THE LATE-MORNING SUN CLIMBED OVER THE gabled buildings, wiping away the chilly shadows from Rembrandtplein. Theo slipped out of his sweater and tied it around his neck, a preppy look that put him at odds with the hundreds of banner-waving, slogan-chanting protestors that filled the square.
The demonstration was directed at a chocolate-colored art deco building across the road.
Bank of Eternity.
A roar of applause greeted Mara as she approached the makeshift stage. She walked past Theo, avoiding his gaze when their eyes met.
As she launched into her speech, a dejected Theo slipped into his own world, reflecting on how much this venture had cost him.
For the first time in many years, he hadn’t gone on his annual skiing holiday. He had to think twice each time Mathias wanted to meet for a drink, visit some trendy new restaurant or go to an exhibition opening. After a while, he just stopped answering friends’ calls if they came on a weekend. At the supermarket, he only stocked the cart with store brands. He’d been reduced to living like a student, even though he lived in a house on one of the most expensive streets in the city.
There was one thing worse than a miserable job, he realized. Not having one at all. And after six months of unemployment, there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Leads had gone cold. Headhunters had stopped responding to emails. His contacts wanted nothing to do with him. Meanwhile, his bank account was hemorrhaging; there was barely enough to last a few weeks. Then what?
Theo swallowed.
What’s Plan B?
The sound of a rumbling tram brought him back to the square. Mara was climbing down from the stage after finishing her speech. Once again, their eyes met and once again, she avoided his gaze. Suddenly, Theo felt alone, that horrible feeling of not belonging anywhere, not in the corporate world that had fired him nor with the group that was ignoring him.
He inhaled sharply. Fuck this. He edged his way through the thicket of bodies to leave the square, when suddenly he was stopped by the shrill, wavering sound of a siren. A convoy of police vans swooped into the square and screeched to a halt. The doors slid open, squirting bodies covered head to toe in riot gear. The police swiftly encircled the protestors, a fence of batons, Perspex shields and clicked-down visors reflecting the bright spring sky.
Theo stiffened. In the few protest meetings he’d been to, he’d never seen anything like this—the hard fist of state authority confronting them. He looked around the square and saw the same anxiety in faces everywhere.
“Everybody, please remain calm,” Mara appealed, back on the stage. “There’s nothing to worry about. This is just routine.” But the nervousness in her voice wasn’t saying routine, and neither were her darting eyes. Beside her, the mountain man Viktor twitched his eyes repeatedly as if having an attack of tics. He drew her toward him and whispered something in her ear. She gaped and mouthed “no.” Viktor snatched her microphone and shouted:
“FUCK THE POLICE. FUCK YOU, PIGS!”
A horrified Mara lunged in an attempt to wrest the microphone back, resulting in a tug-of-war for possession of the instrument.
Finally, she succeeded in regaining control of it. “Everybody, stay calm,” she pleaded. “Nothing will happen if we remain peaceful. I repeat, stay calm.”
Theo’s eyes followed Viktor as he departed the stage and pushed his way to the front of the crowd. He shook his fist at the police and hurled abuses at them. Egged on by his defiance, the protestors followed suit. The shouting turned to pushing. The police pushed back. A helpless Theo was rocked in a heaving swell of flesh that buffeted a wall of hard plastic shields.
Suddenly, there was a crash of shattering glass, an explosion, a pool of flames spreading on the ground.
A policeman fired something in the air. Bullet? Tear gas?
The sound caused the crowd to disintegrate into screaming fragments, chased by policemen with swinging truncheons. Up onstage, Mara’s parkaclad figure froze as if a curse had turned her into a statue. Theo swooped in and grabbed her before she was struck down by a baton. He dragged her through the human obstacle course in the square, ducking blows that whistled past his ear. She was like a trailer attached to him, her palm sweating in his as he pulled her deadweight along.
They stepped off the curb and into the path of a rumbling tram. Theo carried on, trusting his legs would beat the blue-and-white behemoth lumbering toward them. Just as he was crossing the tracks, her hand slipped from his grasp, causing them to separate. Seconds later, a low thunk, followed by a bloodcurdling scream, then a sickening crunch.
Mara!
But it wasn’t her. She was right behind him on the curb, gaping at a pair of legs convulsing under the tram’s low undercarriage.
Theo winced and turned away.
“Come on,” he urged. But she stood paralyzed, skin blanched from yellow to pale, lips purple, as if she’d caught death by merely staring at it.
“Mara.”
Her body jerked like a rag doll when he shook her repeatedly. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but next moment splattered his shirt with vomit.