might need them early tomorrow morning. Sorry, so stupid of me,” she laughed.

“No problem, love, there’s one just a bit further up, I think.”

Dries parked the car, unfortunately right in front of the shop, but inside there were often bins for ice-cream wrappers and so on. Don’t panic, she thought, it’ll be fine.

She had her hand on the door handle.

“Be right back.”

“I’ll come with you. I feel like something unsophisticated after that much too healthy fruit pudding they just gave us, don’t you?”

Her smile was incriminating. She wanted to say that she’d pick up something, but he’d already slammed the door.

The rain clattered down so hard it was ricocheting off the street. Dries opened the car door for her, held his long raincoat over both of their heads, and they sprinted into the shop. Once they were inside, he leaned over the freezer compartment to study the ice creams. Kathleen walked to the rack with toiletries as she looked for a bin, which of course wasn’t there. Bloody hell. Kathleen had to get rid of the bag whatever it took. If necessary, in any place she could leave it without being noticed: this was an emergency. She’d apologize to the shop owner in her mind, hopefully he wouldn’t open the bag before he threw it away. Kathleen spotted quite a large space behind the shampoo and the bubble bath, that might be an option. She heard the shop door tinkle, oh no, another person to potentially witness what she was up to.

“Everybody on the ground, now!” Two men in balaclavas stood there looking at them, each holding a handgun pointing at them and the shop owner. One of them locked the door.

The other shouted for a second time, “Now!”

Their movements were jumpy, their bodies gangly and thin, they looked more like boys than men, boys that stood there dripping like wet dogs. Kathleen heard Dries panting behind her. She knelt down and then quickly leaned over because her bottom sticking up right in Dries’s face can’t have been that attractive. She turned around and saw that Dries was lying flat on the ground with his face turned away from the assailants, and thus also from her. The floor was wet and covered in the slimy tracks of all the shoes that had come in and out all evening; she hung about halfway down, supporting herself on her underarms. The compromising handbag lay beside her.

The man at the counter just stayed where he was, his hands in the air. Maybe he didn’t think “everybody” meant him or maybe he didn’t speak Dutch, or he was just terrified, who could tell. The smaller of the two men threw a bag onto the counter. He waved his gun in front of the man’s face and then gestured at the cash register with the barrel. The manager immediately began putting all the banknotes into the bag, a sad spectator of his own losses, which he immediately accepted. His resigned calm contrasted sharply with the nervousness of the robbers, two hungry tigers in an undersized cage.

The smaller one wagged the barrel of his gun up and down in front of the shop owner’s eyes from time to time, as though he were showing the man the right moves. Kathleen wondered for an instant whether there might be a discreet alarm button somewhere to alert the police. But one of the strip-lights was broken, the woodwork on the door and window frames was desperately in need of a coat of paint, and the dust bunnies under the racks betrayed the absence of a paid cleaner. There wasn’t going to be any sophisticated alarm system here.

Since the two boys just carried on staring, the man now started pouring coins into the bag. The guys muttered something.

“More,” the taller one cried to the manager.

He shook his head. “All there is,” he replied.

He pointed at his till, lifted up the tray to show there was nothing hidden underneath it. Then he held his hands above his head again.

The smaller man pushed the man against the cabinet behind him, his right arm shoved up under the man’s chin.

“Where’ve you hidden the rest?”

“Nothing, no,” his voice sounded shaky now.

Kathleen tried to look back again, in search of Dries.

“Don’t move,” the taller one roared at her.

The smaller one flung open cabinets, throwing things around. The other seemed annoyed, he whistled between his teeth, paced to the door yet again, turned around, and then Kathleen saw it happen: he slipped on the wet floor and fell mercilessly with one leg stretched out, the back of his head hitting the tiles. He swore.

“Jeez,” the small one roared.

Karma, Kathleen thought. The other helped him to his feet, while keeping his gun pointed at the manager, as though he was capable of shooting without looking.

“We gotta get outta here, man!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Kathleen wished she could feel Dries, if only a finger on her leg; she discreetly shunted one foot backward, he’d surely notice, cautiously trying to catch a glimpse of him in the corner of her eye.

When she looked up again, she saw the smaller man’s boots in front of her nose.

“You too, give us everything.”

He threw the bag on the floor.

“C’mon, man, this is taking too long,” the taller one spluttered again.

He rubbed the back of his head, it looked stupid with the balaclava between his hand and the skin.

“Money, jewelry, phone.”

His nervous boots lingered.

“C’mon,” the other snapped in agitation.

Kathleen gestured whether she might sit. He nodded. She fumbled nervously at her handbag, but all she could feel was the plastic bag. She had to put everything she could find on the floor as quickly as possible so that he wouldn’t look in her purse. What would Dries think? How would romance be possible ever again if this came to light?

By now, the robber had Dries’s wallet, telephone, and watch. But she didn’t find what she was looking for. She hadn’t come out tonight without her wallet had she? She found a hair tie, two paper handkerchiefs in their wrapping, nose spray, a lipstick, her diary, some small change, an individually packed intimate hygiene wipe, and that dark secret of hers, but no money.

“We’ve got to go now, man,” the other man shouted as though it was the only thing he could say.

“I forgot my wallet. Take this.”

Kathleen took her phone from her coat pocket and shoved it at his feet. She undid her necklace, even though Dries had given it to her, and handed in her earrings and her bracelet which had barely cost anything, anything to avoid them asking for her handbag.

“What do you mean, forgot?”

“We’ve just been out to dinner at someone’s house, I didn’t need any money.”

“What about paying here, how were you gonna do that? In kind was it?”

He fumbled behind the button of her blouse with one finger and pulled the fabric forward. Kathleen cursed herself for not doing up her coat. He studied her décolleté with a grin, she could smell his sweat, Kathleen brusquely pulled one shoulder back and clamped her handbag beneath her arms.

“Give me that bag, you bitch.”

Anything but the bag. The thief moved his head still closer, Kathleen held her breath. The coldness of those two eyes surrounded by so much black wool.

“Sorry, I really don’t have anything . . .” Her voice shook.

All of a sudden, she saw him move back and then strike out with the butt of the gun. A crack against her temple, a crunch. Kathleen fell and felt a boot stamp into her stomach, and again.

