Tumbleweed

18

It was five o'clock in the afternoon and the Commissaris was about to lower himself into the bath when the telephone in his room began to ring.

"This is Drachtsma."

The commissaris mumbled something, trying to hold on to the towel which was slipping off his narrow hips.

"I thought that you would perhaps stay on the island until tomorrow and I was wondering if you would care to join us for dinner tonight. The island's mayor is coming as well and some of the aldermen and I thought that you might like to meet them."

"Thank you," the commissaris said, trying to light a cigar and hold on to the towel at the same time. "Would you mind if I brought my assistant, Sergeant de Gier? I don't think he'll enjoy having dinner by himself and Adjutant Grijpstra is ill and staying with the Buismans for the time being."

There was a short silence. "I don't know whether the sergeant will feel comfortable in the presence of tonight's company."

The commissaris bit on his cigar, it broke, and he spat it out.

"I am sure he'll be quite comfortable."

"All right," Drachtsma said. "The sergeant will be welcome. I wonder if you could come between seven and seven-thirty? Shall I send the car for you?"

"I have seen your house, somebody pointed it out to me. It couldn't be more than a few miles from the hotel. I think we'll walk."

"See you tonight," Drachtsma said.

"Bah," the commissaris said, lit a fresh cigar, picked up the towel and marched into the bathroom.

De Gier was telephoning to Headquarters in Amsterdam.

"We have got him," he was saying to Adjutant Geurts, "a half-brother of the murdered woman. Family drama, very sad."

"Did he confess?"

"No, he went mad instead."

"But you are sure he did it?"

"He threw the knife," de Gier said.

"Congratulations. What about this Mr. Holman, the fellow with the red waistcoat? He is due to come to see us again tonight. We had him here yesterday as well."

"No, he is all right," de Gier said.

"I am not so sure. He is very nervous, you know, he must be hiding something or other."

"Probably hasn't paid enough tax," de Gier said. "Phone him and tell him we have found our man."

"All right," Adjutant Geurts said. "Give me a ring when you get to Amsterdam, I'll meet you somewhere for a drink. Sietsema and I would like to hear all about it."

"No, not tonight. We aren't finished yet, and Grijpstra is ill. It may be a few days."

"What do you mean 'not finished'? You have your man, haven't you?"

"Yes, yes," de Gier said, "but it's a funny case."

"And Grijpstra? What's wrong with him?"

"Flu. I'll go and see him now, he is staying with friends."

"You are having a holiday," Geurts said. "I know. Sitting on the beach."

"Yes," de Gier said, "and we are allowed to use the police launch. And there is a yacht. And I have met some girls. We are going to a party tonight. A wild party. The island is full of naturalists. We'll be chasing each other on the beach tonight, stark naked. It's full moon, you know. These islands are different from what we are used to on the mainland. People are very free. The girls will come up to you and smile and say 'would you like to sleep with me tonight?' and nobody minds. Not even their husbands or boyfriends. And they have some beautiful folk dances."

"Really?"

"Yes," de Gier said.

"Do they still do headhunting?"

"They drink beer from the skulls of their enemies and wear rabbit skins. But I'll have to ring off."

"Bah," Geurts said to Sietsema who had been listening in. "Have you noticed it always happens to them? Nothing ever happens to us."

"Never mind," Sietsema said. "We still have that old lady who was clobbered on the head by the two Arabs and the man who has a houseful of stolen bicycles. And another case came up this afternoon while you were in the canteen. It sounds interesting."

"What case?"

"A man who was taken to hospital this morning by ambulance. He has cracked his skull and broken his arm and there is something wrong with his leg. He told an unlikely story to the doctor and the doctor didn't believe him and phoned us."

"What story?"

"Well," Sietsema said, looking through his notes. "I hope I have got it right. The man is a student who lives in a garden flat, that's a beautified cellar, I believe. He often sleeps late and this morning he only got up at eleven because somebody rang his bell. He was still groggy from last night's drinking and he didn't bother to dress so he was walking through the corridor without his clothes. The bell was still ringing and he began to run and his cat, a young playful animal, jumped up and took a swing at his balls. But the cat had forgotten to keep his nails in and he really got the man."

"Ha."

"Yes," Sietsema said, "so the man jumped up and cracked his skull on a pipe, a gas pipe running along the ceiling. Somebody saw him lying in the corridor. He was bleeding and he had hurt his foot when he fell. The ambulance came and the attendants strapped him to the stretcher. He was still conscious so they asked him what happened and he told them. And then they laughed so much that they dropped the stretcher and he broke his arm."

