Nomads on the Amstel
30. Edgy times for Ruud and Wil
Ruud arrived home late to find Wil sprawled out on the floor glued to the latest Jerry Springer. At the bottom of the screen in garish letters was the show’s title; “How could he have cheated on me with that?” The studio was filled with the usual cross-section of trailer trash that was meant to pass for Mr. and Mrs. Average America and on the stage was the line up of true-life subjects or second rate actors, depending on what you believed. Three women who were clearly Macdonalds victims, sat preening on their stools; their husbands or partners, looking cowed and insignificant sat close by and finally, three parodies of gay manhood who had plucked their eyebrows to oblivion and looked like drag queens out of drag, smirked and gestured to each other and the audience, who booed them lustily. The women played to the audience and the cameras by clicking their fingers and calling each other ‘girlfriend’, before whipping themselves into a collective hysteria to confront the creatures who had supposedly stolen their husbands away. The outcome was inevitable.
“I don’t know why you watch that crap, I really don’t. What’s for dinner? I don’t smell anything.”
It had been a long day and Ruud was spoiling for a fight. He knew it, didn’t want it but couldn’t help himself.
“Shh! In a minute okay?”
Wil’s televisual habits had always disturbed Ruud. This was a man who cried at ‘The Bold and the Beautiful,’ and prepared for days for the Eurovision Song Contest and yet read Proust and Dostoyevski for pleasure before turning out the light at nights. It was a conundrum he had never solved but had ended up accepting because there were so many other things to love. Tonight however, he’d had the sort of day where problems had arrived in abundance, had been addressed but never completely solved. It was the sort of day that ensured that the loose ends would need to be tackled tomorrow and was thus unbelievably frustrating. For hours, he had been diplomatic and tactful but now he was home and Wil was an easy target.
“I asked you what we are eating tonight!”
Wil should have recognised the edge in his partner’s voice but couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.
“Five minutes okay? Then I’ll nip down the Chinese.”
Ignoring the rationale that told him to calm down, Ruud marched over to the TV and with a dramatic flourish, turned it off. Arms akimbo, he glared down at the astonished Wil and issued a silent challenge.
…
Only the hammering on the wall restored some sanity to the proceedings. What had begun with controlled hissing and icy bitchiness had degenerated into a full-scale slanging match where the decibel count had gone through the roof. Two Christmas presents from doting relatives had ended up in pieces on the floor, bizarrely along with a bag or rice from the kitchen, that would still be turning up in the Hoover weeks from now. Both protagonists were panting from the effort.
Ruud was, as always, shocked at the extent of his temper. It very rarely happened but when he lost it, it was explosive. He often worried about how far he could potentially go during such an argument.
“Is it out of your system now?” gasped Wil, “The neighbours will be ringing the police as we speak.”
“All I asked was what was for dinner. I’ve had a really bad day and I can’t stand Jerry Springer.”
Sensing the moral high ground Wil cautiously attempted one more dig,
“And that was enough to turn you into Godzilla was it? My God Mary, I expect a four-minute warning if we ever argue about something serious!”
“Okay, okay, you’re right. I just flipped, I’m sorry. I’ll clean it all up.”
The beginnings of tears in Ruud’s eyes were enough to neutralise any remaining spite that Wil may have had and he gathered his partner in his arms, at which point the argument was officially over.
An hour later, the television was back on, suitably tuned to the News and Ruud was in the kitchen, humming tunelessly to himself, as he disposed of various tin trays and bags from the Chinese take-away.
The agonising cry from the living room chilled him to the core and once more scattering rice, this time cooked and cold over the floor, he rushed through to the other room, fearing the worst. On seeing Wil, on the edge of his seat, a drink in hand, seeming perfectly healthy, he felt the anger once more rise to the surface.
“What the fucking hell Wil! You scared me to death. I thought you’d had a heart attack or a…
“Shut up, shut up…” Wil yelled and then looked up and saw his partner’s expression, “Sorry…look, look at this will you?”
Following Wil’s outstretched finger, Ruud moved closer to the TV and turning paler by the minute, took in the events that were unfolding on the screen.
31. Inferno
It wasn’t so much the flames that extinguished life but the smoke and fumes that swirled and choked in a maelstrom with a life force of its own. The fire had quickly taken hold as it had been intended to do. It was so rapid that almost nobody had reacted before it was too late. The wooden cubicles, barriers and beams that had fuelled so many Western fantasies, were hungrily licked and consumed by the flames that made the inferno inevitable. Because it had been ignited just below the stairs and beside the only exit, it became almost instantly, a barrier, a wall and a deathly trap. Finally, with nothing left as support, the brickwork and pillars collapsed, trapping many and adding dust and debris to the impoverished air.
Like a Renaissance vision of Hell, masculinity in its naked profligacy, first froze then recognizing its perilous state, fought a useless tooth and nail battle against its fate. Men cried and screamed, stumbled and fell, trampled and fought but in their efforts to find an escape, found impediments in each other. What had been a mutual quest for pleasure became a desperate struggle for survival. There were no heroes down below. Gay men stamped on others, punched and kicked but it was all to no avail and eventually as some realized the hopelessness of it all, they gave up the fight and slumped to the floor to die alone.
