Free Girl in the Dark by Marion Pauw Page B

wasn’t grateful. I asked myself how long it would take before I was finally able to thank her.
    â€œI want to go to my cell,” I said. “I’m tired. And sad. But mostly tired.”
    â€œFine,” said Mo. “You can stay there until dinner.”

CHAPTER 10
IRIS
    The street where Ray Boelens lived, or used to live, was lined with dismal fifties-era row houses. After the war, the town planners’ focus had not been on aesthetics; everything was squalid and gray. Shabby and nondescript. I parked my car in front of number 13.
    â€œWhat we doing?” asked Aaron from the backseat.
    â€œWe’re looking for Ray. Ray is the owner of the fishies.”
    â€œKee-Kon?”
    I kicked myself, realizing it wasn’t smart of me to have broached the subject. Aaron hadn’t asked for King Kong all morning; he had even been behaving unusually sweetly, and I wanted to keep it that way. I sometimes thought Aaron was a bit like a radiator that needs the excess air let out from time to time. After a big blowup he was always remarkably calm and good.
    Before he could give King Kong too much thought, I said quickly, “Let’s go get an ice cream after this, okay? What would you like? A cone with candy topping or a Popsicle?”
    â€œCandy!”
    â€œRight. That’s what we’ll do.” I lifted him out of his car seat and put him down on the sidewalk. “First you’re coming with me like a good boy, to see if Ray is home.”
    We walked hand in hand to the front door of number 13. The house looked seriously neglected. The front yard was untended, although you could tell that in some distant past it had been lovingly maintained. Someone had once planted lilacs here, hydrangea and delphinium. But the flowers had not been deadheaded; there were weeds everywhere and the overgrown hedge looked as if it might explode.
    A worn burgundy curtain hung at the window. It was drawn, although it was nearly noon.
    I felt uneasy, but rang the doorbell anyway. Nothing happened. After half a minute I decided to try again. I heard the bell ringing somewhere inside. After what seemed like hours I saw a shadow lumbering into the hallway.
    At least four locks were turned. The door opened.
    â€œYes?” Facing me was a man of around forty in a dirty pair of jeans and no shirt. A pile of mail lay at his feet, shoppers’ guides and flyers. A musty smell assaulted me. I had to repress the urge to pinch my nose.
    â€œRay?”
    He didn’t respond and went on staring at me aggressively from beneath his greasy hair.
    â€œAre you Ray Boelens?” I tried again.
    â€œHe doesn’t live here anymore.” The man was about to slam the door shut.
    â€œDo you happen to know where he lives?” Aaron had crouched down and started playing with the envelopes on the mat.
    The man began to laugh. A loud, unpleasant sound. He struck me as the type who only laughs about unpleasant things. “Hey, there’s a good one. Where oh where might Ray Boelens be? Try jail, I’d say. And if he ain’t there, you could try hell.”
    I wanted to say something, but the guy was already shuttingthe door. “And tell Mr. Smartypants here to keep his fingers off my mail.”
    I picked Aaron up and mouthed asshole at the door as it was slammed in my face.
    As we walked back to my car, I heard all four locks being turned again. “Asshole,” I said again, this time out loud.
    â€œAsshole,” Aaron repeated, and began to shout with laughter.
    â€œYou think that’s funny, don’t you? And now we’re going to get an ice cream.”
    I belted Aaron into his car seat again and kissed him on the forehead. “What a good boy you are today. Good for you!”
    Around the corner was a bakery that also sold ice cream. While waiting in line I watched the baker at work behind a glass wall.
    â€œIt isn’t as good as it used to be,” confided an old lady