The Rattle-Rat (11 page)

"It's me," the young woman said. "Hylkje. Hylkje Hilarius? Corporal? Motorcycle brigade? Now dressed in civilian clothes? Come to fetch you for a beer? You're still following so far?"

"Right," de Gier said gratefully. "Skinned. Stripped out of your leather. You're even more attractive than I had dared hope. How delightful life can be if, for once, disappointment is taken away for a moment. Do come in."

"Five minutes," Hylkje said. She curled up in the Louis
XVI chair, her long denim-clad legs twined loosely, her breasts tightly outlined in a velvet T-shirt, her perfect teeth displayed in a warm smile between stiff blond ponytails, innocently standing away from her cheekbones daubed with rouge, her sparkling blue eyes shadowed cleverly to maximum provocative effect.

"Where is that rat?" Hylkje asked.

De Gier ran upstairs and came back with Eddy. "You can hold on to him. I'll fetch his cheese."

Hylkje withdrew into the embrace of the chair, but Eddy stood against her shirt, his pointed pink nose trembling between her breasts.

"Bah," Hylkje squeaked.

"Harmless little chap," de Gier said. "Smells nice too. Just washed him with lemon-scented dishwash detergent.
Here, Eddy, have some cheese."

Hylkje held the morsel between her fingertips. Eddy snatched at it with darting little paws. His yellow teeth sank into the cheese.

"Now who would ever keep a rat?" Hylkje asked. "I've got a rabbit. Durk looks better, and feels nice and flurry.
Makes me itch a little at times, but otherwise he's the sweetest thing."

"I've got a cat," de Grier said.

Hylkje grabbed hold of Eddy and gave him back. De Gier took the rat upstairs. He came back in two bounds. Hylkje observed the sergeant's movements with approval. "You wanted to upset me, right? Thought I would scream the ceiling down? Frighten the little woman? Missed out again?"

"Men are weaker," de Gier said. "I've known it for some
time. I keep trying, but women always floor me. Doesn't take them long either. Now that I know it doesn't make me feel so bad."

"What else do you have except a cat? A
wyf? Bern"

"Don't know all the words yet," de Gier said. "Haven't met any
bern
yet in the local literature. Some Frisian animal that hasn't yet crossed the dike?"

"Frisian children."

"Never had any," de Gier said, "of any source. I would really rather have nothing at all, but that's hard to get. There are the necessities. Got to live somewhere, and once you have an apartment, there's furniture that flies in, and plants on the balcony, and the cat sneaking about. There are always the complications. I've got neighbors, too, to look after the cat when I'm away."

"You never have visitors?"

"Grijpstra drops in. Not too often. Too bulky. The apartment is small."

"The adjutant is your friend?" Hylkje stared at the sergeant's chest.

"Yes." De Gier analyzed Hylkje's steady gaze. "Oh, you mean it that way? No, no, are you crazy?"

Hylkje jumped off the low seat and walked around de Gier. "You sure, now? I hate to start off wrong. Last week I was shopping in the Gardens here, and there was this man, as handsome as you are, dressed well too, the very same type, a most attractive male. I smiled a bit and he didn't even see me, and then there were suddenly two of them. The other had been looking at a window display."

"There's only one of me."

"Not an uncommon variety," Hylkje said. "They pop up on the screen and on magazine covers. Wide shoulders and fall mustaches. Strong bones covered with firm flesh."

"I'm a normal male," de Gier said, "at your service."

"It'd be easier if you were married," Hylkje said. "You came up the dike, you're around for a few days, and then you're gone again, forever. No problems, if you can see what I mean. Durk and I have a good life, but a change... at times ... variety... a dream..."

"Aren't you going a little far?" de Gier asked. "I'm sorry
I was silly enough to try and frighten you with Eddy. You've evened things out now, don't overdo it. I'm normal. I adore and cherish women."

"Unattached males are often hard to handle," Hylkje said.
"They make for heavy going. If they're married, there's something to pull them back and I'll be rid of them again."

"Who's being hard to handle here?" de Gier asked. "Did
I throw myself at you? I thought we were going out for a beer?"

"Asshole," Hylkje said, smiling politely.

De Gier grinned. He gave her his arm. They walked to the door together. He pulled his arm back and opened the door.