In the absolute darkness, Arend had never felt terror such as this. Attempts to move his legs were negated by the weight of whatever it was that was pinning him to the floor. He knew his bowels and bladder had opened but took only tiny shreds of comfort from the warmth of their discharge. Beside him, he could hear muffled moans and in the distance, screaming and shouting but was powerless to respond in any way. Every breath drew in more hot air and acrid smoke and even coughing was stifled as gradually his lungs gave up the struggle. In a matter of seconds, his brain flashed him pictures of a better life; of a time before and times that were no longer to come but they were fleeting and in unutterable pain and panic, his mind shut down a mere moment before his body.
Marcel had been on his way out when it all began. Just metres from the stairs, everything seemed to happen at once. He smelled the smoke, saw the flames like manic fingers reaching across spaces between wooden slats and yelled out a warning at the top of his lungs. For a split second he hesitated, turned around to shriek out once more and missed his chance to dive through the diminishing gap for the safety of the stairs. Bearing down on him were two others, panic illuminated in their eyes and arms flailing in an attempt to escape. He was knocked roughly aside as one dived through the remaining gap and in his falling, brought down the other on top of the hapless Marcel. As they both struggled to get to their feet, a blast of smoke and dust assailed them as the doorway collapsed. Behind, more people stumbled over their bodies and came crashing down. Under a pile of thrashing forms, Marcel felt whatever air was left in his lungs being forced out. A boot lunged into his face, the blood poured from his nose and in the seconds before he lost consciousness, he felt excruciating pain as someone thudded down on his already twisted arm.
The fire-starter perhaps took the longest to die. The small vent in the roof of his cabin, which led directly to the open air outside, had ensured the rapid spread of the flames but that had been away from him, into the caverns and corridors of the darkroom. Not that Jacco cared. His state of sensory depravation was such that he felt no pain, either mental or physical. He’d emptied the can of lighter fluid over the mound of clothes and unravelled toilet paper, plus a bottle of poppers that someone had left behind and without the slightest tremble had set light to his creation and watched it flicker into life. If he’d been surprised at the speed at which it took, he didn’t show it. All he knew was that this was the perfect revenge. Arjan’s precious bar, his money-pit, was going to disappear and he would feel so guilty, so guilty that his protégé had disappeared with it. Standing back, for a short time, the excitement coursed through his veins and he began to laugh. In other areas of that particular Hell, people heard that laugh and for many, its manic echoes were the last things they heard before they choked to death or cooked in the flames. Jacco watched in fascination, like a child at a New Year’s Eve bonfire, as the fires began to eat at the woodwork around him and started to gasp as gusts of smoke blew in and enveloped him. Yet still, he felt nothing, even when his skin started to blister and the hair shrivelled on his scalp. He stayed conscious like a mediaeval witch burning slowly at the stake and revelled in the power of what he’d done. If he could have spoken from beyond his ashes, he wouldn’t have been able to say when he expired but some might say he’d died before that evening had begun.
Ruud arrived home late to find Wil sprawled out on the floor glued to the latest Jerry Springer. At the bottom of the screen in garish letters was the show’s title; “How could he have cheated on me with that?” The studio was filled with the usual cross-section of trailer trash that was meant to pass for Mr. and Mrs. Average America and on the stage was the line up of true-life subjects or second rate actors, depending on what you believed. Three women who were clearly Macdonalds victims, sat preening on their stools; their husbands or partners, looking cowed and insignificant sat close by and finally, three parodies of gay manhood who had plucked their eyebrows to oblivion and looked like drag queens out of drag, smirked and gestured to each other and the audience, who booed them lustily. The women played to the audience and the cameras by clicking their fingers and calling each other ‘girlfriend’, before whipping themselves into a collective hysteria to confront the creatures who had supposedly stolen their husbands away. The outcome was inevitable.
“I don’t know why you watch that crap, I really don’t. What’s for dinner? I don’t smell anything.”
It had been a long day and Ruud was spoiling for a fight. He knew it, didn’t want it but couldn’t help himself.
“Shh! In a minute okay?”
Wil’s televisual habits had always disturbed Ruud. This was a man who cried at ‘The Bold and the Beautiful,’ and prepared for days for the Eurovision Song Contest and yet read Proust and Dostoyevski for pleasure before turning out the light at nights. It was a conundrum he had never solved but had ended up accepting because there were so many other things to love. Tonight however, he’d had the sort of day where problems had arrived in abundance, had been addressed but never completely solved. It was the sort of day that ensured that the loose ends would need to be tackled tomorrow and was thus unbelievably frustrating. For hours, he had been diplomatic and tactful but now he was home and Wil was an easy target.
“I asked you what we are eating tonight!”
Wil should have recognised the edge in his partner’s voice but couldn’t take his eyes off the screen.
“Five minutes okay? Then I’ll nip down the Chinese.”
Ignoring the rationale that told him to calm down, Ruud marched over to the TV and with a dramatic flourish, turned it off. Arms akimbo, he glared down at the astonished Wil and issued a silent challenge.
