Free The Twin by Gerbrand Bakker Page B

sort that one out later.
     
'Oh,' says Riet, as if she's suddenly intensely sorry.
     
'It's no big deal.'
     
It's quiet for a moment, somewhere in Brabant. 'Did you have a good Christmas?'
     
'Yep.'
     
'And last night?'
     
'I lit a New Year's bonfire.'
     
'Just like the old days!'
     
'That's right. The two boys from next door came to watch. And help, of course.'
     
'That must have been fun.'
     
'It was. Except the youngest, Ronald, burnt his hand.'
     
'Oh . . .'
     
'Not badly. He even managed to laugh about it, he thought it was cool. Fortunately his mother was there too.'
     
'When shall I come? I can any time.'
     
I can any time. Half my life I haven't thought about a thing. I've milked the cows, day after day. In a way I curse them, the cows, but they're also warm and serene when you lean your forehead on their flanks to attach the teat cups. There is nothing as calming, as protected, as a shed full of sedately breathing cows on a winter's evening. Day in, day out, summer, autumn, winter, spring.
     
Riet says 'I can any time' and those four words send everything toppling. I see her emptiness, and her emptiness shows me mine.
     
Of course it's Father I'm cursing, it's not the cows' fault, especially not the cows we have now.
     
'Helmer?'
     
'Yes,' I say. 'I'm here'
     
'When shall I come?'
     
'Whenever you like.'
     
For a long time that afternoon I sit with the donkeys, feeding them pieces of mangold. Although it's stopped raining, it's still grey. The light is on in the donkey shed. I recognised her voice.
     
Yesterday evening, before I poured diesel over the woodpile, Ada, Teun, Ronald and I stood by the donkeys for a while. Cold stars were shining over the shed. Ada's husband wasn't there, he wanted to keep his eye on a cow that was about to calve. Plus – according to Ada – he doesn't like 'the festive season'. I had made doughnuts, a task I have taken upon myself every New Year since Mother's death. Father was sitting very briefly at his old place at the kitchen table. He worked hard to keep himself upright on his elbows and ate two doughnuts. I sat in Mother's old spot and stared at him while he and Ada talked. Teun and Ronald shared the other kitchen chair. Ronald kept his eye on Father and seemed a bit scared, he had trouble swallowing. Father told Ada no less than three times that he wanted to see a doctor. When she shot me a questioning glance after the third time, I raised my eyebrows significantly.
     
'I hope you get better soon, Mr van Wonderen,' she said as I carried him out of the kitchen.
     
'Do you have heating upstairs?' she asked in a concerned voice when I came back down.
     
'No,' I said. 'But he's a tough old codger. A shame he's not altogether with it any more. He's going downhill fast.'
     
'Is he dying?' asked Ronald, eating a doughnut at top speed now there was nothing to hold him back.
     
'Ronald!' Ada said.
     
'When are we going to light the fire?' asked Teun.
     
And then the donkeys, and then the New Year's bonfire, and then a smouldering board (from my old bed) falling on Ronald's hand. He'd got a little too keen while poking the fire with a thick branch.
     
'Finished!' Father calls. The flush gurgles dully, as if the lid is closed.
     
I've been standing for a good while in the hall, in front of the toilet door. The doughnuts have got his bowels working. I contract my nostrils, open the door and lift him up. He pulls up his own pyjama trousers. 'Wash your hands,' I say.
     
He picks up the piece of soap on the sink and I turn on the tap.
     
Carrying him upstairs, I ask, 'Do you actually know what day it is today?'
     
'Christmas?' he says.
     
'New Year's Day. You're not right in the head any more.'
     
'No?'
     
'No.'
     
'You're the one who's not right in the head. I'm not mad.'
     
'Have it your own way,' I say, laying him on the bed.
     
'Ada was here last night,' he says.
     
'Yes, she was.' I sit down on the chair in front of the window. Maybe I should buy an