"Are you usually so well mannered?" Hylkje asked. "Or is this an act for the occasion?"

"No," de Gier said. "I was taught to be civil, by my
mother. If I wasn't, I was hit. Conditioned behavior. Pavlov's dog. Ring the bell and the animal slavers."

"Is your mother still alive?"

"I take flowers to her grave," de Gier said, "every other Sunday. We hated each other, when we didn't share some love. I have her engagement photo above my bed. My father is in it too. He wears a bowler hat."

Hylkje's car was a Deux Chevaux, high on its wheels and colored bright orange. She maneuvered it cleverly through winding alleys. A passing church tower pointed the hands of its clock straight up. "Isn't it getting late?" de Gier asked. "Surely provincial pubs close early?"

"Our beer house goes on until one, and later, for the likes of us."

"The police?"

"And the other powers," Hylkje said, "as you will see."

"And the ordinary folks? Common pleasure is cut off by
midnight?"

Hylkje pointed at a square house straddling two canals.
"A sex club, open until four. Soft drugs are sold downstairs, and hard drugs in the loft."

"With police protection?"

"The Municipal Police ignore the house somewhat. It's known as 'channeling the tension.' When they close everything down, they don't know where it goes. It's also a hangout for colonial types and citizens from the province next door. The foreign element, their private niche."

The little car reached a square surrounded by impressive buildings. Hylkje defined their plastered gables. "Provincial Government, the mayor's office, the Queen's representation.
All the powers that lead us, and the pub in between,
for
when the pressure depresses."

De Gier stopped to look at the stately stone shapes. High windows stared back, arrogantly sedate. Flowing walls ended in slowly rising gable tops holding up a golden lion stepping out of a sky-blue plaster frame. Downstairs, wide pavements led, step by slow step, to very large doors painted in lush greens offset by copper ornaments. From the square rose huge trees with overhanging branches, rustling their loads of leaves.

"Nice and quiet," de Gier asked. *The law lives here?"

"We don't care for being told what to do," Hylkje said. "We have better ideas ourselves; the law knows that and hardly interferes. The result is peace, not the clamor you're used to in the nether parts."

"Do you ever visit the other end of the dike?"

"I've been there. I was a cop in Amsterdam for a year. Some police like to swagger down there, and it invites reaction. Some motorcyclists rode me down one night. Hurt my leg, couldn't wear a dress for years. Scar tissue—the cylinder of my own bike burned my shin. They pushed me
over
from the side and were off again."

"Revenge burns in your gentle soul?"

"A little less every day. A beer, Sergeant?"

The pub spread out under low, heavy beams. Hylkje was greeted by an aged bartender, hopping about spryly behind the weathered shelves and counters in the back. The glasses were foaming already, waiting to be beheaded by the wooden skimmer in the old man's bony hand.

"Working for the same boss?" the bartender asked, pointing his scraggly beard and gleaming sharp nose at de Gier.

"He's ours," Hylkje said. "But from down below. Maybe you can trust him, Doris."

"Rinus," de Gier said. "All yours, forever after."

"Don't stay long," Doris cackled. "Keep the bad elements down on your end. We've got it good here, and it may still last for a while." The wrinkles around his eyes folded in
and out. The dark beady eyes glinted. "Meanwhile, enjoy what we can offer. Have her and strong beer."

"He's here to work," Hylkje said.

"I can recommend her," Doris said loudly.

"That's enough," Hylkje said, "or we'll go to another
pub."

"Still have your cold?" Doris asked.

"It's my voice," Hylkje said. "If you weren't so decrepit
and a little more male, you might find the low pitch exciting.
Do your job, Doris, there are customers waiting."

Doris was off, carrying a tray, shouting insults at clients in the rear. "I quite like your voice," de Gier said.

"You too? It isn't nice to criticize the voice of your hostess. People used to say I lowed."

"Like a cow."

"A what?"

"Don't keep taking what I say the wrong way," de Gier said. "Here in Friesland, the sound is romantic. Yesterday, in Dingjum, I heard how lovely the sound can be. We landed in a meadow, and once the chopper was gone, the silence was audible and the cow chanted through it, softly. She sang, the way you do when you talk."

