The Chameleons
23. Gerrit, Roy and Candice
Gerrit had been in two minds about accepting Candice’s invitation for Christmas dinner. As the days had gone by after the incident with the police, he’d found himself less infatuated by the American woman and more convinced that further contact could lead to complications. She’d arrived one evening a couple of days later and somehow, the magic of their first meeting had gone. She’d explained how things had changed overnight in her marriage and that they had a new understanding and she had asked what had happened with the police and they’d spent a pleasant hour over coffee. Gerrit felt nagging doubts at the back of his mind however. What did she want from him? She said that she hoped they would become good friends and it would be absolutely no problem with Roy and she insisted on exchanging full addresses, e-mails, telephone numbers and so on but he couldn’t quite trust her motives. When she’d asked him to spend Christmas Day with them, he’d hesitated so long, trying to think up some delaying excuse, that she’d looked hurt. Although he had the distinct impression that she was still flirting with him, in the end, he asked if he could bring a friend and then adjusted it to girl friend and then again to female friend so as not to give the impression that he was in a relationship. She’d agreed straightaway, saying it would be nice to meet another Dutch person but he still couldn’t feel totally comfortable with the whole thing. He had to admit that on some levels he found her very attractive and his ego was certainly boosted by her attention but he couldn’t quite understand why. She was a lot older, that was true but that was part of the appeal; a sort of Mrs. Robinson effect, although he hardly felt like the innocent youth of the film. She wasn’t really his normal type physically; he generally preferred women with more flesh on their bones but he was attracted, he couldn’t deny it and he felt sure the feeling was mutual. Eventually, he realised that there was more to this than just a friendship and the suggestions they then proceeded to make to each other, both explicit and implicit in the next half hour sealed the pact. Then there was, of course, the husband he hadn’t yet met but was already biased against. Perhaps it was better to extricate himself carefully from this situation. Then again, it was true. He would have been on his own this Christmas. His parents lived in Spain and he hadn’t spoken to his sister and her family in years. Okay, a meal couldn’t do any harm. However, he didn’t trust himself to go on his own; far better and possibly more discreet, to find a partner for the day. Now, the problem was where to find someone to go with him.
He’d rung all his friends, well, single girl friends anyway, of which there were only two, neither of whom he wanted to spend Christmas with in any case. They both had arrangements elsewhere, so that left the office.
“Hey Leontine, are you doing anything on Christmas Day?”
“Are you asking me for a date Gerrit?” Leontine, a rather plump blonde fluttered her eyelashes in mock surprise.
“No…I mean…yes…well not really.”
The other people in the room at the time laughed and stopped to listen. Gerrit felt himself blushing deeply.
“No, you see, I’ve been invited for a meal and I need a partner.”
“How charmingly put…” exclaimed Leontine loudly, for the benefit of the audience.
“…and I was first on your list no doubt?”
“Well not quite but I thought if you weren’t doing anything that day, you might like a free meal.”
Leontine took off her microphone and stood up, hands on her hips.
“Do I look in need of a good feed then?”
As the others roared with laughter, she took a small bow.
“Oh forget it. I’m sorry I asked.” Gerrit’s embarrassment was complete. There was no chance of asking Mieke, or Sandra now; it would be all round the building in no time. He was stuck.
He’d thought about making up some excuse and cancelling but couldn’t think of a convincing enough reason, so found himself straightening his tie and rubbing his scuffed shoes on the back of his jeans before knocking on Roy and Candice’s door at three o’clock on Christmas afternoon.
Candice opened the door.
“Hi, come on in; lovely to see you. Happy Christmas.”
She kissed him on each cheek and he could smell her musky perfume. He then tried to kiss her cheek a third time as usual but she hadn’t expected it and moved, so he missed and pecked her on the nose instead. ‘Not a good start.’ He thought pessimistically. She laughed,
“Oh, sorry, I forgot in Holland you do it three times,” and kissed him on the mouth. “There, does that make up for it?”
At that moment, Roy appeared, making Gerrit jump back awkwardly. Candice looked at him, then at Roy and laughed again.
“I’m messing up Dutch customs again Roy.”
Roy came forward and gave Gerrit a warm smile before pumping his hand.
“Hey Gerrit, welcome. I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to put a face to the description. Come into the other room. What would you like to drink?”
Gerrit suddenly felt much better. Roy was nothing like he’d imagined him to be from Candice’s description. He’d expected a mean-faced man with maybe an unhealthy complexion but Roy had one of those faces you instantly take to, open and friendly.
He made a mental note never again to trust people’s descriptions of their partners when they were going through a rough patch.
“I’ll have a beer please, if you’ve got one.”
“Sure have. I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”
Roy and Candice had made quite an effort to create a seasonal atmosphere in their flat. They had a tree with all the trimmings and the homely effect it created made Gerrit feel quite nostalgic. He had done nothing in his own place apart from buying in a few extras in the food line that he especially liked. He felt that as he had nobody to share it with at the moment, what was the point? Talking of food, the smells coming from the kitchen were making him hungry but they had said they would eat at five, which still left quite a way to go. He’d found five o’clock a strange time for a meal but supposed they did things differently in America so to pacify his disoriented stomach, he contented himself with eating the various snacks lying around in small bowls and drinking. After a while however, the drinking was in danger of becoming a problem. Roy kept the beers coming and Gerrit began to feel the effects.
‘At least I’m relaxing,’ he thought and in response to their questions, began to tell them about his family. They were good listeners and, he decided, good company. They seemed genuinely interested in what he was saying.
“My mother is Spanish, or at least, half Spanish; her mother came from near Santander in the north and her father was French. My father is Dutch of course and they met while he was on shore leave when he was in the Merchant navy. I think they got married some months later and a short while after that, my sister came along. I don’t think they had much choice actually, if you know what I mean?”
Roy and Candice both nodded and leaned forward to hear more. Roy handed Gerrit another beer. As he continued talking about his parents and his sister, with whom he’d had a furious argument over her having an abortion, he felt himself becoming more and more emotional. It was Christmas Day after all and he was talking to virtual strangers about what was at best, his dysfunctional family. It seemed to highlight the fact that at certain times, his prized independence counted for very little. He could feel long buried grievances surfacing and tried hard to put them to the back of his mind and keep the conversation casual. Candice had gone into the kitchen but Roy was still listening, identifying with the young man’s memories and feeling quite mellow himself. Despite his best efforts, Gerrit found himself losing control and before he knew it, started to cry.
“Oh, Jesus! I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m not usually like this.”
He buried his head in his hands trying to control the ache in his throat, as he desperately fought against the tears. Roy had a lump in his own throat; he’d always felt, as the youngest of four brothers, that his parents had been just too tired to give him the attention he craved. He’d heard stories of other families where the youngest child had been the apple of the father’s eye and quite often spoiled but in his own case, he’d always felt he’d had a mountain of competition from his older brothers to climb and had longed for a bit of love and comfort, just for himself. He immediately felt empathy with his guest and put his hand on Gerrit’s shoulder, patting him like a baby.
“It’s okay man. None of us like to think too deeply about our families. It’s Christmas and that can always trigger it off. You’ve had a fair bit to drink and you needed to get things off your chest. We don’t mind. It’s nice to see you Dutch haven’t always got your shit together.”
At that moment Candice struggled into the room with the turkey on a large plate in one hand and a bowl of sprouts in the other. She put them on the table and rushed over to the two men.
“Oh, what is it? What’s the matter?”
Roy looked round.
“It’s alright babe. Gerrit just got a bit upset talking about his family you know.”
He loved the new Candice, who threw her arms around the pair of them, hugging and kissing them both in equal measure.
“Come on boys. This won’t do. It’s Christmas, the dinner’s ready and we’re all safe here. The world’s outside and can’t touch us. Let’s just enjoy the time together and the warmth and the candlelight and the Christmas spirit. It’s a time for love not tears.”
Roy put two fingers in his mouth.
“Yuk, Candice. What? You working for Hallmark all of a sudden?”
“Or Coca Cola’s Christmas advertising department?” Gerrit chipped in, laughing now.
“Or ‘Sentimental Christmas Messages R Us?” Roy roared with laughter at Candice’s obvious discomfort.
“Okay, okay. So that was a bit mushy but you know what I mean!” she slapped them both playfully.
“Candice…” Roy broke away from the group hug, “…what’s that smell?”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! It’s the potatoes!”
Candice rushed off into the kitchen leaving the two men clutching their sides with mirth. Candice screamed.
“Ow! Shit, Fuck! Fuck!”
Roy was astonished. Candice almost never swore. Smoke was pouring out of the door and the two men, seeing it was serious, ran in to help.
It took some time but eventually normality was restored. Candice had two fingers strapped up where she had burned them on the pan and they all looked a bit worse for wear but they were all hungry and sat down to begin the meal, minus potatoes.
“Roy, do you think we should let some air in? It’s still smoky in here.”
Roy got up and went over to open the window. It was getting quite dark and the city lights, which he liked so much, were winking at him in the distance.
“It’s going to be quite a hard frost again,” he told the others. “Hey, what’s that?” He’d leaned out and was looking down into the street.
“Hey, hallo. Elfriede? It’s Elfriede.”