…
Only the hammering on the wall restored some sanity to the proceedings. What had begun with controlled hissing and icy bitchiness had degenerated into a full-scale slanging match where the decibel count had gone through the roof. Two Christmas presents from doting relatives had ended up in pieces on the floor, bizarrely along with a bag or rice from the kitchen, that would still be turning up in the Hoover weeks from now. Both protagonists were panting from the effort.
Ruud was, as always, shocked at the extent of his temper. It very rarely happened but when he lost it, it was explosive. He often worried about how far he could potentially go during such an argument.
“Is it out of your system now?” gasped Wil, “The neighbours will be ringing the police as we speak.”
“All I asked was what was for dinner. I’ve had a really bad day and I can’t stand Jerry Springer.”
Sensing the moral high ground Wil cautiously attempted one more dig,
“And that was enough to turn you into Godzilla was it? My God Mary, I expect a four-minute warning if we ever argue about something serious!”
“Okay, okay, you’re right. I just flipped, I’m sorry. I’ll clean it all up.”
The beginnings of tears in Ruud’s eyes were enough to neutralise any remaining spite that Wil may have had and he gathered his partner in his arms, at which point the argument was officially over.
An hour later, the television was back on, suitably tuned to the News and Ruud was in the kitchen, humming tunelessly to himself, as he disposed of various tin trays and bags from the Chinese take-away.
The agonising cry from the living room chilled him to the core and once more scattering rice, this time cooked and cold over the floor, he rushed through to the other room, fearing the worst. On seeing Wil, on the edge of his seat, a drink in hand, seeming perfectly healthy, he felt the anger once more rise to the surface.
“What the fucking hell Wil! You scared me to death. I thought you’d had a heart attack or a…
“Shut up, shut up…” Wil yelled and then looked up and saw his partner’s expression, “Sorry…look, look at this will you?”
Following Wil’s outstretched finger, Ruud moved closer to the TV and turning paler by the minute, took in the events that were unfolding on the screen.
31. Inferno
It wasn’t so much the flames that extinguished life but the smoke and fumes that swirled and choked in a maelstrom with a life force of its own. The fire had quickly taken hold as it had been intended to do. It was so rapid that almost nobody had reacted before it was too late. The wooden cubicles, barriers and beams that had fuelled so many Western fantasies, were hungrily licked and consumed by the flames that made the inferno inevitable. Because it had been ignited just below the stairs and beside the only exit, it became almost instantly, a barrier, a wall and a deathly trap. Finally, with nothing left as support, the brickwork and pillars collapsed, trapping many and adding dust and debris to the impoverished air.
Like a Renaissance vision of Hell, masculinity in its naked profligacy, first froze then recognizing its perilous state, fought a useless tooth and nail battle against its fate. Men cried and screamed, stumbled and fell, trampled and fought but in their efforts to find an escape, found impediments in each other. What had been a mutual quest for pleasure became a desperate struggle for survival. There were no heroes down below. Gay men stamped on others, punched and kicked but it was all to no avail and eventually as some realized the hopelessness of it all, they gave up the fight and slumped to the floor to die alone.
In the absolute darkness, Arend had never felt terror such as this. Attempts to move his legs were negated by the weight of whatever it was that was pinning him to the floor. He knew his bowels and bladder had opened but took only tiny shreds of comfort from the warmth of their discharge. Beside him, he could hear muffled moans and in the distance, screaming and shouting but was powerless to respond in any way. Every breath drew in more hot air and acrid smoke and even coughing was stifled as gradually his lungs gave up the struggle. In a matter of seconds, his brain flashed him pictures of a better life; of a time before and times that were no longer to come but they were fleeting and in unutterable pain and panic, his mind shut down a mere moment before his body.
Marcel had been on his way out when it all began. Just metres from the stairs, everything seemed to happen at once. He smelled the smoke, saw the flames like manic fingers reaching across spaces between wooden slats and yelled out a warning at the top of his lungs. For a split second he hesitated, turned around to shriek out once more and missed his chance to dive through the diminishing gap for the safety of the stairs. Bearing down on him were two others, panic illuminated in their eyes and arms flailing in an attempt to escape. He was knocked roughly aside as one dived through the remaining gap and in his falling, brought down the other on top of the hapless Marcel. As they both struggled to get to their feet, a blast of smoke and dust assailed them as the doorway collapsed. Behind, more people stumbled over their bodies and came crashing down. Under a pile of thrashing forms, Marcel felt whatever air was left in his lungs being forced out. A boot lunged into his face, the blood poured from his nose and in the seconds before he lost consciousness, he felt excruciating pain as someone thudded down on his already twisted arm.