"A cow," Hylkje said, "swinging her udders. I don't do
that. A cow chews, burps, and chews again—I don't do that either. A cow digests everything five times. A cow is gross.
A cow has diarrhea."

"I didn't get a good look at her," de Gier said. "She was
behind us and we had to go ahead, but she was, of course, a small good-tempered beast, on slender legs, with a dainty body and tender eyes."

"You should watch your approach," Hylkje said. "You won't get far with me this way."

De Gier asked for more beer.

"Closing time," Doris shouted. "Away with you. I don't care for your company. Out. Maybe I'll fill you up tomorrow again. There's the door. Go on. The police are due any second now."

He passed Hylkje and de Gier their beers. "You're doing okay, son. Keep pushing now, you hear? Or are you planning to be around for a while and hoping for something better?"

The police entered, but there was only one of them. He
moved next to Hylkje. "Meet my friend," Hylkje said. "This is Officer First-Class Eldor Janssen. Sergeant de Gier. Colleagues and subjects of the same queen."

Customers squeezed out through the door, harassed by Doris's shouts and waving fists. The constable had finished his coffee and moved along. Here and there a customer still slumped behind a table. Doris closed the curtains. "Right, now what will it be?" He filled the slurred orders. The door opened. "All closed up," Doris shouted. "Out, or I'll call the cops."

The trespassing customer aimed for the bar. "So open up
again. I work for the boss. Hi, Hylkje." Lieutenant Sudema covered one eye with an unsteady hand. "Hi, you too."

De Gier straightened. "Evening, sir."

Doris locked the door and supported the lieutenant simultaneously, for Sudema was losing ground. "Whoa!" Then he was back on his feet, flapping both hands. Doris withdrew behind the counter. The lieutenant slipped again, swinging his arms in desperation. Hylkje pushed, de Gier pulled, and the lieutenant found a stool.

"Now what?" Hylkje asked. "Got yourself sozzled?"

"Completely and helplessly intoxicated," the lieutenant said. "Been everywhere already. Mixed the local brew with all available imports. I'm still not quite where I'd like to be. Does anyone know why?" He held on to the bartop while Doris poured beer. Lieutenant Sudema raised his glass. "Your very good health. Nobody knows why? Because tomorrow I have to take my kitchen cupboard down. My wife fucks in there. Not with me, you know. I sleep in my father's antique bed." The lieutenant closed both eyes and drank to his father's image, mumbling devoutly. "There you go, old boy. Thanks indeed. I don't want this life at all. A lot of hard work and I'm busy already. Insufficient staff and a station deluged with complaints and charges. Tons of tomatoes in die greenhouse. Will it ever end? When I destroy that cupboard, the wall will fall out of the house. I'll have to place posts." He opened an eye and tried to wipe the foam off his mouth. "One more." He looked about in triumph. "For everyone."

Doris filled glasses and delivered. The officials shouted toasts.

"Why does your wife copulate in a cupboard?" Hylkje asked.

"So
that she may debauch herself in secret." One of the lieutenant's eyes focused on de Gier, the other wandered. "You have a wife?"

"No," de Gier said.

"Help yourself to Hylkje," Lieutenant Sudema said. "She's all yours." He lurched toward Hylkje, kept back by de Gier's suddenly extended arm. "You like cupboards too?"

"I don't mind where I do it," Hylkje said.

"Didn't even know it could be done," Lieutenant Sudema said. "Stupid, eh?" He nodded upward while he sucked more foam. "Couldn't you tell me, Sir? Why don't You ever fill in gaps?"

"He guides us into suffering," Doris said softly.

"Doris," Hylkje said softly.

"Doesn't He?" Doris unfolded both his beady eyes. "And don't only drunks know what He is up to?" He snarled.
"Enough of this, I'll sweep you out." The broom swishing in Doris's hands drove protesting customers to the door.

"I'll do some fancy driving now," Lieutenant Sudema said cheerfully. "To the neighbor lady. She has a cupboard too."

"He can't drive," Hylkje said to de Gier.

"Amazing," de Gier said. "Yesterday I was at his house. I thought he was everything that I should have been. My mother's dream for my future that kept missing me. An upstanding gentleman, sane in body and mind, completed by just the right sort of spouse. When I saw them together I was almost ready to change my ideas. And now look at this."