He turned and putting on his best ‘lost puppy’ expression, looked questioningly at Candice.
“Oh go on then. Why not? I’ve heard so much about her, I might as well get to meet her.”
“Thanks babe. Hey Elfriede, come on up. No you can’t get in. I’ll come down. Come and have something to eat with us.” Candice and Gerrit couldn’t hear the answer.
“Course you can. Don’t be silly. I’ll be right down.” Roy rushed off to get his jacket and left.
“In answer to your question Gerrit, I don’t really know.” Seeing his puzzlement, Candice proceeded to explain who this Elfriede was as best as she could but was inwardly nervous about meeting the woman who had changed Roy’s life. From her description, Gerrit had an idea who she was; he’d met her several times near the building and knew that she sometimes slept under the stairs leading up to the entrance.
When Roy came back in, his arm around Elfriede’s shoulders, Gerrit and Candice’s jaws dropped in unison. It wasn’t the layers of filthy clothing, or the crumpled hat with the fake fruit attached to the rim. It wasn’t even the huge blue plastic bin bag full of who knows what, which she carefully set down in the corner, or the tattered wicker basket with an old tea towel draped over the top. It was her face that astonished them. Lined and wrinkled and not particularly clean, her eyes gleamed and seemed to light up the room with their intensity. She was beaming with the biggest smile Gerrit had ever seen. Granted there was a tooth missing and the rest were fairly worn down but they were white as snow and her smile revealed huge pink and brown mottled gums, which blended with the glowing pink of her lipstick, creating the strangest effect which was both alarming and comforting at the same time. Candice couldn’t help comparing it with those huge teeth-baring grins that chimpanzees give but mentally reprimanded herself for such a thought.
“Hallo, hallo and a Happy Christmas to you both. So kind, so kind of you to offer. We are very grateful I’m sure; though I’m afraid we can’t stay. There’s very important business to attend to.”
Gerrit wondered if she was using the royal ‘we’ but just then Beest popped his head out of the basket and it was clear who ‘we’ were. As if Elfriede and Beest, with his newly attached pink ribbon around his neck for Christmas weren’t bizarre enough, what happened next amazed them all.
“I know you dearie…” Elfriede waved at Candice, “…and I want to talk to you later but you, I don’t know properly yet. We’ve met haven’t we but not properly?” This was addressed to Gerrit, who nodded and edged nervously further back in his chair. The strange black woman walked around and stood behind him, laying her hands on his head and closing her eyes, muttering as she did so. Gerrit’s eyes widened and he looked to Candice for support. Candice could only shrug her shoulders and look on bemused.
“So much pain! Oh you poor boy. So much pain!” Tears rolled down Elfriede’s cheeks.
It was going to be some time before things would return to normal.
24. Willem looks back
Marcel had been the last to leave but Willem knew better to approach his friend with any sort of apology and let him go. He’d deal with it the next day. Marcel didn’t usually bear a grudge but Willem had the feeling that his conniving and mischief had gone just a little too far this time. He’d cleared up on his own. He hated leaving a mess for the next morning and although it was already three o’clock, he spent an hour restoring his flat to its normal ordered state. After he’d put as much as he could in the dishwasher, brought out his expensive china and glassware and placed it all carefully back in its place, he poured himself a drink and sat down. The party had gone well but he wasn’t happy. He hated upsetting Marcel but when the malicious side of his nature came to the fore it was unstoppable. He often regretted his impulsive streak. It didn’t fit in with his vision of an organised and tidy life but paradoxically, it was what kept him going. He knew Marcel despaired of his actions sometimes and his was the only opinion that counted but surprising the rest of the world with the unexpected, was Willem’s ‘raison d’être’. He knew what he would become if he didn’t spice up his life every now and then, with some crazy scheme or other. He’d be an old man with pipe and slippers, in front of the television every night, with no ambition whatsoever; his father in fact!
He reached for his photo albums and selected the one marked ‘Childhood’. Memories emerged from every page. Black and white, over exposed photographs of his parents sitting with a picnic in the countryside, or on the beach, his father buried up to the neck in sand. His mother dressed in a polka-dot dress with a wide leather belt and a scarf holding the beehive hair-do in place on a trip to Paris. Family groups at Christmas, or birthdays, or weddings; everyone posing for the photographer, chests out, heads held high and in almost all the pictures stood that skinny, little, curly-haired boy with the long shorts coming down to bony knees. If only he’d known then what he knew now! How it would all turn out, how innocence would disappear at the age of twelve, in that public toilet near the beach. How he had run home as fast as he could and tried to hide his shame and guilt from his ever-knowing mother. How from that point, secrecy and deception became his best friends. He didn’t suppose for a minute that he was unique in that respect. The late fifties and early sixties were still a time when the world was recovering from war and newly acquired affluence became an excuse for parents to tell their children how lucky they were. How they had had to suffer in order for their offspring to enjoy the benefits of freedom and prosperity. How every wrong childish move was punished with implied guilt that you’d somehow let your parents down and especially if you were the eldest, how an old fashioned moral order was imposed in a changing world. Willem knew now how his parents had regretted being so hard on him and had even apologised for the myriad petty rules and manners they’d imposed. He understood it completely but nevertheless felt that the restrictions of his childhood had, in some way, led to the excesses of his adult life.
He stared at a picture of his mother in a one-piece bathing suit at Zandvoort. She was laughing and her shoulder-length, wavy, blond hair was all over the place in the wind. He loved this photo; he’d taken it himself and had always been proud of the way it captured her spontaneity.
“Oh Ma, what would you think of me now?” he sighed wistfully.
He recalled the conversation he’d had with her on the day after his eighteenth birthday, in their suburban house in Haarlem. He could picture the lead-latticed windows, with the garden behind and those heavy velvet curtains that when closed, shut out the light completely, creating a tomb-like atmosphere in the room. The narrow shelf above the picture rail, with all the plates lined up like soldiers and the imposing oak furniture, every nook and cranny filled with tiny china and glass ornaments. He remembered that day vividly, the sun streaming through the open French windows and the dust particles dancing in the light. He’d always wondered what effect inhaling all that dust had and could recall the alarm he’d felt as a child, because when the light was normal, the dust disappeared though he knew it was still there and tried not to breathe it in. ‘Silly, childish ideas,’ he thought to himself. It had been the worst morning of his life however, summoning up the courage to tell her he was gay. He’d wanted to do it for a long time but hated the thought of disappointing her, making her sad. It didn’t matter what his father thought, he expected anger and rejection there but from his mother, he desperately craved support and love and wasn’t at all sure that he would get it.
“Sit down Willem,” was all she’d said after he’d blurted it out. “This must have been difficult for you but it’s no surprise to your father and me. We’ve known, or at least strongly suspected for a few years now but we had to wait for you to tell us.”
“But how…?” Willem’s astonishment was complete. Not only had he found her response unexpected but couldn’t imagine how they’d known.
“Listen my dear, I’m your mother and mothers sense these things but apart from that, there are certain clear signs you know.” She’d stroked his cheek trying to make him feel better.
“What signs? I don’t understand.”
“Well, the way you walk and talk sometimes. Little things like that.”
Willem was both hurt and angry. He didn’t see anything wrong with the way he walked and talked at all but was beginning to realise for the first time that he was seen as being naturally a little effete; what he would later understand to be ‘camp’.
He had been deeply upset at the time but later thanked his mother for being honest with him. It helped him prepare himself for his later role in life. From that point on, the subject was hardly raised at home. It may have been a positive reaction but that didn’t mean that he could be open about his early gay years in front of his parents. His father had only mentioned it once.
“I hear you’ve talked to your mother?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no cure I take it?”
“No.”
“Well, no more needs to be said then?”
“Okay Pa thanks.”
Luckily, university had come along and he was able to leave the family home and explore his sexuality in relative anonymity. He found a photo of his father, with his Trilby shading his rather stern expression and his hands in the pockets of his favourite jacket with all three buttons done up and smiled.
“Thanks Pa. It could have been a lot worse.”
He put the first album down and selected another. Just then there was a knock on the door. He looked at the clock. It was four thirty! He walked nervously to the front door and looked through the spy hole. It was Marcel.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“I know, I know but I couldn’t sleep, so I went to get some fresh air and I saw your lights on from outside.”
“Well, come in. I was just having a sentimental wallow in the murky depths of my youth. If you hadn’t arrived I would probably be plundering the tissue box by now. I’ll put some coffee on, or would you like something stronger?”
“Oh God no! Could I have some tea? I think coffee will hype me up again.”
They settled themselves in the deep chairs and began to talk, much as had happened countless times before in the early hours of the morning.
“Am I forgiven then?” asked Willem, his eyes sparkling.
“No, absolutely not! Never! I mean how could you Willem? If you do this sort of thing to your best friend, God help your enemies!”
“Well that’s okay then.”
Willem knew that things were alright between them and kissed his friend’s hand in mock humility.
“So, tell your mother. Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Oh you know, as we get older, we geriatrics need less sleep. Did you know that Napoleon only slept for four hours a night?”
“So that’s what stunted his growth!”
“No, seriously Marcel. You usually get your eight hours beauty sleep and God knows, you need it!”