“C’mon, man, that bag and away, dammit!”

The little one stamped again, her kidneys now. Pain shot down her back. She tried to protect her face with her hands, still keeping hold of her bag. Suddenly the manager launched himself at the thief. The taller one came closer, pointing his shaking weapon. The two men wrestled on the floor, Kathleen tried to get up, stamped at the smaller one’s back with the heel of her shoe but in no time he was on top of the shop owner. He punched him full in the face. A dull crack. The tall one pulled the other one by his shoulder. “Stop it, you fool, c’mon.”

The little one didn’t seem to hear anything, kicked the man in the head, who screamed as though he was being beaten to death. Then he began to kick his stomach, and again, and again, and again until the man vomited.

“Idiot,” the tall one fumbled for the bag and pulled the smaller one forcefully by the shoulder, “C’mon, you rookie.”

The beanpole walked toward the door, the other storming after him. The door tinkled and then a hazy silence.

Kathleen crawled painfully to her feet. She touched her forehead: wet, blood. She was a little dizzy but made her way to the man. “Sir?” His eyes were shut. “Sir, are you all right, sir?” Kathleen didn’t know why she thought he might react to English, perhaps he’d spoken with an accent just now. She gently shook his shoulder, his face looked terrible and his vomit was a strange russet color. His chest was rising and falling, at least there was that.

She got up. What now? Panic was having all naturalness fly out of you. “Dries?” Where was he now? “Dries?!” She had to get help, find a phone. “Drie-hies?” She went to the door that led to the back of the shop. There was an old-fashioned telephone. Someone answered at once, Kathleen told her story, but she didn’t know the name of the street. “Dries?” Again no reaction. Finally she spotted an envelope lying near the phone; she dictated the address; she was afraid help would arrive too late thanks to her dithering.

She didn’t see him sitting there hidden between the shelf of preserves and the wall until she went back into the shop. “Dries?” He didn’t respond or look at her. It wasn’t until she reached him that she saw that the crotch and inside legs of his beige trousers were darker than the rest.

 

FOUR

Kathleen looked at him, the way he was lying there, neck and head buckled to the stretcher, the stranger who had saved her. It was too soon to tell, further examinations were necessary, the paramedics said. They gave her a compress which she had to hold pressed to her head. She could go with them to get her wound stitched and her head looked at, but they’d have to leave at once. “I’ll just check.”

Kathleen went over to Dries, she’d never longed for him more. He was in the back of the shop on a stool, a blanket wrapped around his middle. He stared at the ground, his face pale, a hand clutching his forehead. “Shall we go in the ambulance? Or just me and you come later? Or shall we drive to the hospital? You can drive, can’t you?”

Dries didn’t reply.

“I have to let them know, they’re waiting.”

When he still didn’t respond, she told the ambulance personnel, “I’ll stay here, thanks.”

Dries sat there as though he could no longer carry his own weight. The two people who usually had such good conversation remained silent. He didn’t ask how she was, she wondered how to help him but didn’t have any bright ideas. Her head pounded. He was disgusted by her, of course, she hadn’t wanted to give them her stupid handbag and it was her fault that brave man had been beaten. Maybe she should just confess everything. But a story about shit? Kathleen sat down next to him. She cleared her throat but that was all. She got up again and looked for a key so that they could lock the door behind them.

When she returned, Dries was in exactly in the same position, his shoulders drawn and cramped.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

Dries growled, “Yes, having the time of my life.”

This type of cynicism wasn’t like him.

“I should have given them my bag, it was just . . .”

He didn’t look at her and she lost the courage to finish the sentence. He pulled the blanket further over himself.

“I’m glad that they didn’t turn on you, at least.” She used her softest voice.

She laid a hand against his cheek, he pulled his head away. Kathleen waited a while, hoping he would say something. She wanted to kiss him but didn’t know if she’d be able to cope if he drew back. “Shall we go? We’re not going to feel any better if we stay here, are we?”

“Go on, I’m coming.”

“You’ve got the car keys, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

He made no move to hand them over to her.

Kathleen stared outside shakily, at the patchy light, the out-of-focus world. Rain splashed angrily against the windows, a black and white cat raced past. The emptiness of the street unsettled her. Kathleen thought about the manager, his arms in the air, his howls, she thought about Dries and his turned-away gaze, about the repulsive poop in her bag, and she felt a tear linger in the corner of her eye.

“Don’t forget your handbag.”

Kathleen didn’t know whether the bitter undertone was really there or was just a figment of her imagination.

She struggled to lock the door and after some fumbling, dropped the keys into the letterbox. There was a trashcan a few feet down the street, finally free of that burden, she thought as she pushed the bag through the hole.

Kathleen sat next to him in the car.

“Oops, I’m making everything wet.”

She was aiming for airiness to pave the way for a conversation.

Dries carefully draped the blanket over his trousers and started the car.

“Yeah, course, if you’re going to go wandering up and down the street.”

Kathleen didn’t know what to say. She heard the turn signal, his hands gliding along the leather steering wheel. Then he pulled at the blanket for the thousandth time. She tried to breathe through her mouth.

The windshield wipers swept back and forth on their fastest setting. She looked at the road but the only thing she could see was Dries’s face, refusing to look at her, and the broken face of the man in the night shop. She got a cramp in her arm from holding the compress and swapped hands. If she let herself go, her teeth would chatter. The cold seemed to crawl into her, a companion that was there to stay.

Once he’d freshened up, it would all be better. They’d drive to the hospital for her head, and he’d hold her hand, and she’d say she’d tell him the whole story later and then he’d understand, and they’d find out how the shop owner was doing and hear he’d soon be back to his old self, wouldn’t be long, and they’d hug because they were so happy for him and just in general, together, and they’d chatter away as usual on their way to his or her house, it wouldn’t matter, they’d say. And they’d be reunited again as they had been continuously for the past five months. That’s how it would go, later, once he’d freshened up, she was sure. Somewhat sure.

“Wat niet meer wordt verwacht telt dubbel had zij ontdekt” © Griet op den Beeck. First published in Gij nu (Amsterdam: Prometheus, 2016). By arrangement with the publisher. Translation © 2016 by Michele Hutchison. All rights reserved.

