Tumbleweed

19

In spite of the excellent food and the expensive wines which had poured from dusty bottles, de Gier hadn't enjoyed his meal. He had been placed opposite Mrs. Drachtsma, and the hard expression of her face, the thin lips, and the heavy coat of paint which almost cracked as she tried to look pleasant, had interfered with his digestion and he now felt as if his stomach were full of sand.

The interior of the house, contrary to his expectations, was dull. The house showed that its owner was rich, everything was of the best possible quality, but no imagination had been used and the heavy furniture stood where it should stand, heavily immobile, like trucks parked in a factory's courtyard, "Solid," de Gier was thinking, "just like my stomach. I couldn't even belch if I wanted to, there is no air."

They had been directed toward the fireplace and Drachtsma was pouring brandy. The commissaris was holding on to an enormous cigar and de Gier had rolled himself a cigarette from a little bag of tobacco which he had found in the pocket of his duffelcoat. He normally didn't roll his own cigarettes but he did it now as a feeble protest against the unsympathetic environment he had been forced into, and he had, almost rudely, refused the cigar which Drachtsma had offered.

"I have been to this island before/' the commissaris was saying when he had finally managed to find a way of handling his cigar, "but in autumn, late autumn."

"That's a good time too," the mayor said. "The island is lovely in all seasons but I like it best just before winter. The tourists have gone by then and we have Schiermonnikoog to ourselves. It's a good time to walk on the beaches."

"That's what I was doing. I was very impressed by many things that evening. There was a strange atmosphere around me. Nature had died and the trees were bare and the seagulls were circling and yelling raucously and some crows were following me. Whenever I moved they would fly ahead and sit on a rock and stare at me. Crows are intelligent birds and they were talking to each other with their hoarse voices."

There was something about the way the commissaris was talking that wouldn't allow for interruptions and everybody was listening. Drachtsma had put the bottle down and was leaning against the mantelpiece, his long legs crossed and his hands in his pockets, but he didn't look casual.

"And then I saw the tumbleweed. I was on a wide stretch of beach, very wide perhaps, and I had walked close to the sea and I saw the tumbleweed coming down the dunes, rolling, being pushed by the wind. It was very big, perhaps ten feet across, and it wasn't just one dead plant, but I didn't know that at the time. I knew about tumbleweeds and I know that some of them do their trick on purpose. They grow special roots, late in their life, but the roots do not go into the ground. They touch the ground but they won't go in and yet they'll keep on growing. They are like arms which the weed uses to push itself up when the time comes. It starts pushing, using its long strong arms, and it pushes itself until it breaks away from its own proper roots and men it is free and begins to roll when the wind grabs it, and as it rolls it will meet other dead balls of branches and it will hook on to them and it goes on meeting others and they all tangle up together and finally the plants form one gigantic growth. I was seeing one of those that evening and it was coming straight for me. I ran to the left, but it changed direction, and then I ran to the right and it changed direction again. It was bouncing off the ground and twirling its yellow tentacles and it got me and pushed me into the sea, wanting to drown me." The commissaris' cigar had gone out and he busied himself with it.

"You are still alive," Drachtsma said, "so it failed, fortunately."

"It didn't mean to fail," the commissaris said, "and it gave me a good fright. I have never forgotten it. I have often thought of it since. What fascinates me is that I was being attacked by a corpse, by a thing without a will of its own. The plant had planned it all, but it had done so when it was still alive, and it had used its own dead body and the bodies of others to construct a weapon."

"Now, now," the mayor was saying, sipping his brandy and smiling. "It's a good story, of course, and I am sure it happened just the way you say it happened but you are exaggerating, I think. The plant never planned anything at all. It was a natural thing to happen. The dead plants tumble about to spread their seed. It happens after they have died, and it's extraordinary, and I agree that it is a fantastic sight to see them tumbling about on the beaches and through the dunes, but there is no evil in them."

The topic was changed and coffee was served and the conversation drifted this way and that for another hour and a half until the mayor and the aldermen got up and thanked the hostess for her hospitality. The commissaris and de Gier had got up as well but Drachtsma offered them a final drink and Mrs. Drachtsma excused herself when he poured it and went to bed. The three men were standing near the fireplace, sipping the strong brandy.

"I liked your tumbleweed story," Drachtsma said, and the two policemen waited for him to continue but that was all Drachtsma was prepared to say.

"One entity killing another by using a third," the commissaris said.

"The tumbleweed using its own dead body to kill a living body," Drachtsma said.

"And the bodies of others," the commissaris said. "It is a good example of thought power. Businessmen often use it. They use others to achieve their purposes. They sit down and they keep on thinking in a certain direction and gradually a power builds up and finds an opportunity, a vehicle…"

De Gier put his glass down. "And Maria van Buren dies," he said. "Good night, Mr. Drachtsma. Thank you for a pleasant evening."

"I think you should have said that," Drachtsma said to the commissaris.

The commissaris shook Drachtsma's hand.

"Here is my card, Mr. Drachtsma. It has a telephone number on it."

Drachtsma was looking at his two visitors. "No," he said, "you don't really think that I will contact you, do you?"