Water

‘But,’ says Dieke, ‘what is this?’

‘Cuttlebone,’ says Uncle Jan. He doesn’t look at her, he’s staring at a headstone and rubbing his chest with one hand. The dog lady pointed in that direction. ‘What?’ he says, after a while.

‘You were the last one to say something, not me.’

‘What did I say?’

‘Cuddle bone.’

‘Cuttlebone.’

‘What is that?’

‘It’s from a cuttlefish. That’s a kind of squid.’

‘Aren’t they all soft and slimy?’

‘Yes. But these ones have a hard bit too.’

‘Where?’

‘On their back maybe.’

‘I don’t get it.’ She rubs her finger over the worn, soft part of the cuttlebone.

‘Me neither. It’s rubbish anyway, it doesn’t help at all.’

‘It’s all dirty.’

‘Let’s get some more water.’

‘OK.’

‘Or would you rather go to the pool?’

‘No!’

On the way to the little house with the long name, Dieke looks around. There are dead people buried everywhere, that’s what Uncle Jan said. But not all dead people come here, some prefer to be burnt. He said other things too, and she was glad when they started scrubbing the stone, and secretly she thought about the swimming pool after all, and Evelien too.

‘Do you want to do it?’

‘No.’

Uncle Jan turns on the tap and waits with his hands on his hips until the bucket’s full.

‘There’s a bird in there,’ she says.

‘Hmm.’

‘On a string.’

‘Hmm.’

‘It’s dead too.’

Uncle Jan turns the tap off again without any trouble at all. She watches him closely and can’t work out why she couldn’t manage it before.

‘Why?’ she asks.

‘What?’

‘That bird?’

Only now does he look in through the window. ‘That’s a magpie.’

Dieke sighs.

Uncle Jan empties the bucket over the stone in a few splashes. He chucks the bits of cuttlefish into the bucket, together with the sandpaper and the wet rag, uses the screwdriver to lever open the paint and stir it. Then he gets the wet rag back out of the bucket and wipes the screwdriver clean. Wet rag and clean screwdriver go into the bucket, which he puts down on the shell path. ‘So,’ he says. ‘Now we’ll just wait till it’s dry again.’

‘OK,’ she says.

‘Do you know what a bogeyman is?’

‘No.’

‘Neither do I. In the old days Grandma and Grandpa used to tell us stories about the bogeyman to scare us. They said he lived in the ditches. That’s how they kept us away from the water.’

‘Why?’

‘You can drown in water. They were always scared of us drowning.’

‘Didn’t you have swimming lessons?’

‘Of course, but not till we were about five or six.’

‘What’s a bogeyman?’

‘A great big monster that grabs you if you get too close to a ditch. In the ditch between your house and my parents’ house, there’s a spot where there’s always bubbles coming up. Do you know where I mean?’

Dieke thinks about it. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘That’s marsh gas, but my father always said it was air bubbles from the bogeyman.’

‘Grandpa?’

‘Yes, your grandpa.’

‘Was it really air bubbles? Is that where the bogeyman lived?’

‘No, of course not.’

‘It’s a bit scary.’

‘Yes, that’s why he said it. And do you know what happened the first time Johan went to a swimming lesson?’

‘No.’

‘He asked the pool attendant if there was a bogeyman in the swimming pool. “What’s that?” the pool attendant asked. “He bites,” said Johan. He was terrified. The pool attendant laughed and said that the only thing that might bite him would be water fleas and they were so small you wouldn’t even feel it.’

‘Do they bite?’

‘I don’t think so. Have you ever felt them biting you?’

‘No. How old was Uncle Johan then?’

‘Five, I think. The same age as you are now.’

‘And you?’

‘Seven. And once we were there when lightning struck.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep. The whole swimming pool was full of people and then there was a thunderstorm. The pool attendant blew his whistle three times and everyone got out of the pool straight away. Johan and I went to sit in a changing cubicle. Johan was really scared and kept asking if the storm was going to go away again. He was as bad as Tinus, the dog we had back then; once he crawled into the cellar during a thunderstorm. We started counting.’