Wat niet meer wordt verwacht telt dubbel had zij ontdekt

een

Zelfs wanneer ze in de spiegel keek, had ze tegenwoordig een glimlach op haar gezicht, als ze de trap afdaalde zat er bijna een huppel in haar pas, en nu en dan neuriede er zich zomaar een liedje naar buiten. Wat niet meer wordt verwacht telt dubbel, had Kathleen ontdekt.

Na haar scheiding was er eerst Emiel geweest. Hij leed aan de ziekte van Crohn. Dat was nooit officieel gediagnosticeerd, maar hij veronderstelde dat, gezien de onbetrouwbaarheid van zijn darmen. Hij durfde nooit naar een restaurant, ook de cinema was moeilijk, omdat hij vreesde halfweg de zaal te moeten ontvluchten, en naar vrienden van haar ging hij met tegenzin. Eigenlijk bleef hij liefst gewoon altijd thuis. En ook al hield zij ervan om de hort op te gaan, dat wilde ze er allemaal wel bij nemen. Als zij hem was, zou ze wel degelijk een specialist consulteren om het allemaal zeker te weten, maar Emiel bleef dat om een of andere reden weigeren, en wie was zij om mensen niet te respecteren in hun angsten. Maar dat hij amper over iets anders kon práten dan zijn stoelgang en zijn voeding, en dat hij naar het bestaan keek alsof het was uitgevonden louter en alleen om hem te kwellen, dat was na een tijd op haar eigen levenslust beginnen te wegen.

Toen kwam Barry. Hij nam maar één keer in de week een bad, zoals hij dat vroeger had geleerd. Zijn baard reikte tot aan zijn borstkas, en die rook altijd minstens een beetje naar schuimloos afwaswater. Hij maakte graag grappen en was beledigd als ze daar niet om moest lachen, en hij nam nooit op als zij belde, ook niet die ene keer tijdens dat noodgeval toen ze het vier keer na mekaar probeerde. Tijdens de allereerste vrijpartij sloeg hij haar keihard in het gezicht, pas daarna kon hij klaarkomen.

Nadien vond ze Franz met een z, zo schreef hij dat zelf, ook al stond het anders in zijn paspoort. Hij vond het onverdraaglijk als zij niet dezelfde boeken las en mooi vond, dezelfde films verkoos, dezelfde nummers van Leonard Cohen graag op repeat hoorde, dezelfde toneelacteurs vereerde, als zij niet evenveel hield van de Thaise en de Japanse keuken, en vooral van dat ene gerechtje met kleine octopusjes, als zij niet zijn hekel deelde aan die ene buurvrouw met die lelijke hond en aan die presentator met zijn grote hoofd en die rare lippen. Zelfs als ze samen televisiekeken, richtte hij bij alles wat hij grappig vond zijn blik naar haar, alsof zijn glimlach pas kon bestaan als die werd gedeeld. Alsof hij maar kon bestaan als zij deel werd van hem. Maar Kathleen deed mee. Zij dacht minzaam dat haar wereld er maar groter van kon worden, en ze ontdekte dat meningen voor zichzelf houden eigenlijk lang niet zo moeilijk was als ze initieel dacht. Het was tenslotte met iedereen wel wat. Maar toen was hij begonnen met nordic walking.

Sylvain kon alleen maar over zijn ex-vrouw praten, naar wie hij, zoals hij dan declameerde met Kathleen in zijn armen, metéén zou teruggaan als zij hem nog zou willen, en dat hij dat vertelde omdat hij tegen Kathleen eerlijk wilde zijn.

En Wilfried, die keek haar nooit aan. Als hij tegen haar sprak, leek hij consequent een punt te zoeken ergens hoog op de muur schuin achter haar. Hij was buitengewoon intelligent, maar louter geïnteresseerd in technologie, eigenlijk, waar hij haar urenlang over kon onderhouden in wetenschappelijke termen, en dat deed hij dan ook. Hij omhelsde haar nooit, kuste alleen tijdens de seks, en als ze elkaar ontmoetten kneep hij twee keer hard in een van haar bovenarmen, zijn blijk van liefde, naar zij veronderstelde. Als er nu iemand dat deed, zo veel jaren later, werd ze opnieuw wat wee in de maag, zoals na te veel chocolade te hebben gegeten.

En ten slotte was er Mick geweest. Zij waren dol op mekaar, maar hij had vijf kinderen van drie verschillende vrouwen, die alle vijf één ding gemeen hadden: een hekel aan haar, en dat was hen na een tijd ondanks alles dan toch fataal geworden.

Op één na was het telkens de ander die haar had verlaten. Meer dan een afscheid was het telkens weer een aanslag op moeizaam bij mekaar gesprokkeld geloof in wat zij waar kon maken. De liefde had haar toegetakeld. Na Mick nam Kathleen zich voor om een happy single te worden. Dat was haar nooit gelukt.

Maar opeens dook Dries op, ontmoet op een feestje van een vriendin. Zij was haar jas kwijt en hij kwam haar helpen zoeken. Daarna stal hij een fles whisky uit de barkast en verdwenen ze samen de nacht in. Tot vijf uur ’s ochtends hadden ze op een bank in het park gezeten. Ze hadden gelachen om dommigheden, dingen opgebiecht waarvoor ze zich schaamden, gesproken over dromen en soorten spijt, ontdekt hoe groot hun verwantschap was.

Toen ze eigenlijk al te moe waren om nog juiste woorden te kunnen vinden en wat zaten te staren naar het water, zagen ze een kwetterende eend met haar kroost. Ze ontdekten dat één kleintje niet meer bij de rest geraakte, en op dat moment was hij spontaan tot zijn middel het water in gegaan om het beestje met de rest te herenigen. Voor ze die vroege ochtend thuis arriveerde, had hij haar al een bericht gestuurd om te vragen of hij die avond voor haar mocht koken, en dat bleek hij dan nog uitstekend te kunnen ook.