Geurts stared at Sergeant Sietsema. "You are getting like de Gier," he said.

"No. Here is the number. Ring the hospital. They reckon it can't be true and that someone must have beaten him up."

Geurts picked up the telephone.

De Gier was walking on the island's main dike. It was low tide and a sea of mud stretched on for miles. Thousands of birds were feeding in the mud and their white bodies contrasted with the dark clouds packed on the horizon. The island's people were all in their houses having tea, and the world around him was quiet; not even the birds made a sound, being too busy with their feeding. He stopped and gazed. A horse, tied to a stake in a meadow on the other side of the dike, whinnied. De Gier looked at the horse. The sun, shining through a hole in the clouds, seemed to concentrate on the horse and it looked as if it had been set alight, a white burning horse prancing about in the dark green meadow. De Gier sighed.

He looked up at the clouds. The hole was closing and mere was only one beam of orange light left, but it was still focused on the horse which, as if it felt that it was being part of the inexpressible, reared and shook its forelegs.

"Good day, Mrs. Buisman," de Gier said. "How are your patients?"

"Come in and have some tea," the fat woman said, looking efficient in her white apron. "Your friend is fast asleep. But he is ill. You were right. He does have pneumonia and his temperature is high. He may be here for quite a while but he should feel better soon, maybe even by tomorrow."

"Good. And your husband?"

The shot has been taken out of his chest. It was easy fortunately, but his skin is broken in a lot of places."

"Good thing he wasn't hit in the face."

"Rammy wouldn't have hit him in the face," Mrs. Buisman said. "He was only trying to stop my husband from arresting him, poor fellow."

"Poor fellow," de Gier muttered. "He killed his sister, you know."

Mrs. Buisman poured the tea and cut a cake. "I know," she said.

"Do you like Rammy?"

"Yes. I have known him for such a long time. He often came to tea, sitting in the same place where you are sitting now. He had a heavy load to carry, I hope they'll treat him well in the mental home. He was frightened of people, you know, and very sorry that he left the sea. He often talked about his captain in , a drunken old man I believe, but more of a father to him than his own."

"His father was married already," de Gier said.

"Yes. These things happen. But it's terrible for the children. They are lost and the world is empty to them."

A cat had come into the kitchen, it looked at Mrs. Buisman and purred. She picked it up and stroked its back.

"All living beings need love. This one too. I have to pick him up twenty times a day and tell him he is not alone."

"My cat," de Gier said, and jumped off his chair. "I must phone. Do you mind if I use your phone?"

"How is he?" Mrs. Buisman asked when de Gier had put the phone down.

"He's fine. My neighbor looks after him when I am out of town but my cat is a strange animal. He won't eat much when I am not there and he attacks whoever tries to get into the house. My neighbor doesn't mind, he is used to animals, he works in the zoo and he can handle Oliver. That's his name, Oliver. The neighbor is kind to him and Oliver can't defend himself against kindness."

"You see," Mrs. Buisman said. "Rammy is like that. He wants kindness but he has an aggressive way of asking for it."

De Gier stirred his tea. "Do you know Mr. Drachtsma, Mrs. Buisman?" he asked.

Mrs. Buisman narrowed her eyes. "I do."

"Did Rammy know him?"

"Rammy knew him well."

"What do you think of Mr. Drachtsma?"

Mrs. Buisman didn't look so pleasant now. Her face had become determined and her skin seemed tighter. De Gier suddenly noticed the stiff little bun on her head.

"You can tell me," de Gier said gently, "it's not mere curiosity."

"You've got your murderer, haven't you?" Mrs. Buisman asked.

De Gier began to eat his cake. "So it seems," he said with his mouth full.

"I have been thinking," Mrs. Buisman said. "Did Mr. Drachtsma know that murdered woman in Amsterdam?"

"Yes. She was his girlfriend, his mistress."

"Poor Mrs. Drachtsma."

"Didn't she know that her husband wasn't faithful?"

"Oh yes," Mrs. Buisman said gruffly, "she knew. She comes to tea here as well sometimes and she talked to me about it. She was trying to understand, she said. Important men travel about a lot and they have a lot of energy. One woman isn't enough for them. She said she didn't really mind as long as he wouldn't take his girlfriends to the island."

"Did he ever do that?"

"Perhaps. He often took people on his yacht. His wife never goes on the yacht, she is frightened of the sea."

"Yes, yes," de Gier said.

"He is not a nice man," Mrs. Buisman said after she had breathed deeply.

"Why not?"

Mrs. Buisman poured more tea and they were looking at each other, each stirring their tea mechanically.

