39
“I’m not going behind those donkeys. Do it yourself.”
“Go and stand in the yard over there then.”
“I don’t want anything to do with them.”
“If you go and stand there, just past the gate, they’ll walk straight into the paddock.”
“And if I don’t stand there?”
“Henk, they won’t even touch you. These are my donkeys.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“They’re not your father’s and they’re not miniatures.”
“What?”
“They’re not like the one that kicked you.”
“How do you know about that?”
“Your mother told me.”
“Fucking hell.”
“What’s there to swear about?”
“What else did she tell you?”
“Nothing. Listen: the smaller, the meaner. Shetland ponies are vicious too, they kick and bite. These are real donkeys, they won’t do anything. Teun and Ronald . . .”
“What else did she tell you? Why am I actually here?”
“I don’t know.”
“For no reason?”
“What?”
“Am I here for no reason?”
“No . . .”
“Why?!”
“Because you were at a loose end at home.”
“At home? At home where?”
“You know, Brabant.”
“Oh, fucking hell.”
“What is it? Don’t swear so much.”
“What kind of bullshit’s that! A loose end?”
“Yes, a loose end.”
“How long do I have to stay here?”
“You don’t have to stay anywhere.”
“So if I want to, I can go?”
“Of course.”
It’s March and the sun has disappeared. We’re standing in front of the donkey shed. It’s drizzling. The donkey paddock fence is finished.
“Are you fighting?” Ronald is suddenly standing next to us. Like a faithful dog.
“Not at all,” I say.
“We’re having a difference of opinion,” says Henk.
“What’s that?”
“When Helmer says something I don’t agree with.”
“And Henk says something I don’t agree with.”
“Oh,” says Ronald. “Are the donkeys going into the pasture?”
“Yep.”
“Great! Can I help?”
“Sure. Where’s Teun?”
“At home.”
“Didn’t he feel like coming?”
“No.” He looks from me to Henk and back again before deciding to take us into his confidence. “He thinks you’re stupid.”
“Go and stand in the yard over there.” I gesture in the direction of the causeway.
Ronald runs off straightaway - happy, always happy - and stops level with the door to the milking parlor. He holds up a hand to show he’s in position.
“So if I want to, I can go?” asks Henk.
“I’m not stopping you.”
He walks into the barn and comes out a little later on Father’s bike. He takes the curve wide and rides off towards the causeway. Ronald looks at him in astonishment. “Are you going?” I hear him asking Henk. Slowly I walk to the house.
Maybe Henk says something. I can’t hear because the hooded crow starts cawing. It comes swooping around the corner of the house and flies into the side of Henk’s head. It beats its wings wildly to stay in the air and pushes off against Henk’s skull with its claws, while the bike and Henk roll over beneath it. It stays hanging there for a moment, almost like a giant kestrel that’s spotted a mouse, then flies away, between the trees along the donkey paddock, towards Marken.
“Henk fell off the bike,” says Ronald.