Dries was de man die haar anders deed kijken naar wat ze allang meende te hebben gezien. Hij voerde haar telkens weer weg van alle soorten zelfhaat, gewoon door haar helemaal te zien en toch voluit van haar te houden. Tussen dunne lakens beminde hij haar met gretige tederheid, dwingend, warm, nabij. Hij vroeg haar nergens om, maar durfde gaandeweg meer aan te nemen van al wat zij hem zo graag gaf. Hij maakte haar week en blij, vaak tegelijk, hij deed haar stilstaan bij wat wezenlijk was, stuwde haar vooruit. Hij was de man van wie Kathleen niet meer geloofde dat hij bestond, die dan toch bleek te bestaan. Ze maakten plannen voor een wilde reis nadat ze de verhalen over zijn avonturen op tot de verbeelding sprekende plekken ademloos had zitten beluisteren.

Kathleen bleef maar wachten op dat moment wanneer zou blijken dat hij eigenlijk een seriemoordenaar was, of dat hij een dubbelleven leidde en nog een vrouw, drie kinderen en een cavia had in een andere stad, of dat hij stervende was aan een langzame erfelijke ziekte die hen straks wreedaardig uit elkaar zou rukken, maar ze kenden mekaar nu toch al vijf maanden en vier dagen en er was nog altijd niks boven water gekomen. Als er iets rechtvaardig was aan dit leven, bleven zij twee samen voor de rest van alle tijd, had een vriendin onlangs nog beweerd. Kathleen had haar niet tegengesproken.

Ze stond voor de spiegel in die ene jurk waar ze eigenlijk te veel geld aan had uitgegeven, en ze hoopte dat Dries ’m mooi zou vinden. Ze koos die schoenen met stevige hakken die hij sexy vond. En ze parfumeerde zich op zeven verschillende plaatsen. Zo meteen kwam hij haar ophalen voor een etentje bij zijn baas. Hij werkte nog niet zo lang in dat bedrijf, en ze voelde dat hij er wat nerveus over was. Ze hoefde niet mee als ze geen zin had, hij wist niet of ze zich wel zou amuseren daar, tussen de collega’s, die saaier waren dan waspoeder, maar zij had erop gestaan. Ze stiftte haar lippen, deed de halsketting om die ze vorige week van hem had gekregen en trok alvast haar jas aan.

Buiten leek de regen van geen ophouden te weten. In het schijnsel van de straatlantaarn deed al dat water denken aan opwaaiend stof in het felste zonlicht, mooi was dat. Vroeger werd ze al mistroostig als ze ’s ochtends nog maar hoorde hoe de regen tegen het raam tikte. Toen ze zijn auto zag naderen, repte ze zich naar de oprit. Ook al was het nog maar van gisteren geleden, zij was verrukt dat ze hem weer zag. Niks was mooier dan de ander telkens weer terugvinden.

 

twee

Kathleen was ongerust dat ze uit de toon viel met haar jurk. Het aperitief werd gebruikt in de lounge, zoals de baas van Dries dat noemde, een vierkante ruimte met veel glas, grenzend aan een ontzaglijke tuin vol oude bomen. Aan de wellustige sofa leek ook al geen eind te komen, er konden makkelijk acht mensen zitten. Kathleen weigerde alle hapjes omdat ze bang was om op de lichtgrijze stof te morsen. Dries deed geweldig zijn best en was er niet helemaal zeker van of dat volstond, dat zag zij wel. Het vertederde haar, ook omdat ze hem zo niet kende, hij was toch eerder het wat stoere laat-het-maar-aan-mij-over-dan-komt-alles-goed-type.

Aan tafel zat links van haar een kerel die John heette. Hij droeg zijn knalrode das luid, en rook naar camembert. Hij deed haar aan Franz met de z denken, maar toch probeerde ze ook met hem te praten.

Als voorgerecht kregen ze bouchotmosselen in een saffraansausje, en ook al waren mosselen zo’n beetje het enige waar Kathleen echt niet van hield, vooral sinds ze die ene keer een slechte mossel had gegeten, met alle gevolgen van dien, zij wilde het proberen om zeker niemand te beledigen, en eigenlijk vond ze het best lekker. Toen de ingehuurde ober de borden kwam halen maakte Dries een grap waar de hele tafel hartelijk om moest lachen, en dat deed haar gloeien van trots. Dit kwam helemaal goed.

“Waar is het toilet, alstublieft?” vroeg Kathleen na het hoofdgerecht aan de baas van Dries.

“Je mag die boven gebruiken, het gastentoilet is net vandaag herschilderd, en dat is nog niet helemaal droog. Heel onhandig, vaklui zijn echt altijd later klaar dan ze beloven. De trap op, de gang door en dan de tweede deur links is de badkamer.”

Kathleen hing haar handtas om haar schouder en liep de wenteltrap op. Dit huis zag eruit alsof er eigenlijk niemand woonde, terwijl ze nochtans twee jonge kinderen hadden. Behoedzaam stapte ze de gang door. Voor de zekerheid klopte Kathleen aan en wachtte even.

De badkamer had ongeveer de grootte van haar slaapkamer, met een inloopdouche in zwart glas en een jacuzzi voor twee. Kathleen lichtte het deksel van het toilet op, en ook al keek ze niet eens echt, zij had het toch gezien. Ze dacht niet dat ze ooit al eens zo’n grote was tegengekomen. Niet dat ze al aan vergelijkende studies had gedaan, normaal bestudeerde Kathleen geen inhouden van toiletpotten, maar in dit geval was er niet veel nodig om het enorme gevaarte op te merken. Zoals het daar lag, uitdagend, gebiedend, onontkoombaar, leek het wel afkomstig van een beer, of een andersoortig zoogdier dat veel meer at dan waar eender welk mens ooit toe in staat zou zijn.

Meteen begon ze een beetje te zweten. Ze wou dat ze gewoon van hokje kon veranderen, zoals in het café. Onverrichter zake terugkeren naar beneden, dat ging ze doen, haar zin om te plassen was door deze gevulde pot spontaan verdwenen. Maar toen bedacht ze dat haar tafelgenoten haar expliciet hadden zien verdwijnen richting badkamer, dus wie er ook na haar dit toilet gebruikte zou denken dat zij dit hier zo onbehouwen had achtergelaten. Misschien was dat zelfs Dries wel, hij had maar een kleine blaas, dat was haar al opgevallen.