The fire-starter perhaps took the longest to die. The small vent in the roof of his cabin, which led directly to the open air outside, had ensured the rapid spread of the flames but that had been away from him, into the caverns and corridors of the darkroom. Not that Jacco cared. His state of sensory depravation was such that he felt no pain, either mental or physical. He’d emptied the can of lighter fluid over the mound of clothes and unravelled toilet paper, plus a bottle of poppers that someone had left behind and without the slightest tremble had set light to his creation and watched it flicker into life. If he’d been surprised at the speed at which it took, he didn’t show it. All he knew was that this was the perfect revenge. Arjan’s precious bar, his money-pit, was going to disappear and he would feel so guilty, so guilty that his protégé had disappeared with it. Standing back, for a short time, the excitement coursed through his veins and he began to laugh. In other areas of that particular Hell, people heard that laugh and for many, its manic echoes were the last things they heard before they choked to death or cooked in the flames. Jacco watched in fascination, like a child at a New Year’s Eve bonfire, as the fires began to eat at the woodwork around him and started to gasp as gusts of smoke blew in and enveloped him. Yet still, he felt nothing, even when his skin started to blister and the hair shrivelled on his scalp. He stayed conscious like a mediaeval witch burning slowly at the stake and revelled in the power of what he’d done. If he could have spoken from beyond his ashes, he wouldn’t have been able to say when he expired but some might say he’d died before that evening had begun.
32. The media response
De Tribune (1st Edition)
August 30th
Bar blaze in Amsterdam
Historic centre threatened
Fire broke out just after 11:30 yesterday evening, in The Anvil, a well-known gay bar in the centre of Amsterdam. Fire brigade sources were quoted as saying that the blaze spread so quickly that those buildings in the immediate area, many of which are of historical importance, were under threat. Only after several hours and a desperate rearguard action was the fire brought under control. Casualty numbers are as yet unknown.
De Tribune (2nd Edition)
August 30th
Gay Firestorm
Inferno in sex bar
An unknown number of men were burned alive yesterday evening as fire engulfed a well-known gay bar in Amsterdam’s historic centre. Eyewitnesses spoke of chaos as a fireball engulfed one of Amsterdam’s oldest bars. Panicked customers poured out onto the street and tourists scattered as the flames rapidly took hold. The sheer number of people in the streets impeded the efforts of the fire services and the police as they struggled to bring the blaze under control.
The Anvil was one of Amsterdam’s best-known and oldest homosexual meeting places. Our reporter learned that it was extremely popular amongst gay men primarily because of its extensive cellar darkrooms, where people met for sex. It is highly likely that many were trapped and perished underground, though exact numbers may be extremely difficult to establish.
With shades of Volendam dominating people’s minds, this unfolding drama may require the homosexual community to examine its practices. Apparently, Aids is not the only threat to the homosexual lifestyle.
De Postiljon
August 30th
Tragedy!
Amsterdam mourns its loss.
With Volendam still fresh in people’s minds, another devastating bar fire leaves death and destruction in its wake.
Amsterdammers are waking up this morning to learn of an horrific disaster that occurred late last night in a central bar. Although it may be some time before exact details emerge, it seems that a fire broke out in The Anvil, a popular gay bar not far from The Dam. The ferocity of the blaze and the speed at which it took hold mean that there are almost certainly many fatalities.
After several hours during which the emergency services struggled to contain the fire and seal off the area, a spokesman was quoted as saying:
‘I’ve never seen the like of it! It was an inferno. Many people got out and many were taken to hospital but I dread to think how many were trapped. It spread so quickly… we’ve certainly got a major tragedy on our hands.’
In a largely silent and sombre gesture of sympathy, people have begun to gather in their hundreds in the nearby streets. Very few details have been made public as the authorities try to establish the cause and the number of casualties but it may be necessary to examine aspects of safety in Amsterdam’s busy nightlife areas.
A Special News Bulletin
August 30th, 11:30am
All channels
As a result of last night’s fire in a central Amsterdam bar, it is emerging that the number of injured who were treated in local hospitals may be as high as forty. Most people were treated for smoke inhalation and minor burns but counted themselves lucky to escape at all. The emergency services have not yet been able to retrieve bodies of the dead. Damage has been estimated to be several million Euros but the human cost is incalculable. Our reporter Sjef Jongens managed to speak with one of the people who were released from hospital this morning:
S.J. Can you give us an idea of what happened last night?
X.I was in the bar with some friends. We were just about to leave. We were just having a quiet drink you know; that’s all. Christ! All we wanted was a quiet drink. Then it all started. I didn’t have a clue what was going on. All of a sudden there was lots of smoke and shouting and screaming. People were rushing for the door. It was scary, really scary! People were yelling at everybody to get out but the doorway is so narrow and there was such a crush. Everybody was trying to get out at the same time you know. People got knocked over and there was lots of pushing and shoving going on. I managed to get out but by that time the smoke was really thick. I could hardly breathe. I don’t know what happened to my friends. I haven’t seen them yet. I hope to God, they got out. I can’t imagine what it was like downstairs. Those poor bastards, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. I’m sorry…I can’t go on…sorry…it’s too much you know. I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it!
S.J. It’s okay. Take all the time you need. Do you have any idea how many people might have been downstairs?
X. Who knows! It was a Saturday night. It can get packed down there. There could easily have been a hundred, maybe more, maybe even a hundred and fifty. Who knows! Christ! Shit man. Hundreds could have died down there!
S.J. Thank you very much.