‘Counting?’

‘Yep. If you see the lightning and the thunder comes nine seconds later, then the thunderstorm’s three kilometres away. The less seconds, the closer it is. When there was hardly anything left to count, I pulled myself up on top of the cubicle door and, just when I had my head up over the door, the lightning hit the water.’

Dieke thinks of Evelien and hopes a thunderstorm doesn’t come now.

‘It was like a blanket of light over the water. Everywhere, from the paddling pool to zone four. I got such a fright that I let go of the top of the door.’

‘And then?’

‘It was like I’d seen the swimming pool’s skeleton.’

‘Huh?’

‘As if the swimming pool had been turned inside out.’

‘And Uncle Johan?’

‘He was sitting on the bench shivering.’

‘Inside out,’ says Dieke. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘I didn’t get it either. It was weird.’

‘Why wasn’t Daddy at the swimming pool?’

‘He already had two certificates. He preferred to go swimming in the canal. He thought the pool was childish.’

‘If lightning hits the swimming pool does it kill you?’

‘Yes, I think it would.’ Uncle Jan slides the T-shirt on his head back and forth a couple of times, as if it’s itchy underneath. ‘That headstone’ll be dry now, don’t you think?’

‘Is that your wife under the ground?’ Dieke asks.

‘You what?’

‘Your wife?’

‘I don’t have a wife. Never have.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because.’

‘Oh,’ says Dieke.

‘This is your auntie buried here.’

‘I don’t have any aunties.’

‘Um, no, you don’t. Because she’s here.’

‘Who?’

‘Oof,’ says Uncle Jan. ‘Hang on a sec.’ He tips everything out of the bucket and walks over to the little house with it. Then he comes back and puts the bucket, which is filled up almost to the rim, down in front of her. ‘Dip your head in here if you get too hot.’

‘Do it yourself,’ she says.

‘OK.’ He kneels down, puts his hands on the ground either side of the bucket and sticks his whole head in, T-shirt and all.

After a while, Dieke starts whistling. Sometimes things go faster if you whistle. ‘Uncle Jan!’ she calls. But he can’t hear her, of course. What else did he say a minute ago, when they were sitting on the bench? That when you’re dead, the world doesn’t exist any more? She pulls on his shoulder, which is oily, her hand slides off. She grabs the knot of the T-shirt and pulls her uncle’s head up out of the bucket.

‘At last,’ he says.

‘Not funny,’ says Dieke.

‘I was only joking. I was waiting for you to rescue me.’ He leaves the soaking T-shirt where it is, tied around his head. Water trickles out of his nose. ‘Ow,’ he says, brushing bits of shell off his knees. ‘Why don’t you go see if those blue tits are still in the tree?’

She bends forward, thinking of the day she got her swimming card, takes a deep breath and plunges her head into the bucket. She’ll show him. She can already feel the hand reaching to pull her out again, her shoulder’s itching a little. She opens her eyes and quickly closes them again. Why doesn’t Uncle Jan help? She’s had her head stuck in this bucket for at least a minute now. I should have breathed in more first, she thinks. Just a little bit longer now. She can do it, even if her chest already feels like it’s full of cotton wool. Come on, pull me out! She jerks her head back up and feels her wet hair slap her on the back. ‘Why didn’t you do anything?’ she bawls.

Uncle Jan stands there very calmly and looks down at her with his arms crossed. ‘You don’t want the world to stop existing yet, do you?’ he says.

He kneels down in front of the headstone and picks up the brush and the tin of paint.

‘What do I do?’

‘I just told you. Go and have a look at the blue tits.’

She waits a very long time before turning around and reluctantly setting out for the tree and the bench. She closes her eyes tight and pretends the world no longer exists. When she thinks she’s made it to the tree, she opens them again. Yes, the birds are still sitting on their branch, sucking air in and blowing it out again. She feels sorry for them, but she can’t do anything to help. The zip of her bag is open, she sticks an arm in and grabs an apple. ‘Do you want an apple now too?’ she calls.