Kathleen trok door, het water kwam met gepast enthousiasmenaar beneden gestort, maar bleef eerst even helemaal hoog, en toen halverwege de pot staan. Ze bleef tot haar eigen afgrijzen gebiologeerd toekijken. Na wat initiële stilstand leek er godzijdank toch weer minimale beweging in het water te komen, een zacht soort gepruttel, alsof het wel degelijk met man en macht probeerde die grote boodschap mee te nemen. Het pruttelen werd kolkend gesputter en uiteindelijk verdween het water, maar liet de drol onbarmhartig achter.

De spoelbak vulde zich weer. Zij vroeg zich af of nog eens proberen zin zou hebben. Straks bleef het water definitief zo hoog in de pot staan, dat was nog erger. Maar wat moest ze anders? Ze kruiste twee vingers, duwde nadrukkelijk op de grootste van de twee knoppen, en, zoals zij ook telkens als ze een kraslot kocht geloofde dat ze ging winnen, zo was ze er ook nu opeens van overtuigd dat de tweede poging een succes zou zijn. Ze hoorde het schuimende, zuigende geluid van water dat weer weg wou naar de zee. Maar onveranderlijk lag de bruinzwarte joekel daar, in al zijn uitgestrektheid.

De aanblik viel almaar moeilijker te verdragen. Ze keek weifelend de badkamer rond, op zoek naar iets wat haar zou kunnen redden. Aan de muur gemonteerd in een inox houder zat een wc-borstel. Theoretisch bood die mogelijkheden, maar als ze daarmee aan de slag ging, zouden er vragen rijzen over wie dit stuk design voor eeuwig had ontheiligd, en dat was bijna even erg. Ze zag twee drinkbekers op de wastafel, maar schudde alleen al bij de gedachte het hoofd. En toen viel haar blik op het emmertje met het schepje naast de drie badeendjes op de rand van de jacuzzi. Die behoorden vast toe aan de schattige kleuter van de baas van Dries die ze op de foto’s had gezien. Even keek ze van het schepje en het emmertje naar het vuilnisbakje, klasseerde dat als het domste idee ooit. Er was natuurlijk nog een optie, maar ze moest al kokhalzen bij de gedachte.

Uit onbestemde wanhoop drukte ze nog één finale keer op de spoelknop. Het toilet maakte slurpende en kolkende geluiden, het klonk bijna hoopvol, vond Kathleen, en op dat moment werd er op de deur geklopt. Kathleens hart sloeg een tel over.

“Bezet.” Het klonk schor.

Muisstil bleef ze staan. Toen werd er aan de deur gemorreld.

“Bezet!” Loeiend nu.

“O, sorry,” riep er iemand terug.

Het was de vrouw van de baas van Dries zelf. Had Kathleen mogen beslissen wie van het gezelschap net nu het toilet wou gebruiken, zou zij de allerlaatste keuze zijn geweest.

Kathleen wachtte op het bevrijdende geluid van naaldhakken in beweging, maar ze hoorde niks. De vrouw van de baas van Dries bleef daar gewoon staan wachten op haar beurt. Niet helemaal onbegrijpelijk. Hoelang zat Kathleen al in deze badkamer ondertussen? Vast al tien minuten, of misschien wel een kwartier, wat de verdenking van Kathleen als producent van deze reuzendrol natuurlijk nog maar eens bevestigde. Ze bekeek hem nog eens, en nee, deze knaap was er vast niet zomaar op een paar seconden vlotjes uit gegleden. Er moest nu iets gebeuren. Het ondenkbare desnoods.

In haar handtas zat er altijd een stevige plastic zak, de planeet redden zit in kleine hoekjes. Bijna misselijk van ellende trok ze die zak om haar linkerhand, in haar rechter nam ze het schepje, ze ging boven de pot staan, haar gezicht wat schuin weggedraaid terwijl ze toch nog net kon zien wat ze deed, en zo mikte ze eerst de ene en daarna de tweede helft van de drol in de zak. Kathleen draaide detas rond en rond om de ongewenste buit en plooide de uiteinden om. Vol afgrijzen checkte ze even of dat veilig was zo. Maar nee, hier kwam geen geurtje of drupje doorheen. Ze hoorde de vrouw van de baas van Dries kuchen aan de andere kant van de deur. Of het toevallig kuchen was, of betekenisvol “ik-sta-hier-wel-te-wachten-haast-u-in-godsnaam-kuchen” viel moeilijk uit te maken.

Kathleen trok nog een laatste keer door, hield het schepje in het stromende water, en legde het alvast ogenschijnlijk schoongewassen weer bij het emmertje. Ideaal was dit geenszins, maar ideaal bleek vanavond bepaald niet het codewoord. Nu het pakketje nog in haar handtas stoppen, handen wassen, en met een uitgestreken gezicht weer naar beneden.

Het viel nauwelijks te geloven wat ze had gedaan, maar zij liep toch maar mooi de kamer weer in, met haar onverdachtste glimlach. Alles voor haar Dries.

 

drie

Het was moeilijk om er haar gedachten bij te houden. Straks gingen ze bij Dries slapen, en zij moest nog van haar ongewenste buit af zien te komen. Nu en dan trok ze haar grote handtas wat dichter naar zich toe en snuffelde, voor de zekerheid, maar daar hoefde ze zich toch alvast geen zorgen over te maken. Tijdens het dessert zat ze almaar de andere gasten te bestuderen, met de prangende vraag wie van hen het specimen zou hebben voortgebracht. Terwijl ze aten was er niemand van tafel gegaan, en ze had compleet niet in de gaten gehouden wie tijdens het aperitief uit de lounge was verdwenen, zij had alleen oog voor Dries. Intuïtief wou ze alle vrouwen uitsluiten, maar die ene met dat rode haar en de schouders van een zwemster leek haar toch ook tot een en ander in staat. John achtte ze evenwel de grootste kanshebber.

Ze probeerde zich ondertussen niet af te vragen wat de anderen in het algemeen, en de vrouw van de baas van Dries in het bijzonder, maakten van haar ongezond lange afwezigheid van daarnet. Naarmate de avond vorderde moest ze ook almaar uitbundiger plassen, want dat was er door alle beroerdigheid niet eens van kunnen komen, maar ze weigerde terug te keren naar het oord van onheil, wie weet wat ze dit keer in de pot vond.