Well, it’s clear from this man’s statement that this is a major tragedy. Details are sketchy and the police are very tight-lipped but this certainly could be the worst tragedy to hit Amsterdam for many years. The story and facts behind last night’s fire are still emerging but quite clearly many people have lost their lives. This is Sjef Jongens from central Amsterdam and now back to Hilversum.
This was a special news bulletin. Events surrounding the terrible tragedy of last night’s fire in an Amsterdam bar are still unfolding and we’ll bring you updates as soon as we have them.
33. A quandary for the Council
30th August: 8:30 pm
A single, piercing beam of light shot through the leaded window and bounced off the gloss on the mahogany conference table. The lowering blue and charcoal clouds had parted for just a minute to allow one brilliant, last ray of sunlight before closing again like massive prison gates. To the men in the room, it seemed accusatory rather than illuminating and they were almost pleased when the gloom was restored.
The jeans and jumper-clad mayor paced back and forth muttering to himself as his guests shuffled uncomfortably in their seats.
“It’s not good enough Hans. I need facts not assumptions. I don’t think you realise the implications of what’s happened here. If you think Volendam was bad, it was a picnic in the park compared to what’s happening here. We’re talking reaction on an international scale. I need some sound advice. If we don’t handle this properly, we’ll be dealing with the fall-out for years to come.”
Hans Meijer was not a man who overreacted to anything but even he was worried about what was going to happen. As Chief of Police in Amsterdam, he thought he’d seen everything over his six years in the job. This was different. Instinctively, he realised that the ramifications of this disaster were ripples in a pond, destined to spread as wide as the pond itself. In those terms, Amsterdam was a lake.
“If you just sit down for a minute, I’ll give you what we know. It isn’t much but it’s all we’ve got to go on for now.”
One thing Hans was sure of; a panicking Mayor wouldn’t improve the situation one iota. Fortunately, the city’s overseer took his seat again, drumming on the table with his fingers but keeping quiet while the policeman talked.
“There are round about forty people who’ve been admitted to hospital, with varying degrees of injury from the fire. We don’t need to worry about them from a physical point of view, apart from the two or three who look to be critical. Our biggest problem is information containment. One or two have already talked to the media and set the ball rolling. This story is notable more for the questions that are going to be asked rather than what actually happened. It’s a whole can of worms I can assure you and it’s open. The media are going to have a field day, not to mention the various interest groups. You thought we’d got rid of the Sodom and Gomorrah tag in Amsterdam? Forget it! This is sex, death and morals all rolled into one.”
The Mayor paled.
“How many dead?”
“No idea; none at all. They can’t get in to get the bodies out yet.”
The Mayor turned to the redheaded, red-faced man sitting slightly apart from the group.
“What’s your best estimate Rick?”
Rick van Rooien was another tough cookie who had seen the stuff of nightmares over his years in the fire service but he too was concerned about this incident. It had taken a long time for the fire engines to get to the scene and that was his responsibility. Never mind that the narrow streets were packed with people, or that illegally parked bikes and cars, proved time consuming impediments. The media wouldn’t see it that way and he was ultimately responsible. This would have to be handled very carefully indeed.
“As Hans said, we’ve no idea. We can’t get in yet. It’s still smouldering under all the rubble. There is a good possibility that there won’t be much left to identify. The heat could well have reduced them to charcoal.”
At this point, the fourth man in the room butted in...
“From what we can gather, there could be anything between twenty and two hundred.”
As newly appointed health coordinator for the council, Marinus Eckhart didn’t have the experience of the others and had been rudely awakened out of the pride in his appointment. He didn’t mind admitting it, he’d panicked when he’d heard the news and panicked even more when he’d been summoned to this meeting. Fortunately, he’d had sufficient presence of mind to gather whatever statistics were available.
“So many! Jesus!”
Eckhart continued,
“Apparently, a Saturday night could attract a full-house and it was big enough to draw the crowds. Sex is a crowd-puller you know. I had no idea what went on until one of my interns explained it to me. Luckily, I imagine that the vast majority of people will be just as ignorant as me.”
The Mayor groaned,
“Not for long I suspect. God knows how long it’ll be before all this hits the papers!”
“The problem is that this happens all over the city. There are plenty of places just like this, not to mention the saunas and the cinemas.”
“Cinemas? Which cinemas? I can’t believe that cinemas aren’t safe.”
The Police Chief shook his head.
“Safe against what? Sex? Or Fire? Maybe you aren’t aware but there is a thriving sex cinema business; porno cinemas, with orgy rooms. The problem is that most of them are also in relatively small buildings. Small operations with a big risk factor. There are controls of course but then again, bars are also controlled; supposedly!”
“Is that a dig at us?” Van Rooien responded defensively, “Because if it is, then you try doing our job. Have you any idea how few inspectors we’ve got? And how many bars, clubs, cafés etcetera there are in Amsterdam?”
The Mayor interceded before recriminations could begin.
“There’s no point in accusing each other. The press will be doing that soon enough. We’ve got to work together on this one. Christ, am I naïve or what? I didn’t know this sort of thing went on on such a wide scale?”
Drawing a deep breath, the policeman continued.
