SONJA WAS SIXTEEN YEARS OLD WHEN SHE MET COR AT OUR HOUSE. HE was twenty. After being friends for a while, they started a relationship. Of course, my father wouldn’t allow it, and so they’d see each other only in secret, at our house when the Bald was at work or away from home.

Like my mother, Sonja wanted to be a housewife. Every woman from the Jordaan became a housewife. Women with jobs were either pathetic, or married to worthless men who couldn’t even support them. A husband’s quality was measured by the wealth he could offer his wife. Sonja had been training to be someone’s wife since childhood. She taught herself to do domestic chores at a young age: making beds, cleaning house, and doing laundry. I still marvel at how my sister magically turns her kitchen countertop from a dull, dirty surface into shiny black marble. Or how she transforms my living room from a junk shop into a room out of an interior design magazine. It’s a profession, and Sonja loved it. Her life revolved around taking care of Cor; she doted on him all day long.

I, on the other hand, refused to do any domestic chores from a young age and never really learned how. Even in adulthood, I have panic attacks about a full laundry basket, messy kitchen, or dusty living room. I saw my mother taking care of these things every day; to us they were part of womanhood. But womanhood also meant being beaten. Running a household is a valuable skill, but one I will never master.

When Sonja and Cor got together, Cor already had a girlfriend, but he broke up with her when Sonja got pregnant, and the two moved in together.

Throughout their relationship, it was only natural for Cor to do as he pleased and tell Sonja nothing about it. He used to laugh at any question she’d ask and say, “What you don’t know won’t hurt you!” This often made Sonja suspicious. She didn’t mind if he was involved with criminals; all she wanted to know was whether he was cheating. So she followed his every trail like a bloodhound.

She’d often take me along and sometimes we’d find him and drag him away from all kinds of brothels downtown. He’d laugh it off: of course he didn’t cheat—didn’t he honestly tell the prostitute he was married before he stuck it in?

Cor wasn’t the type of man to let his wife in on anything. She was there to take care of him; that was all he asked for. Discussing work was for men, not for women, who were clueless anyhow. Which was all for the best, since they couldn’t tell anyone what they didn’t know. Women are always risky to have around, especially when they have children. Cops will use their weaknesses to get them to spill the beans. They’ll tell a woman her husband has other women on the side, which often makes her crack. No, women weren’t told a thing, and Sonja didn’t have a clue what Cor was up to.

  

It was November 1983. I had recently returned from Israel and was spending most of my time at Sonja’s. The year before, she’d gotten pregnant with Cor’s child and had moved from Van Hallstraat to Staalmeesterslaan to live with him. There, she had given birth to their beautiful daughter, Francis, in February 1983.

Astrid with newborn Francis (1983)

 

Cor loved his daughter but was too busy to spend much time with her. He and Wim were working day and night, and in between, they’d go to Sonja’s to eat and to cuddle Francis. Sonja was used to it; if Cor was on the road with Wim, he’d come home only for food and sleep. I used to have dinner at Sonja’s all the time, and I’d meet Cor and Wim there.

One night, we were all seated at the table when Wim said, “Here, this is for you” and handed me a hundred-dollar bill across the table. What was this? Wim giving me something? He’d never done that, apart from a stuffed toy at a fair once. Wim wasn’t a generous person. His pockets were always full of cash, but never for us. My mother was toiling away in other people’s houses, but he wouldn’t think of handing her any. And here he was, giving me money. A hundred dollars? Why did I deserve this?

“Are you feeling okay?” I asked him.

“If you’re gonna be smart about it, you can give it back,” he snapped.

“No way. It’s mine now.”

It seemed odd to me. He used to hold up banknotes in front of me and ask, “Want some?” Then if I said yes, he’d pull the money away and say, “Get a job, then!”

Something was off. Something was wrong with him. There had to be some reason why he was suddenly being nice to me.

Something was wrong, all right, I was about to find out what. I may not have been an obedient wife, but when it came to what the men were up to, I was just as clueless as Sonja. We’d both be taken completely by surprise by what was about to happen.