The Rattle-Rat

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" Police?" Mrs. Oppenhuyzen asked when she opened the door.

"Now that you mention it," de Gier said, "I had forgotten, but I am. And Hylkje too, she's with the State Police. We came to deliver the dead."

That was crude. It's no time to be flippant when you're handing someone a dear dead pet. De Gier felt sorry, but he didn't like Mrs. Oppenhuyzen, there was that too. He realized why. Mrs. Oppenhuyzen's dress was printed with the same flower pattern as the wallpaper in her city house. Mrs. Oppenhuyzen was a printed rose. De Gier was familiar with this type of woman, familiar but uncomfortable, for they don't look good and they live drably. Was this the egocentric argument that forced him to live alone? But I like to be alone, de Gier thought. Alone with Tabriz, and Grypstra over for coffee once a week, and maybe Hylkje for a weekend but no commitment, a promise is a promise.

"Please come in," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "I'm sorry Eddy kept causing trouble, and that you had to come all the way here."

De Gier had to bend over so as not to hit his head against a brass Chinese lamp in which four sharp-tailed dragons held up the bulb. Walls and ceiling were made out of sheets of pressed sawdust covered with peeling paint. Mrs. Oppenhuyzen's ample shape swung ahead. De Gier still carried dead Eddy.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said, "nothing but trouble."

He remembered an aunt of his, who also wore flowered dresses and liked to complain, whom he had visited once and never again. He couldn't have been more than three years old at the time, and she had lived in some suburb, surrounded by knickknacks from the Far East, where her husband had been a soldier. He had escaped halfway through the visit, and was found by strangers and taken to a police station, where he forgot his name out of spite.

Mrs. Oppenhuyzen directed them to plastic camping chairs, mumbling, biting a finger, and adjusting her hair, which was tied in a bun that had become undone. "I don't really want him," she said, nodding toward Eddy. "He belongs to Sybe, you see. A holiday doesn't mean anything to my husband. He's always working, he hardly comes here. I was to go first and Sybe would bring Eddy later, but he never did."

"Your husband works during holidays?" de Gier asked.

"He's always about," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said, "except when he's in pain."

"What's his ailment?" Hylkje asked.

"Trigeminal neuralgia," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said.

"Something with nerves?" de Gier asked.

"A pain," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "In his face. The triple facial nerve, you know? There are two varieties of the disease. One is hopeless, they say, for they don't know what it is, and the other has to do with infection." She worked on her hair bun. "What do I know? That's what the doctor says."

"From which variety does your husband suffer?" de Gier asked.

"Sybe has the hopeless kind. Can't be cured at all. Sure, he can eat aspirin but that gives him a pain in his tummy that isn't nice either."

"The poor man," Hylkje said.

"So you are police too?" Mrs. Oppenhuyzen asked Hylkje.

"Yes," Hylkje said. "A colleague of your husband's."

"But you're State Police," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "We have State Police here, in Engwierum. It's such a small village, there's no Municipal Police."

"Right," Hylkje said.

"And you are Municipal Police," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said to de Gier.

"From Amsterdam, ma'am. I'm with the Murder Brigade."

"I see," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "Well, Sybe isn't here. He did come in earlier on, for his face hurt him again. I got him some cough syrup, the codeine helps somewhat. Our doctor doesn't want to prescribe codeine, but you can always buy cough syrup over the counter. It nauseates him, but it does lessen the pain."

"And where's your husband now?" de Gier asked. "I would like to tell him about Eddy. It's a bad thing that Eddy had to die while we were taking care of him. I fed him the cheese you said he likes, and bathed him a few times, but he wasn't getting any better. He kept rattling on us."

"Would you like a drink?" Mrs. Oppenhuyzen asked. "Sybe has just stocked up. He likes to drink when he's in pain."

"We came by car," Hylkje said.

"No, thank you," de Gier said. "So where's your husband now?"

"In Bolsward," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "He had to see Mr. Wang. You know your way about in Bolsward?"

"My aunt lives there," Hylkje said.

"In the new part of town," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "A Chinese restaurant. Such a lot of trouble with the Chinese nowadays. Sybe doesn't want them here, but they keep coming from the south. He helps them with their papers."

"What sort of car does your husband drive?" de Gier asked.

"A Saab."

"Saabs are nice," Hylkje said. "My father was going to buy one, but then he heard the price."

"Ours is very old," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "It doesn't work very well these days. Sybe prefers to drive his police car, but he can't do that now, for he's on holiday."

"I hope we're not causing you any trouble," de Gier said. "We kept your house in good order. I used some of your flour today, I needed it for the soup, but I'll replace what I took. We also picked some herbs from your garden. I hope you don't mind."