Ze reden naar huis en Dries was blij met hoe de avond was gelopen. “Iedereen was zot van u, hè, toen gij even naar het toilet waart hebben drie verschillende mensen het mij gezegd, hoe leuk ze u vonden.”

Zoals Dries keek terwijl hij dat uitsprak, daar alleen al kon Kathleen weer een week op teren. Zij zat met haar tas op schoot en probeerde haar ongemak kundig te verbergen. Ze moest zorgen dat ernog een pitstop werd ingelast, zodat ze het zaakje kon dumpen.

“Kunnen we nog even stoppen bij een nachtwinkel? Ik moet nog tampons kopen, ik ben ze vergeten en het zou kunnen dat ik ze morgenvroeg nodig heb. Sorry hè, stom van mij,” ze lachte.

“Geen probleem, lief, iets verderop is er eentje, denk ik.”

Dries parkeerde de wagen, jammer genoeg pal voor de winkel, maar ook binnen stonden er vaak vuilnisbakken voor wikkels van ijsjes en zo. Niet panikeren, dacht ze, het kwam wel goed.

Zij hield haar hand bij de klink.

“Zo terug.”

“Ik ga mee, ik heb nog zin in iets ongesofisticeerd zoets na dat veel te gezonde fruitdessert van daarnet, gij niet?”

Haar grijns was medeplichtig. Ze wou nog zeggen dat zij dat wel mee zou brengen, maar hij duwde de deur al dicht.

De regen spatte hoog op van de straat, zo hard kletterde die naar beneden. Dries maakte voor haar het portier open, hield zijn lange regenjas boven hun beider hoofden en zo spurtten ze de winkel in. Eenmaal binnen ging hij leunend boven de diepvrieskisten de ijsjes bestuderen. Kathleen liep naar het rek met de toiletartikelen, terwijl ze zocht naar een vuilnisbak, die er natuurlijk niet was. Verdorie toch. Kathleen moest van die zak af, hoe dan ook. Desnoods maar op eender welke plek waar ze het ongemerkt kon achterlaten, dit was een noodgeval. In gedachten zou ze haar excuses aanbieden aan de winkeleigenaar, die hopelijk de tas niet zou openmaken voor hij hem weggooide. Kathleen zag nog behoorlijk veel ruimte achter de shampoo en het badschuim, dit was misschien een optie. Ze hoorde de rinkel van de winkeldeur, o nee, nog iemand die kon opmerken wat ze aan het uitspoken was.

“Iedereen, op de grond, nu.” Twee mannen met bivakmutsen stonden naar hen te kijken, met elk een handgeweer op hen en op de eigenaar gericht. De ene draaide de deur op slot.

De andere brulde nog eens: “Nu!”

Hun bewegingen waren springerig, hun lijven slungelig dun, het leken eerder jongens dan mannen, jongens die daar stonden te druipen als natte honden. Kathleen hoorde Dries achter zich neerzijgen. Zij ging op haar knieën zitten, en leunde toen snel voorover, omdat die kont in de lucht, recht in het gezicht van Dries, er vast niet aantrekkelijk uit zag zo. Ze draaide achterom en zag hoe Dries helemaal tegen de grond aan geplakt lag, met zijn gezicht weggedraaid van de overvallers en dus ook van haar. De vloer was nat en zat vol slijkerige sporen van alle schoenen die hier al de hele avond in en uit liepen, zij bleef zo’n beetje halfweg hangen, steunend op haar onderarmen. Naast haar de compromitterende handtas.

De man achter de toonbank bleef gewoon staan, met zijn handen in de lucht. Omdat hij niet dacht dat hij iedereen was, misschien, of omdat hij geen Nederlands sprak, of puur van de stress, wie zou het zeggen. De kleinste van de twee gooide een zak op de toonbank. Hij duwde zijn revolver tot vlak voor het gezicht van de man en wees toen met de loop naar de kassa. De uitbater begon meteen alle biljetten in de zak te stoppen. Een trieste toeschouwer bij zijn eigen teloorgang, die hij ook onmiddellijk aanvaardde. De kalmte van zijn berusting stak schril af tegen de nervositeit van de overvallers, twee hongerige tijgers in een te kleine kooi.

De kleine bewoog af en toe de loop van zijn geweer op en neer voor de ogen van de winkeleigenaar, alsof hij de man de juiste beweging moest voordoen. Kathleen vroeg zich heel even af of er misschien ergens zo’n discreet alarmknopje zou zitten om de politie te verwittigen. Maar een van de tl-lampen was kapot, het houtwerk aan de deur en het raam had dringend een lik verf nodig en de stofvlokken onder de rekken verraadden bepaald geen betaalde poetshulp. Hier was vast geen geavanceerd alarmsysteem te vinden.

Omdat de twee jongens maar bleven staren, kieperde de man nu ook het kleingeld in de zak. De kerels mompelden iets.

“Nog,” riep de langste tegen de uitbater.

Die schudde zijn hoofd. “Alles,” antwoordde hij.

Hij wees naar zijn kassa, tilde het bakje op om te laten zien dat ook daaronder niks meer verborgen zat. Toen hield hij zijn handen weer boven zijn hoofd.

De kleine klemde met zijn rechterarm de man onder diens kin tegen de kast achter hem.

“Waar hebt ge de rest verstopt?”

“Niks, niet,” zijn stem klonk beverig nu.

Kathleen probeerde opnieuw achterom te kijken, Dries te zoeken.

“Niet bewegen,” brulde de lange tegen haar.

De kleine maakte kasten open, smeet er rommel uit. De andere leek geërgerd, hij floot tussen zijn tanden, liep voor de zoveelste keer naar de deur, draaide weer om, en Kathleen zag het gebeuren: hij gleed genadeloos uit over de natte vloer, zwieps met een been vooruit en zo met zijn achterhoofd tegen de tegels, hij vloekte.

“Djeezes,” brulde de kleine.

Karma, dacht Kathleen. De andere hielp hem rechtop terwijl hij het wapen op de eigenaar gericht hield, alsof hij zonder te kijken ook kon schieten.

“We moeten weg, man!”

“Ja, ja.”