Marcel pulled a face.
“Well, apart from your Machiavellian plotting, it was a very strange evening.”
“I take it you’re referring to the fascinating Miss Mia and the divine Benjamin.”
“I think I’m in love.” Marcel couldn’t look his friend in the face.
“What! You’re turning straight! Well, I’ve heard one or two interesting things about Mia and her preferences in the sack but she must be good if she can make you swing the other way!”
“No you idiot, Ben. I think I’m in love with Ben.”
“I suspected as much. So tell me, what are the attractions of Miss Macho?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Of course it is. Would it be worth the effort if it wasn’t?”
“Will you just shut up for a second?”
Willem knew when it was time to listen and nodded.
“It’s complicated because during the course of the evening it became pretty clear that nobody’s going to come out of this with their sanity intact.”
Willem frowned. “I don’t follow. What do you mean?”
“Well, to put it simply, I’m pretty sure Ben is still crazy about Mia.”
“No surprise there.”
“And as you know, I’m pretty keen on Ben.”
“Is there some news here?”
“Yes but…Mia made it pretty clear that she has the hots for me!”
Willem’s scream of delight woke the neighbours on both sides.
Gerrit had been in two minds about accepting Candice’s invitation for Christmas dinner. As the days had gone by after the incident with the police, he’d found himself less infatuated by the American woman and more convinced that further contact could lead to complications. She’d arrived one evening a couple of days later and somehow, the magic of their first meeting had gone. She’d explained how things had changed overnight in her marriage and that they had a new understanding and she had asked what had happened with the police and they’d spent a pleasant hour over coffee. Gerrit felt nagging doubts at the back of his mind however. What did she want from him? She said that she hoped they would become good friends and it would be absolutely no problem with Roy and she insisted on exchanging full addresses, e-mails, telephone numbers and so on but he couldn’t quite trust her motives. When she’d asked him to spend Christmas Day with them, he’d hesitated so long, trying to think up some delaying excuse, that she’d looked hurt. Although he had the distinct impression that she was still flirting with him, in the end, he asked if he could bring a friend and then adjusted it to girl friend and then again to female friend so as not to give the impression that he was in a relationship. She’d agreed straightaway, saying it would be nice to meet another Dutch person but he still couldn’t feel totally comfortable with the whole thing. He had to admit that on some levels he found her very attractive and his ego was certainly boosted by her attention but he couldn’t quite understand why. She was a lot older, that was true but that was part of the appeal; a sort of Mrs. Robinson effect, although he hardly felt like the innocent youth of the film. She wasn’t really his normal type physically; he generally preferred women with more flesh on their bones but he was attracted, he couldn’t deny it and he felt sure the feeling was mutual. Eventually, he realised that there was more to this than just a friendship and the suggestions they then proceeded to make to each other, both explicit and implicit in the next half hour sealed the pact. Then there was, of course, the husband he hadn’t yet met but was already biased against. Perhaps it was better to extricate himself carefully from this situation. Then again, it was true. He would have been on his own this Christmas. His parents lived in Spain and he hadn’t spoken to his sister and her family in years. Okay, a meal couldn’t do any harm. However, he didn’t trust himself to go on his own; far better and possibly more discreet, to find a partner for the day. Now, the problem was where to find someone to go with him.
He’d rung all his friends, well, single girl friends anyway, of which there were only two, neither of whom he wanted to spend Christmas with in any case. They both had arrangements elsewhere, so that left the office.
“Hey Leontine, are you doing anything on Christmas Day?”
“Are you asking me for a date Gerrit?” Leontine, a rather plump blonde fluttered her eyelashes in mock surprise.
“No…I mean…yes…well not really.”
The other people in the room at the time laughed and stopped to listen. Gerrit felt himself blushing deeply.
“No, you see, I’ve been invited for a meal and I need a partner.”
“How charmingly put…” exclaimed Leontine loudly, for the benefit of the audience.
“…and I was first on your list no doubt?”
“Well not quite but I thought if you weren’t doing anything that day, you might like a free meal.”
Leontine took off her microphone and stood up, hands on her hips.
“Do I look in need of a good feed then?”
As the others roared with laughter, she took a small bow.
“Oh forget it. I’m sorry I asked.” Gerrit’s embarrassment was complete. There was no chance of asking Mieke, or Sandra now; it would be all round the building in no time. He was stuck.
He’d thought about making up some excuse and cancelling but couldn’t think of a convincing enough reason, so found himself straightening his tie and rubbing his scuffed shoes on the back of his jeans before knocking on Roy and Candice’s door at three o’clock on Christmas afternoon.
Candice opened the door.
“Hi, come on in; lovely to see you. Happy Christmas.”
She kissed him on each cheek and he could smell her musky perfume. He then tried to kiss her cheek a third time as usual but she hadn’t expected it and moved, so he missed and pecked her on the nose instead. ‘Not a good start.’ He thought pessimistically. She laughed,
“Oh, sorry, I forgot in Holland you do it three times,” and kissed him on the mouth. “There, does that make up for it?”
At that moment, Roy appeared, making Gerrit jump back awkwardly. Candice looked at him, then at Roy and laughed again.
“I’m messing up Dutch customs again Roy.”
Roy came forward and gave Gerrit a warm smile before pumping his hand.
“Hey Gerrit, welcome. I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to put a face to the description. Come into the other room. What would you like to drink?”
Gerrit suddenly felt much better. Roy was nothing like he’d imagined him to be from Candice’s description. He’d expected a mean-faced man with maybe an unhealthy complexion but Roy had one of those faces you instantly take to, open and friendly.
He made a mental note never again to trust people’s descriptions of their partners when they were going through a rough patch.
“I’ll have a beer please, if you’ve got one.”
“Sure have. I’ll be right back. Make yourself at home.”
Roy and Candice had made quite an effort to create a seasonal atmosphere in their flat. They had a tree with all the trimmings and the homely effect it created made Gerrit feel quite nostalgic. He had done nothing in his own place apart from buying in a few extras in the food line that he especially liked. He felt that as he had nobody to share it with at the moment, what was the point? Talking of food, the smells coming from the kitchen were making him hungry but they had said they would eat at five, which still left quite a way to go. He’d found five o’clock a strange time for a meal but supposed they did things differently in America so to pacify his disoriented stomach, he contented himself with eating the various snacks lying around in small bowls and drinking. After a while however, the drinking was in danger of becoming a problem. Roy kept the beers coming and Gerrit began to feel the effects.
‘At least I’m relaxing,’ he thought and in response to their questions, began to tell them about his family. They were good listeners and, he decided, good company. They seemed genuinely interested in what he was saying.
“My mother is Spanish, or at least, half Spanish; her mother came from near Santander in the north and her father was French. My father is Dutch of course and they met while he was on shore leave when he was in the Merchant navy. I think they got married some months later and a short while after that, my sister came along. I don’t think they had much choice actually, if you know what I mean?”
Roy and Candice both nodded and leaned forward to hear more. Roy handed Gerrit another beer. As he continued talking about his parents and his sister, with whom he’d had a furious argument over her having an abortion, he felt himself becoming more and more emotional. It was Christmas Day after all and he was talking to virtual strangers about what was at best, his dysfunctional family. It seemed to highlight the fact that at certain times, his prized independence counted for very little. He could feel long buried grievances surfacing and tried hard to put them to the back of his mind and keep the conversation casual. Candice had gone into the kitchen but Roy was still listening, identifying with the young man’s memories and feeling quite mellow himself. Despite his best efforts, Gerrit found himself losing control and before he knew it, started to cry.
“Oh, Jesus! I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s come over me. I’m not usually like this.”
He buried his head in his hands trying to control the ache in his throat, as he desperately fought against the tears. Roy had a lump in his own throat; he’d always felt, as the youngest of four brothers, that his parents had been just too tired to give him the attention he craved. He’d heard stories of other families where the youngest child had been the apple of the father’s eye and quite often spoiled but in his own case, he’d always felt he’d had a mountain of competition from his older brothers to climb and had longed for a bit of love and comfort, just for himself. He immediately felt empathy with his guest and put his hand on Gerrit’s shoulder, patting him like a baby.
“It’s okay man. None of us like to think too deeply about our families. It’s Christmas and that can always trigger it off. You’ve had a fair bit to drink and you needed to get things off your chest. We don’t mind. It’s nice to see you Dutch haven’t always got your shit together.”
At that moment Candice struggled into the room with the turkey on a large plate in one hand and a bowl of sprouts in the other. She put them on the table and rushed over to the two men.
“Oh, what is it? What’s the matter?”
Roy looked round.
“It’s alright babe. Gerrit just got a bit upset talking about his family you know.”
He loved the new Candice, who threw her arms around the pair of them, hugging and kissing them both in equal measure.
“Come on boys. This won’t do. It’s Christmas, the dinner’s ready and we’re all safe here. The world’s outside and can’t touch us. Let’s just enjoy the time together and the warmth and the candlelight and the Christmas spirit. It’s a time for love not tears.”
Roy put two fingers in his mouth.
“Yuk, Candice. What? You working for Hallmark all of a sudden?”
“Or Coca Cola’s Christmas advertising department?” Gerrit chipped in, laughing now.