“You’re right. Sorry Rick. Why should you be aware of everything that goes on? It’s not something you would have cause to associate with I presume. This is, however, Amsterdam. The homos like to call it the sex capital of Europe and it is a bit short sighted to expect that everything’s all tastefully organised. Nobody advertises that their place offers you sex like in your own home! I’ve seen things that would make your toes curl but that’s because it’s part of our job to deal with problems when they arise. There’s no reason however, why Joe Public should be up to date with who fucks who and how in every seedy joint in the city. Surely that’s a bonus here but only if we can keep a lid on it. Then again, if you think about it, the press will also be limited as to how much graphic detail they can portray. Maybe too, we can exert a little pressure in certain directions. There are a few editors and owners who wouldn’t like their own sex club exploits to become public news.”
The Mayor paused before replying.
“We’ll have to do what we can I suppose but even the sketchy facts are going to be shocking enough. Let’s look at what we’ve got. A gay bar burns down and there’s an unknown number of dead. That’s complicated by the fact that there was a dark room where most people died in the act so to speak. There’s your moral outrage factor. Can we be held responsible for that? The police and the emergency services certainly not but a moral question is one that the council has some responsibility for. There have been enough motions to have the darkrooms closed down in the past. As for the fire itself, I’m afraid you’re on a hiding to nothing Rick. The fire service couldn’t handle the blaze itself. I know, I know, there are enough good reasons for that and we should get away with that one but the inspection process could be a major problem. This bar went up like a tinderbox. That means there must have been plenty of inflammable material around. That means that in most people’s eyes that shouldn’t have been possible. After Volendam, it’s open season on safety precautions. We may be able to pin quite a lot on the owner. Who is that by the way?”
“It’s a youngish guy called Arjan de Clerck. He’s got a finger in lots of gay pies; owns another bar on the Reguliersdwarsstraat and a club on the Nieuwezijdsvoorburgwal. Keeps himself a finger length above the law as far as we know. We’ve had relatively little trouble from him in the past. Seems to be pretty ruthless but works hard and runs a tight ship. I’ll dig around a bit; see what we can find out about him. You’re right, maybe we can deflect some of the flak onto him. After all, look at Enschede and Volendam. The owners there got away with nothing.”
The Mayor gave a brief, watery smile.
“Thanks Hans, we’re going to need every get-out clause we can find with this one. So, what do we do next? You three guys are going to need to pull out all the stops to keep information spillage down to a minimum. God knows what’s still to come out! But no lies guys. If we give misinformation, they’ll crucify us later. Better to say you don’t know rather than denial. All we can do now is see how it all unfolds but whatever the media begin, refer back to me before you react okay? If we stick together on this one and coordinate responses as much as possible, we may be able to avoid a whole barrel of shit.”
The lights in the room suddenly dimmed for a second and the heavens outside opened, accompanied by crashes of thunder and bolts of vivid lighting. Nobody failed to see the irony of the rain arriving a day too late. One thing was sure, the long, hot summer was over only in terms of the weather.
De Tribune (1st Edition)
August 30th
Bar blaze in Amsterdam
Historic centre threatened
Fire broke out just after 11:30 yesterday evening, in The Anvil, a well-known gay bar in the centre of Amsterdam. Fire brigade sources were quoted as saying that the blaze spread so quickly that those buildings in the immediate area, many of which are of historical importance, were under threat. Only after several hours and a desperate rearguard action was the fire brought under control. Casualty numbers are as yet unknown.
De Tribune (2nd Edition)
August 30th
Gay Firestorm
Inferno in sex bar
An unknown number of men were burned alive yesterday evening as fire engulfed a well-known gay bar in Amsterdam’s historic centre. Eyewitnesses spoke of chaos as a fireball engulfed one of Amsterdam’s oldest bars. Panicked customers poured out onto the street and tourists scattered as the flames rapidly took hold. The sheer number of people in the streets impeded the efforts of the fire services and the police as they struggled to bring the blaze under control.
The Anvil was one of Amsterdam’s best-known and oldest homosexual meeting places. Our reporter learned that it was extremely popular amongst gay men primarily because of its extensive cellar darkrooms, where people met for sex. It is highly likely that many were trapped and perished underground, though exact numbers may be extremely difficult to establish.
With shades of Volendam dominating people’s minds, this unfolding drama may require the homosexual community to examine its practices. Apparently, Aids is not the only threat to the homosexual lifestyle.
De Postiljon
August 30th
Tragedy!
Amsterdam mourns its loss.
With Volendam still fresh in people’s minds, another devastating bar fire leaves death and destruction in its wake.
Amsterdammers are waking up this morning to learn of an horrific disaster that occurred late last night in a central bar. Although it may be some time before exact details emerge, it seems that a fire broke out in The Anvil, a popular gay bar not far from The Dam. The ferocity of the blaze and the speed at which it took hold mean that there are almost certainly many fatalities.
After several hours during which the emergency services struggled to contain the fire and seal off the area, a spokesman was quoted as saying:
‘I’ve never seen the like of it! It was an inferno. Many people got out and many were taken to hospital but I dread to think how many were trapped. It spread so quickly… we’ve certainly got a major tragedy on our hands.’