‘Sure.’

She gets the second apple out and walks back. When Uncle Jan goes to take the apple, she pulls it back. ‘Never do that again,’ she says.

‘I promise.’ They eat their apples on opposite sides of the grave, facing each other.

‘The birds were still there,’ she says.

He doesn’t say anything.

‘How old is this auntie?’ she asks.

‘Two.’

‘Two? She can’t be. How old are you? Thirty?’

‘Ha! Forty-six. You understand that this auntie was one of Grandma’s children?’

‘Huh?’

‘I’m one of Grandma’s children too, right?’ He spits out a bite. ‘Yuck, that was a bad bit.’

‘Um . . .’

‘Don’t worry about it. We have to think of something for you to do. Or would you rather go home?’

‘No.’

Uncle Jan looks around. ‘Would you like to clean some of the other stones?’

‘Sure.’

‘Good.’

‘Do I have to do it with the cuddle bone?’

‘No, just water will be fine.’ He walks over to the path, picks up the wet rag and shakes out the shell grit. ‘Here’s a rag. Is there enough water in the bucket?’

‘Yes,’ says Dieke.

Uncle Jan comes back to the shell path and points out a stone, one that’s lying down, completely smooth and brownish.

‘Who’s under here?’ she asks.

‘Do you really want to know?’

‘No.’ She dips the rag in the water, wrings it out and starts to rub the stone clean, the tip of her tongue soon appearing between her almost clenched teeth.

‘Daddy!’ He’d walked up without her noticing.

‘Hi, Dieke.’

‘There’s lots of dead people under here!’ she shouts excitedly. ‘I’m cleaning them.’

‘No.’

‘I am.’

‘Did your uncle tell you to do that?’

‘No, I thought of it myself,’ she lies.

Her father walks over to Uncle Jan. She stands up and follows him. He puts his hands on his hips and watches Uncle Jan at work. ‘You shouldn’t do it that way,’ he says.

‘What do you mean?’

‘You have to lie the stone down flat. That’d be a lot easier.’

‘Can we do that?’

‘We can try.’

Her father and Uncle Jan take hold of the headstone and wobble it back and forth a little until they’re able to lift it up. They lay the top part of the stone on the raised edge of the grave.

‘Are you taking it apart?’ she asks.

‘We’ll put it back later,’ her father says. ‘It’s not a problem.’ He sits down on a nearby grave, pulls his tobacco pouch out of a back pocket and rolls a cigarette.

She looks closely from one to the other. They really do look a lot like each other, but at the same time not at all. Her father’s older, at least she thinks he is, and that’s strange, because her uncle looks older. Uncle Jan dips the brush in the paint tin and bends over the stone. Her father lights his cigarette. One smokes, the other paints. She was cleaning and she goes back to that. Neither man says anything, but it’s still a lot nicer now. There’s something beautiful about working in silence; she can sense that. It means something. When, after a while, Uncle Jan says, ‘It’s no good like this, we have to stand it up again,’ she doesn’t even react. She only looks up when she catches sight of someone coming down the shell path. ‘Dog!’ she shouts. And that big lady with black hair. The dog and woman march past her without a word.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ the woman says. She talks loudly and the dog starts barking. ‘Quiet, Benno! You’re wrecking the place. I knew it. I was on to you. Do you plan on knocking over other headstones too?’

Dieke has stood up, but stays close to the stone she’s cleaning. Uncle Jan and her father are standing between the graves with the stone in their hands. The woman sounds angry and the dog’s not listening to her. He’s still barking.

‘This is our grave,’ her father snaps. ‘You keep out of it.’

Dieke’s shocked. The way he’s said it sounds really rude.

‘I’m going to report this! And what’s that girl doing? To that stranger’s grave! She’s dirtying the stone. Have you got a tub of cow shit here somewhere too? What are you doing? Benno, quiet!’