“Or ‘Sentimental Christmas Messages R Us?” Roy roared with laughter at Candice’s obvious discomfort.
“Okay, okay. So that was a bit mushy but you know what I mean!” she slapped them both playfully.
“Candice…” Roy broke away from the group hug, “…what’s that smell?”
“Oh my God! Oh my God! It’s the potatoes!”
Candice rushed off into the kitchen leaving the two men clutching their sides with mirth. Candice screamed.
“Ow! Shit, Fuck! Fuck!”
Roy was astonished. Candice almost never swore. Smoke was pouring out of the door and the two men, seeing it was serious, ran in to help.
It took some time but eventually normality was restored. Candice had two fingers strapped up where she had burned them on the pan and they all looked a bit worse for wear but they were all hungry and sat down to begin the meal, minus potatoes.
“Roy, do you think we should let some air in? It’s still smoky in here.”
Roy got up and went over to open the window. It was getting quite dark and the city lights, which he liked so much, were winking at him in the distance.
“It’s going to be quite a hard frost again,” he told the others. “Hey, what’s that?” He’d leaned out and was looking down into the street.
“Hey, hallo. Elfriede? It’s Elfriede.”
He turned and putting on his best ‘lost puppy’ expression, looked questioningly at Candice.
“Oh go on then. Why not? I’ve heard so much about her, I might as well get to meet her.”
“Thanks babe. Hey Elfriede, come on up. No you can’t get in. I’ll come down. Come and have something to eat with us.” Candice and Gerrit couldn’t hear the answer.
“Course you can. Don’t be silly. I’ll be right down.” Roy rushed off to get his jacket and left.
“In answer to your question Gerrit, I don’t really know.” Seeing his puzzlement, Candice proceeded to explain who this Elfriede was as best as she could but was inwardly nervous about meeting the woman who had changed Roy’s life. From her description, Gerrit had an idea who she was; he’d met her several times near the building and knew that she sometimes slept under the stairs leading up to the entrance.
When Roy came back in, his arm around Elfriede’s shoulders, Gerrit and Candice’s jaws dropped in unison. It wasn’t the layers of filthy clothing, or the crumpled hat with the fake fruit attached to the rim. It wasn’t even the huge blue plastic bin bag full of who knows what, which she carefully set down in the corner, or the tattered wicker basket with an old tea towel draped over the top. It was her face that astonished them. Lined and wrinkled and not particularly clean, her eyes gleamed and seemed to light up the room with their intensity. She was beaming with the biggest smile Gerrit had ever seen. Granted there was a tooth missing and the rest were fairly worn down but they were white as snow and her smile revealed huge pink and brown mottled gums, which blended with the glowing pink of her lipstick, creating the strangest effect which was both alarming and comforting at the same time. Candice couldn’t help comparing it with those huge teeth-baring grins that chimpanzees give but mentally reprimanded herself for such a thought.
“Hallo, hallo and a Happy Christmas to you both. So kind, so kind of you to offer. We are very grateful I’m sure; though I’m afraid we can’t stay. There’s very important business to attend to.”
Gerrit wondered if she was using the royal ‘we’ but just then Beest popped his head out of the basket and it was clear who ‘we’ were. As if Elfriede and Beest, with his newly attached pink ribbon around his neck for Christmas weren’t bizarre enough, what happened next amazed them all.
“I know you dearie…” Elfriede waved at Candice, “…and I want to talk to you later but you, I don’t know properly yet. We’ve met haven’t we but not properly?” This was addressed to Gerrit, who nodded and edged nervously further back in his chair. The strange black woman walked around and stood behind him, laying her hands on his head and closing her eyes, muttering as she did so. Gerrit’s eyes widened and he looked to Candice for support. Candice could only shrug her shoulders and look on bemused.
“So much pain! Oh you poor boy. So much pain!” Tears rolled down Elfriede’s cheeks.
It was going to be some time before things would return to normal.
24. Willem looks back
Marcel had been the last to leave but Willem knew better to approach his friend with any sort of apology and let him go. He’d deal with it the next day. Marcel didn’t usually bear a grudge but Willem had the feeling that his conniving and mischief had gone just a little too far this time. He’d cleared up on his own. He hated leaving a mess for the next morning and although it was already three o’clock, he spent an hour restoring his flat to its normal ordered state. After he’d put as much as he could in the dishwasher, brought out his expensive china and glassware and placed it all carefully back in its place, he poured himself a drink and sat down. The party had gone well but he wasn’t happy. He hated upsetting Marcel but when the malicious side of his nature came to the fore it was unstoppable. He often regretted his impulsive streak. It didn’t fit in with his vision of an organised and tidy life but paradoxically, it was what kept him going. He knew Marcel despaired of his actions sometimes and his was the only opinion that counted but surprising the rest of the world with the unexpected, was Willem’s ‘raison d’être’. He knew what he would become if he didn’t spice up his life every now and then, with some crazy scheme or other. He’d be an old man with pipe and slippers, in front of the television every night, with no ambition whatsoever; his father in fact!
He reached for his photo albums and selected the one marked ‘Childhood’. Memories emerged from every page. Black and white, over exposed photographs of his parents sitting with a picnic in the countryside, or on the beach, his father buried up to the neck in sand. His mother dressed in a polka-dot dress with a wide leather belt and a scarf holding the beehive hair-do in place on a trip to Paris. Family groups at Christmas, or birthdays, or weddings; everyone posing for the photographer, chests out, heads held high and in almost all the pictures stood that skinny, little, curly-haired boy with the long shorts coming down to bony knees. If only he’d known then what he knew now! How it would all turn out, how innocence would disappear at the age of twelve, in that public toilet near the beach. How he had run home as fast as he could and tried to hide his shame and guilt from his ever-knowing mother. How from that point, secrecy and deception became his best friends. He didn’t suppose for a minute that he was unique in that respect. The late fifties and early sixties were still a time when the world was recovering from war and newly acquired affluence became an excuse for parents to tell their children how lucky they were. How they had had to suffer in order for their offspring to enjoy the benefits of freedom and prosperity. How every wrong childish move was punished with implied guilt that you’d somehow let your parents down and especially if you were the eldest, how an old fashioned moral order was imposed in a changing world. Willem knew now how his parents had regretted being so hard on him and had even apologised for the myriad petty rules and manners they’d imposed. He understood it completely but nevertheless felt that the restrictions of his childhood had, in some way, led to the excesses of his adult life.
He stared at a picture of his mother in a one-piece bathing suit at Zandvoort. She was laughing and her shoulder-length, wavy, blond hair was all over the place in the wind. He loved this photo; he’d taken it himself and had always been proud of the way it captured her spontaneity.
“Oh Ma, what would you think of me now?” he sighed wistfully.
He recalled the conversation he’d had with her on the day after his eighteenth birthday, in their suburban house in Haarlem. He could picture the lead-latticed windows, with the garden behind and those heavy velvet curtains that when closed, shut out the light completely, creating a tomb-like atmosphere in the room. The narrow shelf above the picture rail, with all the plates lined up like soldiers and the imposing oak furniture, every nook and cranny filled with tiny china and glass ornaments. He remembered that day vividly, the sun streaming through the open French windows and the dust particles dancing in the light. He’d always wondered what effect inhaling all that dust had and could recall the alarm he’d felt as a child, because when the light was normal, the dust disappeared though he knew it was still there and tried not to breathe it in. ‘Silly, childish ideas,’ he thought to himself. It had been the worst morning of his life however, summoning up the courage to tell her he was gay. He’d wanted to do it for a long time but hated the thought of disappointing her, making her sad. It didn’t matter what his father thought, he expected anger and rejection there but from his mother, he desperately craved support and love and wasn’t at all sure that he would get it.
“Sit down Willem,” was all she’d said after he’d blurted it out. “This must have been difficult for you but it’s no surprise to your father and me. We’ve known, or at least strongly suspected for a few years now but we had to wait for you to tell us.”
“But how…?” Willem’s astonishment was complete. Not only had he found her response unexpected but couldn’t imagine how they’d known.
“Listen my dear, I’m your mother and mothers sense these things but apart from that, there are certain clear signs you know.” She’d stroked his cheek trying to make him feel better.
“What signs? I don’t understand.”
“Well, the way you walk and talk sometimes. Little things like that.”
Willem was both hurt and angry. He didn’t see anything wrong with the way he walked and talked at all but was beginning to realise for the first time that he was seen as being naturally a little effete; what he would later understand to be ‘camp’.
He had been deeply upset at the time but later thanked his mother for being honest with him. It helped him prepare himself for his later role in life. From that point on, the subject was hardly raised at home. It may have been a positive reaction but that didn’t mean that he could be open about his early gay years in front of his parents. His father had only mentioned it once.
“I hear you’ve talked to your mother?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no cure I take it?”
“No.”
“Well, no more needs to be said then?”
“Okay Pa thanks.”
Luckily, university had come along and he was able to leave the family home and explore his sexuality in relative anonymity. He found a photo of his father, with his Trilby shading his rather stern expression and his hands in the pockets of his favourite jacket with all three buttons done up and smiled.
“Thanks Pa. It could have been a lot worse.”
