Straw

How am I going to get down? she thinks. How the hell am I going to get down? The heat has got under her skin. The water’s finished, she’s eaten her way through a whole packet of Viennese biscuits, drained a bottle of advocaat, and now – it must already be six or so? – the heat, which until recently was just surrounding her, has crept into her body. She’s lying on her back and rubs her breastbone with two fingers to suppress a persistent nausea. She has a slight nagging headache and notices that her hands still feel cold to the touch. When she rubs them together, it’s like she has chilblains on her fingers. What am I trying to prove? Why am I lying here making a fool of myself? The rectangle of sky she can see through the hole in the roof hasn’t grown any paler. She can forget about that drop of rain.

Her sons are down below. And Zeeger. With Dieke blaring away in between. ‘Horrible boys,’ Anna mumbles, but even that’s half-hearted. Everything’s half-hearted here. Don’t they hear the creaking? It actually sounds more like groaning now, as if the beams and timbers and even the tile laths are worn out and defeated, as if they’re crawling with an army of woodworms and borers. They’re talking loudly, of course; they want her to hear that they’re talking about her.

‘It’s over there, next to the hay cart.’

‘You think she doesn’t know that herself?’

‘I’d say she does.’

‘M-ay be.’

‘She’s not mad.’

‘Grandma!’

‘Leave it, Diek. She won’t answer anyway.’

‘Why not?’

‘Do you always answer when I ask you something?’

She’s quiet for a moment. ‘No.’

‘Well, then.’

‘I’ll d-o it.’

‘Wait, that thing’s heavier than you think. Klaas, give him a hand.’

‘I’m starting to get hungry.’

It’s so hard for her to just keep lying there. She’s desperate to see what’s going on. I’m tipsy, she thinks. A bit drunk. Of course I know that this rickety thing lying here next to me isn’t the only ladder. Of course Jan’s hungry, he’s spent the whole day at the cemetery, but that’s his own fault and I don’t have an ounce of pity for him, and you can bet your life Zeeger didn’t give him anything to take or remind him to make some sandwiches. Maybe Klaas’s wife gave Dieke something to eat. She grabs the empty one-and-a-half-litre bottle and throws it over the edge of the straw.

‘Look!’

‘Yes, Diek, Grandma’s thrown down a bottle. Fortunately empty. And fortunately, it’s made of plastic.’

‘Where’s Rekel?’

‘Outside. He’s too scared to come in here.’

‘She’s got the parade sword up there too.’

‘Huh? What for?’

‘Boy, if I knew that . . .’

‘She b-etter n-ot throw that.’

‘Of course she won’t, Johan. Now walk the ladder up carefully, don’t slide it out until it’s vertical. Make sure it’s on the right side of the rafters.’

Slowly, Anna Kaan sits up. She grabs her ankles and pulls her stiff legs towards her until she’s sitting almost cross-legged. She straightens her dress at the shoulders and puts her hands on her knees. The straw rustles when they lean the aluminium ladder against it, momentarily drowning out the hordes of borers and woodworms. Her tummy rumbles, her back is itchy, it’s as if the creepy-crawlies are all over her and inside her at the same time. The top of the ladder appears and then sits back down a little. Each step that’s taken vibrates in the bales of straw; she keeps count and around the time she’s expecting a head, Johan’s thick red hair appears. They look at each other for a moment.

‘M-um?’ says Johan.

‘Johan,’ she says, as quietly as possible. ‘Will you be careful?’

‘Y-es.’

‘Don’t shout.’

‘N-o.’

Why Johan? She forces herself to look at him. Her Johan, her big, strong, handsome youngest son. Slowness and rage in a single body, dull eyes and gleaming hair. A boy to look after, but not really.

‘You coming?’ he asks.

‘No.’

‘W-hy not?’

‘Go back down. Carefully.’

‘N-o.’

‘Please, Johan.’

‘J-an made it really p-retty.’

‘I’m sure he did.’

‘He only s-lipped once with the p-aint.’

‘That’s fine, Johan.’

‘I got l-ittle s-tones.’

Is Johan the raindrop she’s been waiting for? He rang her yesterday. With the absurd question as to where was the best place to buy little stones. She didn’t understand at first, then it gradually dawned on her. They hadn’t listened to her. They’d pressed ahead with the job they’d talked about at the dinner. Jan had arrived. No doubt Klaas and Zeeger spent quite a while hanging around the cemetery too, despite her being dead set against it. ‘No question of it,’ she’d said. And how did Johan get to the cemetery from Schagen? Surely he hadn’t come all the way on foot? Zeeger must have told him Jan was coming, but she’d missed that. She’ll stay up here a little longer after all, so they don’t start to think she’s come round. All those men, doing things, organising things. Who’s the boss around here anyway? Me, surely? And I expressly told them not to do up that headstone.