The dog barks, Uncle Jan and her father slowly lower the stone. ‘Up a little,’ her father says, ‘there’s some pebbles on the concrete.’ Uncle Jan bends down and brushes something away with his free hand and the stone moves down out of sight. Then the men straighten up, her father with a red face.

‘Well?’ the woman says.

Dieke looks at her father. Is he going to be rude again?

‘Go away.’

‘What?’

‘Just mind your own business.’

Her father stares intently at the big dog, and after a while it stops barking and skulks back behind the woman’s legs.

‘I have business here,’ the woman says, pointing at the tall narrow headstone she pointed out to Uncle Jan earlier.

Her father turns and looks carefully in that direction. ‘We’re not doing anything against the rules,’ he says slowly.

‘We’ll see about that,’ the woman shouts, now staring at Uncle Jan. ‘And you . . .’ she says.

‘Yes?’ says Uncle Jan.

It looks funny: Uncle Jan bare-chested with that T-shirt tied around his head, the woman and her dog on the shell path. Only now does she notice that the woman doesn’t have her jacket on. And wasn’t she wearing glasses before? Dieke is curious what she’s going to say to Uncle Jan. It’s gone very quiet, so quiet she thinks she can even hear the panting of the two birds. The woman doesn’t say another word. She just spins around and strides off. When she passes Dieke she gives her a dirty look. ‘Horrible boys,’ she says.

Dieke gives her a sweet little smile. ‘I’m a girl,’ she says cheerfully. ‘Bye-bye!’

The dog drags on the leash.

‘I actually came to pick you up,’ her father says a little later.

‘Did you?’ she says.

‘Yep. You ready to go home?’

‘No.’

‘Don’t you want to go to the swimming pool?’

‘No.’

‘We could go to the beach instead.’

‘Yuck.’

‘When are you going to have lunch?’

‘I’ve already had a banana. And an apple.’

‘Me too,’ says Uncle Jan. ‘Let her stay if she wants to.’

‘Fine.’ Her father sticks his hands in his pockets. ‘You heading off again tonight?’

‘Yeah,’ says Uncle Jan. ‘What would I stay here for?’

‘Maybe we could do some fishing?’

‘In weather like this?’

‘Sure, why not? A worm’s a worm, or do fish stop biting when it gets too hot?’

‘Yay, fishing!’ Dieke shouts.

‘Have you already decided what you’re going to do?’ Uncle Jan asks her father.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you sold the land yet?’

‘No.’

‘But what are you going to do then?’

‘I dunno. It’s not your problem.’

‘No,’ says Uncle Jan. ‘So towards evening we’ll go fishing.’

‘We’ll see,’ her father says. ‘I’ll see you in a bit, Diek.’

‘Bye, Daddy.’

Her father strolls down the shell path to the Polder House. He walks a bit crooked, she notices. Almost like Grandpa. Quickly she throws the rag into the bucket, which is almost empty. ‘My water’s finished,’ she says.

‘I’ll get a new bucket. Shall I fill your drinking cup while I’m at it?’

‘Yes, please.’ She sits down on the stone she’s cleaning, although that doesn’t feel quite right. It’s not nice that her father’s gone again. She feels a bit lonely and wonders why she said no. Because now she is thinking of the swimming pool. And of Evelien, because she’s sure to be having fun there right now. Maybe with Leslie, though he hasn’t been to the pool that much lately. Of course, somebody else might come here, like Grandpa, and then she can go home with them. And then she can lie down in her big blow-up paddling pool. If a thunderstorm comes she’ll be able to get out of that a lot faster than the swimming pool. Even Grandma would be OK, although Dieke’s been doing her best to avoid her ever since that visit to the zoo and the dinner afterwards. It hurt like anything, her pinching her arm like that. The church bell rings.

‘What’s the church clock say, Dieke?’ asks Uncle Jan, coming back with a full bucket.

‘A lot.’

‘Twelve.’