In a largely silent and sombre gesture of sympathy, people have begun to gather in their hundreds in the nearby streets. Very few details have been made public as the authorities try to establish the cause and the number of casualties but it may be necessary to examine aspects of safety in Amsterdam’s busy nightlife areas.
A Special News Bulletin
August 30th, 11:30am
All channels
As a result of last night’s fire in a central Amsterdam bar, it is emerging that the number of injured who were treated in local hospitals may be as high as forty. Most people were treated for smoke inhalation and minor burns but counted themselves lucky to escape at all. The emergency services have not yet been able to retrieve bodies of the dead. Damage has been estimated to be several million Euros but the human cost is incalculable. Our reporter Sjef Jongens managed to speak with one of the people who were released from hospital this morning:
S.J. Can you give us an idea of what happened last night?
X.I was in the bar with some friends. We were just about to leave. We were just having a quiet drink you know; that’s all. Christ! All we wanted was a quiet drink. Then it all started. I didn’t have a clue what was going on. All of a sudden there was lots of smoke and shouting and screaming. People were rushing for the door. It was scary, really scary! People were yelling at everybody to get out but the doorway is so narrow and there was such a crush. Everybody was trying to get out at the same time you know. People got knocked over and there was lots of pushing and shoving going on. I managed to get out but by that time the smoke was really thick. I could hardly breathe. I don’t know what happened to my friends. I haven’t seen them yet. I hope to God, they got out. I can’t imagine what it was like downstairs. Those poor bastards, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. I’m sorry…I can’t go on…sorry…it’s too much you know. I can’t believe it, I just can’t believe it!
S.J. It’s okay. Take all the time you need. Do you have any idea how many people might have been downstairs?
X. Who knows! It was a Saturday night. It can get packed down there. There could easily have been a hundred, maybe more, maybe even a hundred and fifty. Who knows! Christ! Shit man. Hundreds could have died down there!
S.J. Thank you very much.
Well, it’s clear from this man’s statement that this is a major tragedy. Details are sketchy and the police are very tight-lipped but this certainly could be the worst tragedy to hit Amsterdam for many years. The story and facts behind last night’s fire are still emerging but quite clearly many people have lost their lives. This is Sjef Jongens from central Amsterdam and now back to Hilversum.
This was a special news bulletin. Events surrounding the terrible tragedy of last night’s fire in an Amsterdam bar are still unfolding and we’ll bring you updates as soon as we have them.
33. A quandary for the Council
30th August: 8:30 pm
A single, piercing beam of light shot through the leaded window and bounced off the gloss on the mahogany conference table. The lowering blue and charcoal clouds had parted for just a minute to allow one brilliant, last ray of sunlight before closing again like massive prison gates. To the men in the room, it seemed accusatory rather than illuminating and they were almost pleased when the gloom was restored.
The jeans and jumper-clad mayor paced back and forth muttering to himself as his guests shuffled uncomfortably in their seats.
“It’s not good enough Hans. I need facts not assumptions. I don’t think you realise the implications of what’s happened here. If you think Volendam was bad, it was a picnic in the park compared to what’s happening here. We’re talking reaction on an international scale. I need some sound advice. If we don’t handle this properly, we’ll be dealing with the fall-out for years to come.”
Hans Meijer was not a man who overreacted to anything but even he was worried about what was going to happen. As Chief of Police in Amsterdam, he thought he’d seen everything over his six years in the job. This was different. Instinctively, he realised that the ramifications of this disaster were ripples in a pond, destined to spread as wide as the pond itself. In those terms, Amsterdam was a lake.
“If you just sit down for a minute, I’ll give you what we know. It isn’t much but it’s all we’ve got to go on for now.”
One thing Hans was sure of; a panicking Mayor wouldn’t improve the situation one iota. Fortunately, the city’s overseer took his seat again, drumming on the table with his fingers but keeping quiet while the policeman talked.
“There are round about forty people who’ve been admitted to hospital, with varying degrees of injury from the fire. We don’t need to worry about them from a physical point of view, apart from the two or three who look to be critical. Our biggest problem is information containment. One or two have already talked to the media and set the ball rolling. This story is notable more for the questions that are going to be asked rather than what actually happened. It’s a whole can of worms I can assure you and it’s open. The media are going to have a field day, not to mention the various interest groups. You thought we’d got rid of the Sodom and Gomorrah tag in Amsterdam? Forget it! This is sex, death and morals all rolled into one.”
The Mayor paled.
“How many dead?”
“No idea; none at all. They can’t get in to get the bodies out yet.”
The Mayor turned to the redheaded, red-faced man sitting slightly apart from the group.
“What’s your best estimate Rick?”
Rick van Rooien was another tough cookie who had seen the stuff of nightmares over his years in the fire service but he too was concerned about this incident. It had taken a long time for the fire engines to get to the scene and that was his responsibility. Never mind that the narrow streets were packed with people, or that illegally parked bikes and cars, proved time consuming impediments. The media wouldn’t see it that way and he was ultimately responsible. This would have to be handled very carefully indeed.