"He used to remind me of a tumbleweed. You are a city man, aren't you, sergeant? You don't know about tumbleweeds?"

"I know a little about birds."

Mrs. Buisman laughed. "Yes, my husband told me about your adventure this morning."

"Oh, but I did enjoy it," de Gier said quickly, "but the adjutant, Grijpstra I mean, didn't feel well and we had the murder on our minds, of course."

"Never mind. I'll tell you about tumbleweeds. When the plants die here, at the end of the year, some of them break off. First they dry out and become brittle and one day the wind grabs them and they break their stems and begin to tumble all about the island. It's an amazing sight. The weeds seem so busy and so energetic, they go everywhere and when the wind changes they come back again. They bounce across the roads and get stuck against our fences, they even get into the gardens. The dunes are alive with them but eventually they will reach the beaches and then they drown in the sea, but they are dead already of course, they died long before they broke off and lost their souls."

De Gier had put his cup down and was staring at the fat woman.

"Yes?" he asked. "Do you think Drachstma lost his soul?"

"Soul, soul," Mrs. Buisman said. "I am not a very Christian woman. I don't know about souls, it's just a manner of speaking. But Mr. Drachtsma is a hard man, he always gets his way, he bounces around and he never seems happy. Every year he buys a bigger boat and his cars never last and there are always carpenters and bricklayers working on his house. He is an unhappy man and he isn't really alive."

"Who is aliver de Gier asked.

"Oh, lots of people are. My husband is. He is a loving man."

De Gier smiled.

"Oh, not that way," Mrs. Buisman said and giggled. "We aren't as young as we used to be. I mean he loves living tilings, and dead things too. The other day I saw him standing on the dike, looking at the sea and the birds and the clouds and I walked up to him and said 'Buisman' and he looked at me as if he didn't know who he was, he was so full of everything around him. But Drachtsma isn't like that, he always knows who he is. 'Drachtsma' is the most important word he knows and he is always thinking of how to make it bigger. And he'll be blown about by his endless desires the way the tumbleweeds are blown about by the wind."

"And eventually he'll be blown into the sea and disappear," de Gier said.

Mrs. Buisman went to look after her patients and she was away for a while. De Gier telephoned the hotel and was told to meet the commissaris at seven o'clock. He still had half an hour.

"Tell me, Mrs. Buisman," he said when she had come back again, smiling about something, "what was the relationship between Mr. Drachtsma and Rammy Scheffer?"

"I was thinking about that," Mrs. Buisman said, "but I forgot when I saw my two fat babies. Your Mr. Grijpstra certainly has a loud snore and my Buisman was wheezing right through it. I can't understand why they don't wake each other up. Rammy Scheffer, you say. Well, in the beginning, they just knew each other. Everybody knows everybody on the island, but I noticed that they had become closer, about a year ago it started, I think. Drachtsma always pretends he is interested in nature and he has donated a lot of money to the reserves. I know that he does care about the island; it's his home after all, his father came from the island, and his grandfather was born here, but I don't think Mr. Drachtsma cares about the birds. If he could build a hotel here he would probably do it but nobody is allowed to build hotels here anymore. I think Rammy went to see him about new fencing or something and after that they were sometimes together. I thought it was strange for they are so different. Rammy gets away from people, he'll work in his garden in his free time, and he sits near his fireplace and reads the Bible and Drachtsma always has people around him."

Mrs. Buisman began to play with her spoon.

"You don't know what they talked about?"

"I did overhear something of a conversation they were having," Mrs. Buisman said. "I was in the garden and they came past, I don't think they noticed me. Mr. Drachtsma was talking about 'evil' and Rammy was listening. 'Evil has to be destroyed, Rammy,' he was saying, and he said it again, and Rammy was listening very carefully."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Buisman," de Gier said. "I'll have to go back to the commissaris. We are having dinner at Mr. Drachtsma's house tonight."

"Come again," Mrs. Buisman said, and opened the door for de Gier.

"I am not as silly as I look, sergeant," she said. "I know what you are after, but I don't think you have a chance. Nobody has ever been able to catch Mr. Drachtsma at anything."

De Gier smiled and thanked her for the tea.

"Not so fast," the commissaris said as they were walking toward the Drachtsma mansion. "My legs are about half the size of yours. And tell me the whole story again. Mrs. Buisman interests me, I should have come with you."

De Gier told the story again.

"Tumbleweeds," the commissaris said as they reached me gate and saw their host coming toward them. "I have heard about tumbleweeds before. Interesting, very."