He put the first album down and selected another. Just then there was a knock on the door. He looked at the clock. It was four thirty! He walked nervously to the front door and looked through the spy hole. It was Marcel.
“Do you know what time it is?”
“I know, I know but I couldn’t sleep, so I went to get some fresh air and I saw your lights on from outside.”
“Well, come in. I was just having a sentimental wallow in the murky depths of my youth. If you hadn’t arrived I would probably be plundering the tissue box by now. I’ll put some coffee on, or would you like something stronger?”
“Oh God no! Could I have some tea? I think coffee will hype me up again.”
They settled themselves in the deep chairs and began to talk, much as had happened countless times before in the early hours of the morning.
“Am I forgiven then?” asked Willem, his eyes sparkling.
“No, absolutely not! Never! I mean how could you Willem? If you do this sort of thing to your best friend, God help your enemies!”
“Well that’s okay then.”
Willem knew that things were alright between them and kissed his friend’s hand in mock humility.
“So, tell your mother. Why couldn’t you sleep?”
“I could ask you the same question.”
“Oh you know, as we get older, we geriatrics need less sleep. Did you know that Napoleon only slept for four hours a night?”
“So that’s what stunted his growth!”
“No, seriously Marcel. You usually get your eight hours beauty sleep and God knows, you need it!”
Marcel pulled a face.
“Well, apart from your Machiavellian plotting, it was a very strange evening.”
“I take it you’re referring to the fascinating Miss Mia and the divine Benjamin.”
“I think I’m in love.” Marcel couldn’t look his friend in the face.
“What! You’re turning straight! Well, I’ve heard one or two interesting things about Mia and her preferences in the sack but she must be good if she can make you swing the other way!”
“No you idiot, Ben. I think I’m in love with Ben.”
“I suspected as much. So tell me, what are the attractions of Miss Macho?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Of course it is. Would it be worth the effort if it wasn’t?”
“Will you just shut up for a second?”
Willem knew when it was time to listen and nodded.
“It’s complicated because during the course of the evening it became pretty clear that nobody’s going to come out of this with their sanity intact.”
Willem frowned. “I don’t follow. What do you mean?”
“Well, to put it simply, I’m pretty sure Ben is still crazy about Mia.”
“No surprise there.”
“And as you know, I’m pretty keen on Ben.”
“Is there some news here?”
“Yes but…Mia made it pretty clear that she has the hots for me!”
Willem’s scream of delight woke the neighbours on both sides.
25. Carolien meets her Mountie
Carolien lay back on the sun-lounger and took a deep breath, held it in for as long as she could and then released it slowly. Tingles went up and down her spine and she shivered. It wasn’t the cool, evening air; it was a shudder of relief and release. She looked out over the sea at the sinking sun and made a commitment to herself that when this particular sun sank over the horizon, her past life would go with it. She had done enough soul-searching and try as she might, she couldn’t feel badly about what she had done. She had tried praying but it had felt wrong and given her no comfort at all. She had abandoned God the moment she had decided to keep Willem’s money and although she didn’t feel good about it, she had accepted that it was the price she had to pay. From now on, she was responsible for her own life and couldn’t rely on the crutches of the past; nor did she want to. During the first few confusing days of the cruise, she’d asked herself many times how she could so easily dismiss, not only her faith but a lifetime of values as well. There was no easy answer. It had just happened that’s all and all she felt was an overwhelming excitement as to what the future might hold.
In the background she could hear the hum of conversation and the pianist playing Cole Porter in one of the lounge bars. The slight breeze was a relief after the day’s heat and the sunset was, as you would expect in the Caribbean, spectacular and humbling. She had bought an evening dress in one of the boutiques, not blinking at the price and a little costume jewellery to compliment the outfit and she felt good about herself. For the first time in years she wore make-up, having first looked at the few elegant ladies of her age, to see what was current and flattering and then spending some time in her cabin practising to achieve the desired effect. It was no good staying the way she was, that represented the life she had left behind. Might as well adopt a new identity to match her new life. Looking in the mirror, she could hardly believe the woman she saw was the same person she had always known but was both in awe of and thrilled by the transformation. There was no going back now. Even if she had wanted to, she knew she had turned her back on everything she had believed in and the sin, if it was a sin, had been irreversibly committed.
“Beautiful evening isn’t it?”
She awoke from her reverie to find a tall, middle-aged man in a white tuxedo, smiling down at her.
“Perfect,” she answered with conviction.
“Would you mind if I joined you for a short while before dinner? Or am I interrupting a quiet moment?”
She nodded and beckoned to the lounger beside hers.
“My name is John by the way.” He reached over to shake her hand.
“Carolien.”
“Pleased to meet you Carolien.”
“Likewise.”
She wasn’t sure about this. It had been so many years since she had talked to a man socially without there being some work-related reason behind it.
“I’ve seen you around but if you don’t mind my saying so, you seem to prefer your own company. I wasn’t sure whether you’d welcome an approach or not.”
His voice was deep and comforting. She tried to relax and accept the friendliness he offered.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to appear that way. I’m a little shy that’s all. Since my husband died…”
She’d already decided to tell as much of the truth as she could. Any awkward questions would be answered from the viewpoint of a widow, using her late husband’s money for the holiday. It had worked so far and after an initial conversation people had respectfully left her alone.
“Please…you don’t need to explain. It’s only two years since Sarah died and I still find social chitchat difficult at times. Can I get you a drink or something?”
She found herself beginning to like this man. What had she got to lose? A new life has to start somewhere.
“Yes please, that would be nice. May I have a margarita? Are you American?”
“No Canadian. I come from Vancouver. I guess you are European from the accent but I’m afraid I can’t place exactly where.”
“The Netherlands; Holland. I come from Amsterdam.”
“Really? That’s a place I’ve always wanted to go. I’ll be right back with that drink. Don’t go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled at him and he hurried off to the bar.
The first stars were visible as the sun finally sank below the horizon and she decided that old fears and feelings of guilt or not, this was a new life and there were new adventures to be had.
Over the next few days, she spent a lot of time with John. He was charming company and handsome, in a slightly weather-beaten way. Slowly but surely, they had found that although they were worlds apart in most areas, they had certain things in common and these were enough to start building a friendship. He had acted like a perfect gentleman and to her surprise, despite escorting her back to her cabin each night, there had never been the slightest hint of impropriety. It had been both a relief and a puzzle. She hadn’t felt ready for a physical relationship but at the same time, did wonder if there was something wrong with her, or if she wasn’t physically attractive enough. Companionship with a man, however, was a first step forward and she was perfectly content to let things happen at their own pace. The days between the islands seemed to adopt their own rhythm and she decided that she could easily get used to this sort of comfort. Lying in the sun with an exotic cocktail, reading books from the ship’s library, dips in the pools; she loved it all. They had even played volleyball and tennis, joined in aerobics classes and indulged in massages to ease the guilt of so much easy living. In the evenings, they’d gone to the shows, talked in the various cocktail lounges and to her amazement, even lost a little money in the casino. After a week with John, the metamorphosis from ugly duckling to graceful swan was almost complete. One particular evening before dinner, to John’s astonishment, she had collapsed into fits of giggles. She’d suddenly had a vision of Major Tjeerd Dijkstra’s face, if he could have seen her now; a picture she dearly wished could have become reality. A second later however, she felt a fleeting twinge of guilt; it was so painful; she dismissed it instantly and went back to her drink.
The next day, the ship arrived at Trinidad and anchored off Chaguaramas. It was the first port of call for some time and everybody was ready for a change from the soporiphic shipboard routine.
Carolien was ready when John knocked at the door.
“We’d better hurry, the boats are waiting to take us ashore.”
Along with the rest of the passengers, they got into small boats, which then threaded their way through a bewildering assortment of yachts, large and small, moored at the Chaguaramas anchorage. Boys in even smaller boats, trying to sell them some trinket or other, pestered them the whole way. Although they had met this at all the islands, Carolien still found it a little intimidating though noted to herself that it was little different from the beggars in Amsterdam. Need was need, wherever in the world. Eventually, they went ashore and after a brief check by some surly customs officers, they were herded onto coaches ready to take them to the capital, Port of Spain. It was hot and stuffy and surrounded by the conflicting smells of petrol fumes and expensive perfumes, Carolien was getting a headache. She began to wish she’d stayed on board where at least she could have some time to herself.
“Are you alright Carolien?” John asked anxiously.
“Oh it’s okay, it’ll pass. I just feel a little faint that’s all.”
”Right! That’s it!” John took her hand and virtually dragged her off the bus.
“We’re getting a taxi, or hiring a car,” he told the bemused courier firmly.
“Well, please remember when you’re due back and please be careful in town.” His words were lost as John and Carolien disappeared into the throng at the quayside.
After a few minutes, John spotted a single taxi, it’s driver leaning nonchalantly against a wall, a cigarette drooping out of his mouth.
“Excuse me. Are you for hire?”
The man had heard the question but his eyes were closed and they stayed closed.
“You mean am I for hire, or me Maxi taxi?” he chuckled, coughed and taking the cigarette out of his mouth, spat noisily on the ground.
He made Carolien nervous and she tugged at John’s arm, whispering, “Let’s find something else John.”