“As Hans said, we’ve no idea. We can’t get in yet. It’s still smouldering under all the rubble. There is a good possibility that there won’t be much left to identify. The heat could well have reduced them to charcoal.”
At this point, the fourth man in the room butted in...
“From what we can gather, there could be anything between twenty and two hundred.”
As newly appointed health coordinator for the council, Marinus Eckhart didn’t have the experience of the others and had been rudely awakened out of the pride in his appointment. He didn’t mind admitting it, he’d panicked when he’d heard the news and panicked even more when he’d been summoned to this meeting. Fortunately, he’d had sufficient presence of mind to gather whatever statistics were available.
“So many! Jesus!”
Eckhart continued,
“Apparently, a Saturday night could attract a full-house and it was big enough to draw the crowds. Sex is a crowd-puller you know. I had no idea what went on until one of my interns explained it to me. Luckily, I imagine that the vast majority of people will be just as ignorant as me.”
The Mayor groaned,
“Not for long I suspect. God knows how long it’ll be before all this hits the papers!”
“The problem is that this happens all over the city. There are plenty of places just like this, not to mention the saunas and the cinemas.”
“Cinemas? Which cinemas? I can’t believe that cinemas aren’t safe.”
The Police Chief shook his head.
“Safe against what? Sex? Or Fire? Maybe you aren’t aware but there is a thriving sex cinema business; porno cinemas, with orgy rooms. The problem is that most of them are also in relatively small buildings. Small operations with a big risk factor. There are controls of course but then again, bars are also controlled; supposedly!”
“Is that a dig at us?” Van Rooien responded defensively, “Because if it is, then you try doing our job. Have you any idea how few inspectors we’ve got? And how many bars, clubs, cafés etcetera there are in Amsterdam?”
The Mayor interceded before recriminations could begin.
“There’s no point in accusing each other. The press will be doing that soon enough. We’ve got to work together on this one. Christ, am I naïve or what? I didn’t know this sort of thing went on on such a wide scale?”
Drawing a deep breath, the policeman continued.
“You’re right. Sorry Rick. Why should you be aware of everything that goes on? It’s not something you would have cause to associate with I presume. This is, however, Amsterdam. The homos like to call it the sex capital of Europe and it is a bit short sighted to expect that everything’s all tastefully organised. Nobody advertises that their place offers you sex like in your own home! I’ve seen things that would make your toes curl but that’s because it’s part of our job to deal with problems when they arise. There’s no reason however, why Joe Public should be up to date with who fucks who and how in every seedy joint in the city. Surely that’s a bonus here but only if we can keep a lid on it. Then again, if you think about it, the press will also be limited as to how much graphic detail they can portray. Maybe too, we can exert a little pressure in certain directions. There are a few editors and owners who wouldn’t like their own sex club exploits to become public news.”
The Mayor paused before replying.
“We’ll have to do what we can I suppose but even the sketchy facts are going to be shocking enough. Let’s look at what we’ve got. A gay bar burns down and there’s an unknown number of dead. That’s complicated by the fact that there was a dark room where most people died in the act so to speak. There’s your moral outrage factor. Can we be held responsible for that? The police and the emergency services certainly not but a moral question is one that the council has some responsibility for. There have been enough motions to have the darkrooms closed down in the past. As for the fire itself, I’m afraid you’re on a hiding to nothing Rick. The fire service couldn’t handle the blaze itself. I know, I know, there are enough good reasons for that and we should get away with that one but the inspection process could be a major problem. This bar went up like a tinderbox. That means there must have been plenty of inflammable material around. That means that in most people’s eyes that shouldn’t have been possible. After Volendam, it’s open season on safety precautions. We may be able to pin quite a lot on the owner. Who is that by the way?”
“It’s a youngish guy called Arjan de Clerck. He’s got a finger in lots of gay pies; owns another bar on the Reguliersdwarsstraat and a club on the Nieuwezijdsvoorburgwal. Keeps himself a finger length above the law as far as we know. We’ve had relatively little trouble from him in the past. Seems to be pretty ruthless but works hard and runs a tight ship. I’ll dig around a bit; see what we can find out about him. You’re right, maybe we can deflect some of the flak onto him. After all, look at Enschede and Volendam. The owners there got away with nothing.”
The Mayor gave a brief, watery smile.
“Thanks Hans, we’re going to need every get-out clause we can find with this one. So, what do we do next? You three guys are going to need to pull out all the stops to keep information spillage down to a minimum. God knows what’s still to come out! But no lies guys. If we give misinformation, they’ll crucify us later. Better to say you don’t know rather than denial. All we can do now is see how it all unfolds but whatever the media begin, refer back to me before you react okay? If we stick together on this one and coordinate responses as much as possible, we may be able to avoid a whole barrel of shit.”
The lights in the room suddenly dimmed for a second and the heavens outside opened, accompanied by crashes of thunder and bolts of vivid lighting. Nobody failed to see the irony of the rain arriving a day too late. One thing was sure, the long, hot summer was over only in terms of the weather.
The Amsterdam Series
Home
- Edgy times for Ruud and Wil
- Inferno
- The media response
- A quandary for the Council