Kathleen wou dat ze Dries kon voelen, al was het maar een vinger aan haar been of zo, ze schoof een voet discreet naar achter, dat zou hij vast wel opmerken, ze probeerde voorzichtig schuin een glimp van hem op te vangen.

Toen ze weer opkeek zag ze voor haar neus de bottines van de kleine.

“Jullie ook, alles afgeven.”

Hij gooide de zak op de grond.

“Komaan, man, dat duurt hier te lang,” sputterde de lange weer.

Hij wreef met een hand langs zijn achterhoofd, wat er belachelijk uitzag, zo met die bivakmuts ertussen.

“Geld, juwelen, telefoon.”

Zijn nerveuze bottines draalden op en neer.

“Komaan,” snauwde de andere geagiteerd.

Kathleen gebaarde of ze mocht gaan zitten. Hij knikte. Ze rommelde zenuwachtig in haar handtas, maar ze kon alleen maar die plastic tas voelen. Ze moest zo snel mogelijk alles wat ze kon vinden op de vloer leggen, zodat hij niet in die tas zou gaan kijken. Wat zou Dries wel denken? Hoe zou er ooit nog romantiek mogelijk zijn als dit aan het licht kwam?

De overvaller had ondertussen Dries’ portefeuille, telefoon en horloge in ontvangst genomen. Maar zij vond niet wat ze zocht. Ze was nu toch niet net vandaag haar portemonnee vergeten? Ze vond een elastiekje voor haar haar, twee papieren zakdoekjes in de verpakking, een neusspray, een lippenstift, haar agenda, een paar losse munten, een individueel verpakt doekje voor intieme hygiëne en dat donkere geheim van haar, maar geen geld.

“We moeten nu weg, kerel,” riep de andere, alsof hij niks anders meer wist te zeggen.

“Mijn portemonnee ben ik thuis vergeten. Maar hier.”

Kathleen nam haar smartphone uit de zak van haar jas en schoof die voor zijn voeten. Ze maakte de halsketting los, ook al had ze die van Dries gekregen, stond haar oorbellen en haar armband af, die nauwelijks iets hadden gekost, alles om te vermijden dat hij om haar handtas zou vragen.

“Hoezo vergeten?”

“Wij komen van een etentje bij mensen thuis, ik had geen geld nodig.”

“En hier betalen, hoe zou dat gebeuren? In natura misschien?”

Hij graaide met een vinger achter het knopje van haar blouse en trok de stof vooruit. Kathleen vervloekte zichzelf dat ze haar jas niet had dichtgeknoopt. Hij bestudeerde grijnzend haar decolleté, ze kon zijn zweet ruiken, Kathleen trok bruusk met een schouder naar achter, klemde haar handtas onder haar armen.

“Geef mij die tas, kutwijf.”

Alles, maar niet die handtas. De overvaller kwam met zijn hoofd nog dichterbij, Kathleen hield haar adem in. De kilte van die twee ogen omrand door zo veel zwarte wol.

“Sorry, ik heb écht niks . . .” Haar stem trilde.

En opeens zag ze hem weer naar achter wijken en uithalen, met de kolf van het wapen. Een knal tegen haar slaap, gekraak. Kathleen viel neer, en voelde een bottine in haar maag trappen, en dan nog eens.

“Komaan, man, die handtas en weg, verdomme!”

De kleine stampte nog een keer, tegen haar nieren nu. Pijn kroop langs haar rug naar boven. Ze probeerde met haar handen haar gezicht te beschermen, de handtas nog altijd bij zich. Plots sprong de uitbater tegen de overvaller aan. De lange kwam dichterbij, hield bevend zijn wapen gericht. De twee mannen lagen worstelend op de grond, Kathleen wilde opstaan, stampte in de rug van de kleine met de hak van haar schoen, maar in geen tijd zat hij boven op de winkeleigenaar. Hij sloeg hem met volle vuist in zijn gezicht. Een doffe knak. De lange trok de andere aan zijn schouder. “Zot, stop daarmee, komaan.”

De kleine leek niks te horen, stampte de man tegen zijn hoofd, die krijste alsof ze hem doodsloegen. Toen begon hij in zijn maag te stampen, en nog eens, en nog eens, en nog eens, tot de man braakte.

“Idioot,” de lange graaide naar de zak, trok de kleine hardhandig aan zijn schouder: “mee, nu, kalf.”

De slungel liep naar de deur, en de andere stormde achter hem aan. De rinkel van de deur, en dan wazige stilte.

Kathleen kroop moeizaam overeind. Ze voelde aan haar voorhoofd, nattig, bloed. Ze was een beetje duizelig, maar bewoog zich naar de man toe. “Mijnheer?” Zijn ogen waren dicht. “Sir, are you okay sir?” Kathleen wist niet waarom ze dacht dat hij op Engels wel zou reageren, misschien omdat hij met een accent had gesproken daarnet. Ze schudde hem zachtjes aan zijn schouder, zijn gezicht zag er akelig uit, en het braaksel had een vreemde bruinrode kleur. Zijn borstkas ging op en neer, dat wel, goddank.

Ze stond op. Wat nu? Paniek was alle vanzelfsprekendheid die zomaar uit je wegvloeit. “Dries?” Waar was hij eigenlijk gebleven? “Dries?!” Ze moest hulp halen, een telefoon vinden. “Drie-hies?” Ze liep naar de deur die naar de privévertrekken leidde. Binnen stond een ouderwetse telefoon. Er nam meteen iemand op, Kathleen deed haar verhaal, maar ze kende de naam van de straat niet. “Dries?” Weer geen reactie. Uiteindelijk zag ze een enveloppe bij de telefoon liggen, ze dicteerde straat en huisnummer, ze was bang dat door haar gesukkel alle hulp te laat zou komen.

Pas toen ze de winkel weer in kwam, zag ze hem zitten, verstopt tussen de kast met conserven en de muur. “Dries?” Hij reageerde niet, keek haar niet aan. Pas toen ze bij hem kwam zag ze dat het kruis en de binnenkant van de pijpen van zijn beige broek donkerder waren dan de rest.