“No, no lady. I knows what you mean. I’s for hire all right. Where you want to go man?”
“Port of Spain. Is that okay?”
“Well now, Port o’Spain’s a big place. You want me to show you around? Give you Dwight’s guided tour like?” He looked them both up and down. “I can see you don’t know what you want to do. Is I right? I tell you what. I’ll tell you some things on the way and then you can make up your mind. Mind, I be warning you now. It ain’t cheap. What with it bein’ Carnival an’ all. My prices go up triple at Carnival but I’m an honest man, that’s why I’s tellin’ you first. You’re lucky I’s here. I just dropped somebody off.”
The two tourists looked at each other and then back at their coach, which was just beginning to pull out of the car park. John shrugged his shoulders.
“Why not. Okay, you’ve got a deal.”
Carolien wasn’t at all sure they were doing the right thing but allowed John to open her door and got in.
“Don’ look so worried lady. We ain’t just dropped from the coconut trees here you know. You’ll be perfec’ly safe wit me.”
Dwight was as good as his word and although Carolien found the accent a little hard to follow, she got the gist of his brief history of the Carnival. By the time he’d finished, she was quite excited about seeing it. Dwight, however, was determined to give them a little extra.
“I’s gonna take you to my family house first. My family’s got a Pan band goin’ and they’s gonna win the Pan finals. If I step on the gas, we can get there just before they start off on the parade.”
“What’s a Pan band?” asked Carolien. She’d got used to the smells and noises in the car and the bumpy roads and leaned forward so that she could hear Dwight better.
“You can hear it now on de radio. Steel pans. Calypso. You know the steel pans were invented here in Trinidad? We take it very serious here, very serious indeed!”
She sat back and barely flinched as Dwight used his horn for the umpteenth time and they had yet another near miss.
“Road hog!” he yelled as the drivers waved their fists at each other. “I dunno. Some of these drivers, they got their licences in Venezuela for sure!”
The car seemed to continually career from one side of the road to the other and its passengers were tossed about in the back. John smiled at her and she smiled back; she was enjoying herself immensely.
When they reached the outskirts of the city, Dwight made several detours before screeching to a halt outside a ramshackle shed, which was attached to a large but run down house.
“Dis is it. You wait there. I’ll just go see where they are.”
With that, he ran around the side of the house and disappeared from view.
John and Carolien looked at each other.
“I can still feel every pothole,” she said laughing.
He gave her a serious look.
“Are you happy?”
“Well, we haven’t a clue where we are; the driver could have gone to get his friends who will rob us blind and I feel that all my bones have turned to jelly but yes, yes I’m happy. Are you?”
“Blissfully,” he replied and leaned over.
‘This is it,’ she thought and prepared to receive the expected kiss.
“Hey, you two love birds, are you coming or what?”
Dwight’s voice boomed in through the car window. They pulled apart and laughed. The kiss hadn’t happened but it hadn’t needed to; they both understood that their relationship had crossed a boundary.
Dwight took them through the shed doors, where they could already hear a cacophony of noise as the bands warmed up. He had to shout so that they could hear what he was saying.
“There are two bands here practisin’. We have twelve players in our band but we join up wit de neighbours to make one big band. We’s gonna win for sure this year.”
The colours of the costumes and the players all banging on different sized pans with all sorts of metal objects were almost overwhelming for Carolien and she was glad when at a certain moment, everything stopped and the conductor came to the front of the crowd. With her ears still ringing, she asked Dwight what was going to happen next.
“It’s the final practice. After dis tune, they go into town to the stadium and compete wit de others.”
Suddenly, the confusion of noise was replaced by melody and she found her feet tapping and her hips swaying to the rhythm.
“De loudest part, there in de middle, is de Engine Room. They is de rhythm section of de band you see.”
It was loud but the visitors couldn’t help but be impressed by the virtuosity of the players.
“They don’t have any music to read?” asked John.
“No, no no. They learn it all by heart. Our band is called de Tenaco Renegades,” he said proudly pointing to the badge with the same name on his jacket.
“We go now. We’ll see them later at the competition. I wanna show you de Soca bands.”
“What’s Soca then?” asked John as they left the pan bands behind and got in the car.
“Soca? Dat is a mix of soul and calypso man. It’s very popular here in Trinidad. More modern, more what you dance to you know.”
They spent the whole afternoon with Dwight, seeing things they were sure the other tourists wouldn’t get to see and when they finally sat down to eat in a roadside café; they were both exhausted and ready to go back to the ship.
“This food is delicious,” Carolien wiped her fingers on a paper towel.
“This food is real Caribbean food. Not what you tourists normally get. I thought it would be too hot for you, too spicy.”
“It’s wonderful…” agreed John, “…I think I’d better settle up with you now Dwight. We’ve had a wonderful time but maybe we should be getting back, or the boats will leave without us. How much do we owe you?”
Dwight frowned and took out a chewed pencil. He thought for a minute or two, then wrote down a figure on a paper towel and gave it to John without Carolien being able to see. As John reached for his wallet, Carolien caught a glimpse of the amount and gasped. She was just about to say something when John handed over a wad of notes.
“Here Dwight. I know you’re robbing us blind and you know I know but I’ve added a bit extra as well because you’ve been honest with us and I, for one, haven’t enjoyed myself as much in years.”
Carolien frowned at him but had to admit his sentiment was hers as well and resolved to make sure she gave him half later. Dwight grinned and shook John’s hand vigorously.
“You know, you’re the first Americans I’ve liked.”
“Well…” said Carolien laughing, “…you’re going to have to wait to meet some likeable Americans, I’m Dutch and John is from Canada.”
She could have sworn Dwight blushed.
“Are you sure you have to go back to Chaguaramas? It’s the big carnival night tonight. You can’t come to Trinidad and miss that.”
“Does this mean you’re not willing to take us back?” John asked.
“Oh I’ll take you back. You’ve paid for a return trip but I think you regret it if I do. Take a chance. Live a bit. What you tell your grandkids about Trinidad? A few steel bands and some Cajun food? It’s not much. There’s so much more and you see it all tonight.”
“What do you think Carolien? The boat doesn’t leave until tomorrow afternoon. We could stay here, find a hotel or something?” John looked at her hopefully and she relented. After all, her earlier fears had amounted to nothing and she felt completely safe as long as he was around.
“Okay, we’ll stay,” then turning to the Trinidadian she asked, “Do you know a reasonable hotel Dwight?”
“You won’t be needin’ no hotel. This is an all night party. Nobody sleeps on Carnival night but if you tired then you can have a few hours at my house. J’ouvert don’t start till after midnight.”
John shook Carolien gently but she still woke up with a start. She’d been dreaming of the Wallen in Amsterdam, a very confusing dream where she was arguing on behalf of the hookers, with the police, various city officials and worst of all, a stern Salvation Army leader.
“It’s time to go out. Can you hear it?”
In the distance, she could hear different sorts of music and traffic and peoples voices and for a moment wasn’t sure where she was. There was a knock at the door.
“Are you ready now? We should go; J’ouvert is beginning.”
John let Dwight in and both of them gasped in amazement. Dwight was wearing a costume consisting of a vivid, lime green shirt tied under the ribs, a pair of very brief, glittering, blue pants and very little else. In his hand, he carried a headdress at least a metre long, encrusted with green and blue feathers. His face was made up and glittered in the half-light of the room. Carolien decided he looked like a wonderful exotic bird and felt a tingle of long-buried excitement.
They crossed several streets towards the source of the noise. Everywhere was full of people in costume and she wished she’d had her camera with her to capture the dazzling display. They joined the mass of people all heading in the same direction, until they came to a long street. From side to side, it was crammed with a sea of people, bands, trucks with loudspeakers and parading groups, each decked out in costumes so extravagant, she later found them impossible to describe.
“J’ouvert is an old Mas,” explained Dwight, “Mas is masquerade. You watch. All the costumes will move away soon.”
“Why do they do that?” asked John as those in costume melted away into the side streets.
“You’ll see. Watch. Oh, I nearly forgot. Keep your hand on your money always, you hear. Tourists make easy pickings here. Don’t let me out your sight. If you have trouble, just yell.”
Carolien wondered if he would be able to hear above the noise but was glad she’d tied her moneybag around her stomach, inside her dress. John took the precaution of putting his wallet in his shoe, though it caused him to limp a little. Suddenly, a great roar erupted in the crowd and as if from nowhere, scantily dressed people were rushing down the street and the air was filled with streaks of paint, oil and mud. The atmosphere took on a wild pagan air as people milled around throwing the various liquids at each other. Within a very short time, their features disappeared and the scene took on a hellish quality. Neither John nor Carolien escaped the attentions of the mud throwers but the atmosphere was so infectious, they just laughed and hugged each other.