‘Johan?’

Zeeger.

‘Y-es?’ Johan says, without looking down.

‘What’s she doing?’

‘S-itting.’

Anna Kaan raises a finger to her lips.

‘What else?’

‘N-othing.’

‘Johan,’ she says quietly. ‘Go back down. I’ll come soon.’

‘N-o, now.’

‘I’ll come soon, really. Take that ladder away. Look, I’ve got my own ladder.’

Johan looks at her. ‘M-um,’ he whispers.

She’d like to pull him up over the edge of the straw, hugging him tight, stroking his forehead and his back, rubbing his feet, especially if he really has walked all the way from Schagen. She’d like to go back in time to drag him off that bloody motorbike, or tip sand and salt into the petrol tank. If she could, she’d put him back on the breast. But more than anything, she can’t bear looking at him. He has to go away. ‘Don’t. Don’t say anything. Go back down.’

‘N-o.’ He climbs another rung.

‘I’m coming. Really. Soon.’

‘Anna!’

‘Keep out of it!’ No, don’t shout. Don’t shout at Zeeger.

‘Come back, Johan,’ Zeeger calls. ‘Come back down. Don’t climb any higher.’

‘Y-ou h-ave to come w-ith me,’ Johan whispers.

‘Grandma!’ Dieke shouts. Why does that child keep shouting at me? Does she really want me to come down? You’d expect her to dislike me.

Anna Kaan reaches for the parade sword, but it’s too far away. She flops over onto her side, getting her legs tangled in the process. All fours then, it’s only Johan. If anyone else had been standing on the ladder she might have thought twice. She groans, everything’s a strain. First she finds the empty advocaat bottle, which she picks up and flings back over her shoulder without thinking. It lands where the aluminium ladder was lying just a few minutes ago.

‘Daddy! Glass!’

‘Yes, Diek, now she’s throwing real bottles. Fortunately we’re not standing over there.’

‘I’m going inside.’ Jan. He doesn’t want any part of it.

As far as she’s concerned he can go, but at the same time she wants to scream that he has to stay there. Everyone has to stay. They have to do their very best to get her down. All of them, no exceptions. Why isn’t Klaas’s wife here anyway? But they have to go too, and the sooner the better. And that bull? What’s that bull doing now? Is he looking out through his bars and enjoying the company? She can’t hear him. Why is Rekel too scared to come in? Where’s that bad-tempered Barbary duck? She’s got her hands on the sword now and struggles over to the edge of the straw. To her youngest son. ‘Johan,’ she whispers. ‘Here.’ The edge of the straw, but she makes sure to stay out of sight of the others.

‘W-hat do I do with this?’ He looks at her. She sees the muscles of his shoulders and chest quivering. The white of his shirt is a very stark contrast to his skin. What do they do in that home, go to the beach all day?

‘Give it to your father. I want you to go now. I’ll come soon.’

‘All right,’ he says, holding out one hand.

‘Give it to your father, then he can hang it back up under the bookshelf.’ God, as long as the boy doesn’t fall. ‘Here, hang it over your shoulder and push it round to your back, otherwise you might get it caught between you and the ladder.’

Johan follows her instructions. Excruciatingly slowly. It’s excruciating to see him holding on first with one hand and then the other.

‘Anna!’ Zeeger again.

She doesn’t answer, swearing under her breath. Next thing all that shouting will frighten the boy and he’ll let go with both hands at the same time. Johan has stopped looking at her, he’s concentrating on the trip back down and the sword over his shoulder. He’s already gone. Like a child, that’s how fast his attention fades and turns to something else.

‘Yeah? What’s the idea?’

‘I have to give it to you. H-ang it up. On the bookshelf.’

‘Is she coming down?’

‘No.’

‘What did she say?’

‘I’ve for-gotten.’

Zeeger sighs.

Dirk answers by finally butting in.

‘Teatime, Diek.’

‘But what about Grandma?’

‘Grandma will come down. She can’t stay up there forever.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘S-teak!’ yells Johan. ‘With chips!’

Dirk keeps snorting, and by the sound of it he’s banging his head against the iron bars every now and then too. The straw trembles, the wood groans. The swallows have stopped flying in and out. Anna Kaan tries not to think. She can’t stay up here forever. That bull, won’t he ever stop? They’ve walked off and nobody thought to remove the ladder.

A little longer. Steak. Cold water. Don’t think about the wedding anniversary, or earlier celebrations, the granddaughter, don’t think about quinces or Notaris apples, grey Volkswagen vans, the Saturday evening to come. No, just a little longer, the day she was too late, she doesn’t even remember why, but that was why the old Queen pulled off her leather glove. She puffs warm air on her cold hands then rubs her knees, which have now grown cold as well.