 

vier

Kathleen keek naar hem, naar hoe hij daar lag, nek en hoofd vastgegord op de draagbaar, de vreemde man die haar had gered. Het was te vroeg om iets te zeggen, verdere onderzoeken zouden het uitwijzen, zeiden de ambulanciers. Haar gaven ze een kompres, dat ze tegen haar hoofd gedrukt moest houden. Om de wond te hechten en haar hoofd te laten nakijken, kon ze met hen meerijden, maar ze zouden wel zo meteen vertrekken. “Ik check even.”

Kathleen liep naar Dries, ze had nooit meer naar hem verlangd. Hij zat achteraan in de winkel op een krukje, met een deken om zijn middel gedraaid. Hij staarde naar de grond, zijn gezicht bleek, een hand aan zijn voorhoofd. “Gaan we mee met de ziekenwagen? Of ik alleen en dat gij nadien komt? Of gaan we met uw auto naar de spoed? Gij kunt gewoon rijden, toch?”

Dries antwoordde niet.

“Ik moet iets zeggen tegen die gasten, ze staan te wachten.”

Toen hij ook daar niet op reageerde, klinkte ze naar de ambulanciers: ik blijf hier, dankuwel.

Dries zat daar alsof hij zijn eigen gewicht niet langer kon dragen.

Zij die meesters waren in de betere gesprekken bleven almaar zwijgen. Hij vroeg niet hoe het met haar ging, zij vroeg zich af wat hem kon helpen, maar er schoot haar helemaal niks te binnen. Haar hoofd bonsde. Hij was gedegouteerd door haar, natuurlijk, zij die een dwaze handtas niet wou afgeven en zo verantwoordelijk werd voor het geweld tegen die heldhaftige man. Misschien moest ze toch maar opbiechten hoe het zat? Maar een verhaal over stront? Kathleen ging naast hem zitten. Ze schraapte haar keel om iets te zeggen, maar daar bleef het bij. Ze stond weer op, zocht naar een sleutel, zodat ze straks de deur achter zich konden dichtdoen.

Toen ze terugkwam zat Dries daar in precies dezelfde houding, zijn schouders hoog, in een kramp getrokken.

“Gaat het?” vroeg ze.

Dries gromde: “Ja, het is hier allemaal dolletjes.”

Dat soort cynische kilte kende ze niet van hem.

“Ik had mijn tas moeten geven, het was gewoon . . .”

Hij keek haar niet aan, ze verloor de moed om die zin af te maken. Hij trok de deken nog wat verder over zich heen.

“Ik ben blij dat ze zich tenminste niet tegen u hebben gekeerd.” Ze gebruikte haar zachtste stem.

Ze legde een hand op zijn wang, hij trok zijn hoofd weg. Kathleen wachtte even, hoopte dat hij toch iets zou gaan zeggen. Ze wilde hem wel kussen, maar ze wist niet of ze het aan zou kunnen als hij ook dan achteruit zou deinzen. “Zullen we vertrekken? Door hier te blijven gaan we ons niet beter voelen, toch?”

“Ga maar, ik kom.”

“Gij hebt de sleutel van uw auto, hè.”

“Ja.”

Hij maakte geen aanstalten om die aan haar te overhandigen.

Kathleen staarde rillerig naar buiten, naar het vlekkerige licht, de onscherpe wereld. De regen kletste kwaad tegen de ramen, een zwart-witte kat rende opgejaagd voorbij. De leegte van de straat ontregelde haar. Kathleen dacht aan de uitbater, aan zijn armen in de lucht, aan zijn gebrul, aan Dries en zijn afgewende blik, aan die weerzinwekkende kak in haar tas, en ze voelde een traan treuzelen in haar rechterooghoek.

“Ik zie u graag,” zei ze toen, ze hoopte dat hij dat zou horen.

“Ja, ja, ik kom.”

Hij kwam van het krukje af, wikkelde de deken opnieuw om zijn middel, en liep langs haar heen naar de auto.

“Vergeet uw handtas niet.”

Kathleen wist niet of die bittere ondertoon er echt was, of alleen bestond in haar verbeelding.

Ze had moeite om de deur op slot te krijgen, na wat gemorrel dropte ze de sleutels in de brievenbus. En tien meter verderop stond een vuilnisbak, eindelijk tenminste van die last verlost, dacht ze terwijl ze de zak door het gat duwde.

Kathleen ging naast hem in de auto zitten.

“Oei, ik maak hier alles nat.”

Luchtigheid wilde ze proberen, om zo het pad te effenen voor een gesprek.

Dries drapeerde de deken zorgvuldig over zijn broek, startte de wagen.

“Ja, als ge ook nog wat in de straat op en neer gaat wandelen natuurlijk.”

Kathleen wist niet wat te zeggen. Ze hoorde de richtingaanwijzer, zijn handen die langs het leren stuur gleden. Toen trok hij voor de zoveelste keer aan de deken. Zij probeerde door haar mond te ademen.

De ruitenwissers zwiepten op hun snelste stand heen en weer. Ze keek naar de weg, maar het enige wat zij zag was het gezicht van Dries, die weigerde haar aan te kijken, en het kapotte gezicht van de man van de nachtwinkel. Ze kreeg kramp in haar arm van dat kompres vast te houden, ze wisselde van hand. Als ze zich liet gaan, zou ze moeten klappertanden. De kou leek in haar te zijn gekropen, een metgezel die was gekomen om te blijven.

Wanneer hij straks opgefrist zou zijn, dan, dan zou het allemaal weer beter gaan. Dan reden ze naar de spoedopname voor haar hoofd, en daar zou hij haar hand vasthouden en zij zou zeggen dat ze straks het hele verhaal zou doen en dat hij haar dan wel zou begrijpen, en dan zouden ze samen informeren naar de eigenaar en te horen krijgen dat hij weer helemaal de oude zou worden, binnenkort al, en dan zouden ze elkaar omarmen omdat ze zo gelukkig waren, voor hem en ook gewoon, samen, en dan zouden ze babbelend als altijd naar hem of haar thuis gaan, dat zou niks uitmaken, zouden ze zeggen. En ze zouden de ander weer vinden zoals ze dat de voorbije vijf maanden telkens weer hadden gedaan. Zo zou het gaan, straks, als hij opgefrist was, dat wist zij zeker. Of toch bijna.

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