Carolien couldn’t understand where she had got the energy from as they threw themselves into the party spirit and danced, sang, ate and drank from the roadside stalls throughout the night. The activities became wilder as the night went on and inhibitions were abandoned as the crowds partied. Carolien and John looked on in amazement at each excess and despite the infectious nature of the revelry, tried to hold themselves in reserve. Dwight had kept up a seemingly endless supply of rum and Carolien could feel herself losing control as the rhythms and the alcohol coursed through her veins. She wasn’t drunk, just euphoric and she didn’t notice the moment when she got separated from the other two. They had been on their way to Queen’s Park Savannah, where Dwight had said the main costume parades and performances were taking place. She’d been weaving in and out of the crowd, in a world of her own, thinking that John and Dwight were behind her as they had been earlier. During a dance, she twirled around to find not John but a masked and costumed man leering down at her and blocking her view. She tried to get past him but he blocked the way, all the time gyrating his hips and waving his arms around her head in intricate patterns. He started thrusting his pelvis at her and stroking her sides and she started to panic. She was being ‘wined’. Dwight had warned her to be careful not to get involved with a ‘winer’’
“They always want sex wit you!” he’d wagged his finger at her sternly.
She found herself being edged towards the doorway of a building. She tried to scream but nobody took any notice, everyone was in carnival mood and such things were happening everywhere. The drink, the music, the people and this seemingly satanic dancer all combined to overwhelm her and she felt herself losing consciousness. Her last thought was of the street in the Wallen and the threatening boy standing over her and Elfriede’s face, which appeared ghostly and transparent in the Carnival sky.
Carolien lay back on the sun-lounger and took a deep breath, held it in for as long as she could and then released it slowly. Tingles went up and down her spine and she shivered. It wasn’t the cool, evening air; it was a shudder of relief and release. She looked out over the sea at the sinking sun and made a commitment to herself that when this particular sun sank over the horizon, her past life would go with it. She had done enough soul-searching and try as she might, she couldn’t feel badly about what she had done. She had tried praying but it had felt wrong and given her no comfort at all. She had abandoned God the moment she had decided to keep Willem’s money and although she didn’t feel good about it, she had accepted that it was the price she had to pay. From now on, she was responsible for her own life and couldn’t rely on the crutches of the past; nor did she want to. During the first few confusing days of the cruise, she’d asked herself many times how she could so easily dismiss, not only her faith but a lifetime of values as well. There was no easy answer. It had just happened that’s all and all she felt was an overwhelming excitement as to what the future might hold.
In the background she could hear the hum of conversation and the pianist playing Cole Porter in one of the lounge bars. The slight breeze was a relief after the day’s heat and the sunset was, as you would expect in the Caribbean, spectacular and humbling. She had bought an evening dress in one of the boutiques, not blinking at the price and a little costume jewellery to compliment the outfit and she felt good about herself. For the first time in years she wore make-up, having first looked at the few elegant ladies of her age, to see what was current and flattering and then spending some time in her cabin practising to achieve the desired effect. It was no good staying the way she was, that represented the life she had left behind. Might as well adopt a new identity to match her new life. Looking in the mirror, she could hardly believe the woman she saw was the same person she had always known but was both in awe of and thrilled by the transformation. There was no going back now. Even if she had wanted to, she knew she had turned her back on everything she had believed in and the sin, if it was a sin, had been irreversibly committed.
“Beautiful evening isn’t it?”
She awoke from her reverie to find a tall, middle-aged man in a white tuxedo, smiling down at her.
“Perfect,” she answered with conviction.
“Would you mind if I joined you for a short while before dinner? Or am I interrupting a quiet moment?”
She nodded and beckoned to the lounger beside hers.
“My name is John by the way.” He reached over to shake her hand.
“Carolien.”
“Pleased to meet you Carolien.”
“Likewise.”
She wasn’t sure about this. It had been so many years since she had talked to a man socially without there being some work-related reason behind it.
“I’ve seen you around but if you don’t mind my saying so, you seem to prefer your own company. I wasn’t sure whether you’d welcome an approach or not.”
His voice was deep and comforting. She tried to relax and accept the friendliness he offered.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to appear that way. I’m a little shy that’s all. Since my husband died…”
She’d already decided to tell as much of the truth as she could. Any awkward questions would be answered from the viewpoint of a widow, using her late husband’s money for the holiday. It had worked so far and after an initial conversation people had respectfully left her alone.
“Please…you don’t need to explain. It’s only two years since Sarah died and I still find social chitchat difficult at times. Can I get you a drink or something?”
She found herself beginning to like this man. What had she got to lose? A new life has to start somewhere.
“Yes please, that would be nice. May I have a margarita? Are you American?”
“No Canadian. I come from Vancouver. I guess you are European from the accent but I’m afraid I can’t place exactly where.”
“The Netherlands; Holland. I come from Amsterdam.”
“Really? That’s a place I’ve always wanted to go. I’ll be right back with that drink. Don’t go away.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” She smiled at him and he hurried off to the bar.
The first stars were visible as the sun finally sank below the horizon and she decided that old fears and feelings of guilt or not, this was a new life and there were new adventures to be had.
Over the next few days, she spent a lot of time with John. He was charming company and handsome, in a slightly weather-beaten way. Slowly but surely, they had found that although they were worlds apart in most areas, they had certain things in common and these were enough to start building a friendship. He had acted like a perfect gentleman and to her surprise, despite escorting her back to her cabin each night, there had never been the slightest hint of impropriety. It had been both a relief and a puzzle. She hadn’t felt ready for a physical relationship but at the same time, did wonder if there was something wrong with her, or if she wasn’t physically attractive enough. Companionship with a man, however, was a first step forward and she was perfectly content to let things happen at their own pace. The days between the islands seemed to adopt their own rhythm and she decided that she could easily get used to this sort of comfort. Lying in the sun with an exotic cocktail, reading books from the ship’s library, dips in the pools; she loved it all. They had even played volleyball and tennis, joined in aerobics classes and indulged in massages to ease the guilt of so much easy living. In the evenings, they’d gone to the shows, talked in the various cocktail lounges and to her amazement, even lost a little money in the casino. After a week with John, the metamorphosis from ugly duckling to graceful swan was almost complete. One particular evening before dinner, to John’s astonishment, she had collapsed into fits of giggles. She’d suddenly had a vision of Major Tjeerd Dijkstra’s face, if he could have seen her now; a picture she dearly wished could have become reality. A second later however, she felt a fleeting twinge of guilt; it was so painful; she dismissed it instantly and went back to her drink.
The next day, the ship arrived at Trinidad and anchored off Chaguaramas. It was the first port of call for some time and everybody was ready for a change from the soporiphic shipboard routine.
Carolien was ready when John knocked at the door.
“We’d better hurry, the boats are waiting to take us ashore.”
Along with the rest of the passengers, they got into small boats, which then threaded their way through a bewildering assortment of yachts, large and small, moored at the Chaguaramas anchorage. Boys in even smaller boats, trying to sell them some trinket or other, pestered them the whole way. Although they had met this at all the islands, Carolien still found it a little intimidating though noted to herself that it was little different from the beggars in Amsterdam. Need was need, wherever in the world. Eventually, they went ashore and after a brief check by some surly customs officers, they were herded onto coaches ready to take them to the capital, Port of Spain. It was hot and stuffy and surrounded by the conflicting smells of petrol fumes and expensive perfumes, Carolien was getting a headache. She began to wish she’d stayed on board where at least she could have some time to herself.
“Are you alright Carolien?” John asked anxiously.
“Oh it’s okay, it’ll pass. I just feel a little faint that’s all.”
”Right! That’s it!” John took her hand and virtually dragged her off the bus.
“We’re getting a taxi, or hiring a car,” he told the bemused courier firmly.
“Well, please remember when you’re due back and please be careful in town.” His words were lost as John and Carolien disappeared into the throng at the quayside.
After a few minutes, John spotted a single taxi, it’s driver leaning nonchalantly against a wall, a cigarette drooping out of his mouth.
“Excuse me. Are you for hire?”
The man had heard the question but his eyes were closed and they stayed closed.
“You mean am I for hire, or me Maxi taxi?” he chuckled, coughed and taking the cigarette out of his mouth, spat noisily on the ground.
He made Carolien nervous and she tugged at John’s arm, whispering, “Let’s find something else John.”
“No, no lady. I knows what you mean. I’s for hire all right. Where you want to go man?”
“Port of Spain. Is that okay?”
“Well now, Port o’Spain’s a big place. You want me to show you around? Give you Dwight’s guided tour like?” He looked them both up and down. “I can see you don’t know what you want to do. Is I right? I tell you what. I’ll tell you some things on the way and then you can make up your mind. Mind, I be warning you now. It ain’t cheap. What with it bein’ Carnival an’ all. My prices go up triple at Carnival but I’m an honest man, that’s why I’s tellin’ you first. You’re lucky I’s here. I just dropped somebody off.”
The two tourists looked at each other and then back at their coach, which was just beginning to pull out of the car park. John shrugged his shoulders.
“Why not. Okay, you’ve got a deal.”
Carolien wasn’t at all sure they were doing the right thing but allowed John to open her door and got in.
“Don’ look so worried lady. We ain’t just dropped from the coconut trees here you know. You’ll be perfec’ly safe wit me.”
Dwight was as good as his word and although Carolien found the accent a little hard to follow, she got the gist of his brief history of the Carnival. By the time he’d finished, she was quite excited about seeing it. Dwight, however, was determined to give them a little extra.