"No," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "Sybe and I weren't quarreling because the chief constable wanted you in the house. It was the pain again. I should have more patience, but Sybe keeps going to Amsterdam, and he smells when he comes home. It's irritating. All that pain." She swept her hands about as if she were chasing insects off.

De Gier was sorry he wasn't sorry. It must be a curse to live with a spouse who's forever in pain.

"It must be nice out here," Hylkje said. "I can hear the sea."

"The birds sing in the morning," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "I have a bit of a garden. The vegetables are going well this year."

De Gier smiled. "You've been to Singapore?" he asked.

"Because of the needles," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen explained. "There are doctors there who insert needles. Sybe looked like a porcupine, stuck full of needles."

"Acupuncture," Hylkje said. "It's supposed to be most effective. The Chinese know about medicine, they have practiced for four thousand years. In the West, medicine is still new."

Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said that acupuncture had done nothing for Sybe.

"What gave you the idea to go all the way to Singapore?" de Gier asked.

"Sybe has this friend," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said, "Mr. Wang. He's with him now. Such a nice man. Mr. Wang said we should go."

"An expensive journey?"

"Oh, yes."

"Enjoyable?" Hylkje asked.

She was glad to be back, Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. All those Chinese. There were brown people out there too, and some white people even, but the needle doctor was Chinese, so they had to stay in the Chinese quarter, in a boardinghouse, and they ate noodles for breakfast. One evening all the streets exploded; she thought there was a war.

"There wasn't?" de Gier asked.

"No. Fireworks, but I didn't like it at all. After that I wouldn't go out anymore, and we still had to stay, for the return ticket wasn't valid yet. And my stomach, oh, I was always in the bathroom. Squid doesn't agree with me at all."

"And your husband's pain didn't get better?"

"No," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said. "That triple nerve is so sensitive. Every time he yawned or coughed it started again, such a terrible pain."

"The poor man," Hylkje said.

"We won't bother you any longer," de Gier said.

Mrs. Oppenhuyzen picked up Eddy and walked her visitors to the front door. "Mr., uh…"

"Yes?"

"Look, I'm sorry," Mrs. Oppenhuyzen said, "but I don't know what to do with a dead rat. He belongs to Sybe, and Sybe isn't here. Can't you take him with you? I'll tell Sybe Eddy died and that you buried him somewhere."

"What are you going to do with the rat?" Hylkje asked. "Throw him out? That's not very hygienic."

De Gier dropped Eddy on the rear seat. "Don't know yet. I'll think of something. Bury him in the garden?"

"What are you planning?"

"I thought we would just keep going," de Gier said. "We always keep going. We usually figure it out in the end. It doesn't matter if I'm in on it or not, I'll just keep watching from the side."

"With us," Hylkje said. "What are you planning with us"

"How did you like Mrs. Oppenhuyzen?" de Gier asked.

Hylkje shrugged. "Another stupid woman. Married a fool who likes to visit whores. Can't even stay home with her when they're on holiday. Stinks of perfume when he comes to pick up clean clothes."

De Gier's head hung to the side.

"You wouldn't be asleep now?" Hylkje said.

"I'm thinking," de Gier said. "I think better when I'm asleep. No new impressions to distract my line of thought."

"Are you thinking about us?"

"Not really," de Gier said.

"Think about us."

"What do you want me to think?" de Gier asked. "You're a modern woman, equalized and all. You're enjoying your self-won freedom."

"I wouldn't mind having your baby," Hylkje said. "A stupid fat baby, with shrimpy toes and a big mustache."

"Fat?" de Gier said, raising his head. "Grypstra is fat. You'll have to change direction."

"All babies I dream about are fat," Hylkje said. "Don't you want a baby?"

"Sure," de Gier said. "But this planet is too small. It's uncomfortable here. I hadn't planned on coming myself, but something went wrong again. If I cause babies, they'll grow up and blame me. 'Why, Dad?' What will I say?"

"I can explain it to them," Hylkje said. "I'll get them little motorcycles, they'll have a good time."

"Can I borrow your car when we're back in Leeuwarden?" de Gier asked. "I want to go to Bolsward."

"Why?"

"I never really know why," de Gier said. "Whenever I think I have the answer, it's the answer to the wrong question. Just let me go to Bolsward. I won't be long. You'll have your car back before you go to work."

"It's some distance, you must be tired." She parked the car. "Stay here with me."

"It can't be far," de Gier said. "That's what I like about this country; everything is just around the corner. You talk about wide spaces, but they're highly illusory. Just a few square kilometers and a few ponds here and there."

"Yes, you're much bigger than me," Hylkje shouted. "You're a gigantic Dutchman and I'm a provincial dwarf. Get back to your real world below the dike, to your filthy whores. Leave me alone." She jumped out of the car.

"'Bye, Hylkje." The Deux Chevaux swung away. Its noisy engine drowned Hylkje's screams.