“I’s gonna take you to my family house first. My family’s got a Pan band goin’ and they’s gonna win the Pan finals. If I step on the gas, we can get there just before they start off on the parade.”
“What’s a Pan band?” asked Carolien. She’d got used to the smells and noises in the car and the bumpy roads and leaned forward so that she could hear Dwight better.
“You can hear it now on de radio. Steel pans. Calypso. You know the steel pans were invented here in Trinidad? We take it very serious here, very serious indeed!”
She sat back and barely flinched as Dwight used his horn for the umpteenth time and they had yet another near miss.
“Road hog!” he yelled as the drivers waved their fists at each other. “I dunno. Some of these drivers, they got their licences in Venezuela for sure!”
The car seemed to continually career from one side of the road to the other and its passengers were tossed about in the back. John smiled at her and she smiled back; she was enjoying herself immensely.
When they reached the outskirts of the city, Dwight made several detours before screeching to a halt outside a ramshackle shed, which was attached to a large but run down house.
“Dis is it. You wait there. I’ll just go see where they are.”
With that, he ran around the side of the house and disappeared from view.
John and Carolien looked at each other.
“I can still feel every pothole,” she said laughing.
He gave her a serious look.
“Are you happy?”
“Well, we haven’t a clue where we are; the driver could have gone to get his friends who will rob us blind and I feel that all my bones have turned to jelly but yes, yes I’m happy. Are you?”
“Blissfully,” he replied and leaned over.
‘This is it,’ she thought and prepared to receive the expected kiss.
“Hey, you two love birds, are you coming or what?”
Dwight’s voice boomed in through the car window. They pulled apart and laughed. The kiss hadn’t happened but it hadn’t needed to; they both understood that their relationship had crossed a boundary.
Dwight took them through the shed doors, where they could already hear a cacophony of noise as the bands warmed up. He had to shout so that they could hear what he was saying.
“There are two bands here practisin’. We have twelve players in our band but we join up wit de neighbours to make one big band. We’s gonna win for sure this year.”
The colours of the costumes and the players all banging on different sized pans with all sorts of metal objects were almost overwhelming for Carolien and she was glad when at a certain moment, everything stopped and the conductor came to the front of the crowd. With her ears still ringing, she asked Dwight what was going to happen next.
“It’s the final practice. After dis tune, they go into town to the stadium and compete wit de others.”
Suddenly, the confusion of noise was replaced by melody and she found her feet tapping and her hips swaying to the rhythm.
“De loudest part, there in de middle, is de Engine Room. They is de rhythm section of de band you see.”
It was loud but the visitors couldn’t help but be impressed by the virtuosity of the players.
“They don’t have any music to read?” asked John.
“No, no no. They learn it all by heart. Our band is called de Tenaco Renegades,” he said proudly pointing to the badge with the same name on his jacket.
“We go now. We’ll see them later at the competition. I wanna show you de Soca bands.”
“What’s Soca then?” asked John as they left the pan bands behind and got in the car.
“Soca? Dat is a mix of soul and calypso man. It’s very popular here in Trinidad. More modern, more what you dance to you know.”
They spent the whole afternoon with Dwight, seeing things they were sure the other tourists wouldn’t get to see and when they finally sat down to eat in a roadside café; they were both exhausted and ready to go back to the ship.
“This food is delicious,” Carolien wiped her fingers on a paper towel.
“This food is real Caribbean food. Not what you tourists normally get. I thought it would be too hot for you, too spicy.”
“It’s wonderful…” agreed John, “…I think I’d better settle up with you now Dwight. We’ve had a wonderful time but maybe we should be getting back, or the boats will leave without us. How much do we owe you?”
Dwight frowned and took out a chewed pencil. He thought for a minute or two, then wrote down a figure on a paper towel and gave it to John without Carolien being able to see. As John reached for his wallet, Carolien caught a glimpse of the amount and gasped. She was just about to say something when John handed over a wad of notes.
“Here Dwight. I know you’re robbing us blind and you know I know but I’ve added a bit extra as well because you’ve been honest with us and I, for one, haven’t enjoyed myself as much in years.”
Carolien frowned at him but had to admit his sentiment was hers as well and resolved to make sure she gave him half later. Dwight grinned and shook John’s hand vigorously.
“You know, you’re the first Americans I’ve liked.”
“Well…” said Carolien laughing, “…you’re going to have to wait to meet some likeable Americans, I’m Dutch and John is from Canada.”
She could have sworn Dwight blushed.
“Are you sure you have to go back to Chaguaramas? It’s the big carnival night tonight. You can’t come to Trinidad and miss that.”
“Does this mean you’re not willing to take us back?” John asked.
“Oh I’ll take you back. You’ve paid for a return trip but I think you regret it if I do. Take a chance. Live a bit. What you tell your grandkids about Trinidad? A few steel bands and some Cajun food? It’s not much. There’s so much more and you see it all tonight.”
“What do you think Carolien? The boat doesn’t leave until tomorrow afternoon. We could stay here, find a hotel or something?” John looked at her hopefully and she relented. After all, her earlier fears had amounted to nothing and she felt completely safe as long as he was around.
“Okay, we’ll stay,” then turning to the Trinidadian she asked, “Do you know a reasonable hotel Dwight?”
“You won’t be needin’ no hotel. This is an all night party. Nobody sleeps on Carnival night but if you tired then you can have a few hours at my house. J’ouvert don’t start till after midnight.”
John shook Carolien gently but she still woke up with a start. She’d been dreaming of the Wallen in Amsterdam, a very confusing dream where she was arguing on behalf of the hookers, with the police, various city officials and worst of all, a stern Salvation Army leader.
“It’s time to go out. Can you hear it?”
In the distance, she could hear different sorts of music and traffic and peoples voices and for a moment wasn’t sure where she was. There was a knock at the door.
“Are you ready now? We should go; J’ouvert is beginning.”
John let Dwight in and both of them gasped in amazement. Dwight was wearing a costume consisting of a vivid, lime green shirt tied under the ribs, a pair of very brief, glittering, blue pants and very little else. In his hand, he carried a headdress at least a metre long, encrusted with green and blue feathers. His face was made up and glittered in the half-light of the room. Carolien decided he looked like a wonderful exotic bird and felt a tingle of long-buried excitement.
They crossed several streets towards the source of the noise. Everywhere was full of people in costume and she wished she’d had her camera with her to capture the dazzling display. They joined the mass of people all heading in the same direction, until they came to a long street. From side to side, it was crammed with a sea of people, bands, trucks with loudspeakers and parading groups, each decked out in costumes so extravagant, she later found them impossible to describe.
“J’ouvert is an old Mas,” explained Dwight, “Mas is masquerade. You watch. All the costumes will move away soon.”
“Why do they do that?” asked John as those in costume melted away into the side streets.
“You’ll see. Watch. Oh, I nearly forgot. Keep your hand on your money always, you hear. Tourists make easy pickings here. Don’t let me out your sight. If you have trouble, just yell.”
Carolien wondered if he would be able to hear above the noise but was glad she’d tied her moneybag around her stomach, inside her dress. John took the precaution of putting his wallet in his shoe, though it caused him to limp a little. Suddenly, a great roar erupted in the crowd and as if from nowhere, scantily dressed people were rushing down the street and the air was filled with streaks of paint, oil and mud. The atmosphere took on a wild pagan air as people milled around throwing the various liquids at each other. Within a very short time, their features disappeared and the scene took on a hellish quality. Neither John nor Carolien escaped the attentions of the mud throwers but the atmosphere was so infectious, they just laughed and hugged each other.
Carolien couldn’t understand where she had got the energy from as they threw themselves into the party spirit and danced, sang, ate and drank from the roadside stalls throughout the night. The activities became wilder as the night went on and inhibitions were abandoned as the crowds partied. Carolien and John looked on in amazement at each excess and despite the infectious nature of the revelry, tried to hold themselves in reserve. Dwight had kept up a seemingly endless supply of rum and Carolien could feel herself losing control as the rhythms and the alcohol coursed through her veins. She wasn’t drunk, just euphoric and she didn’t notice the moment when she got separated from the other two. They had been on their way to Queen’s Park Savannah, where Dwight had said the main costume parades and performances were taking place. She’d been weaving in and out of the crowd, in a world of her own, thinking that John and Dwight were behind her as they had been earlier. During a dance, she twirled around to find not John but a masked and costumed man leering down at her and blocking her view. She tried to get past him but he blocked the way, all the time gyrating his hips and waving his arms around her head in intricate patterns. He started thrusting his pelvis at her and stroking her sides and she started to panic. She was being ‘wined’. Dwight had warned her to be careful not to get involved with a ‘winer’’
“They always want sex wit you!” he’d wagged his finger at her sternly.
She found herself being edged towards the doorway of a building. She tried to scream but nobody took any notice, everyone was in carnival mood and such things were happening everywhere. The drink, the music, the people and this seemingly satanic dancer all combined to overwhelm her and she felt herself losing consciousness. Her last thought was of the street in the Wallen and the threatening boy standing over her and Elfriede’s face, which appeared ghostly and transparent in the Carnival sky.
- Gerrit, Roy and Candice
- Willem looks back
25. Carolien meets her Mountie
The Amsterdam Series
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