Nomads on the Amstel
54. The pain of recovery
February 25th
John rubbed away the rapidly freezing condensation and stared out of the bathroom window as flakes of snow flickered through the beams of the street lights. He had an armful of bizarre clothing ready for the wash but seemed hypnotized by the weather as in typical Dutch fashion; it did a U-turn from the sunshine of a few hours ago. The huge blue-grey clouds had rolled in with the evening, wrapping the city up like a child in a comfort blanket but it brought no comfort to John. It was more symptomatic of what had happened in the last two days.
He was confused and hurt on so many levels but deep down thought he understood what was going on and on some levels, actually felt relief. It looked almost certain that the relationship was going to end before it had really got started and that was painful if only for the innate sense of failure that came with it.
He hadn’t seen it coming but had sensed it was always possible. Tinnie and Amália had cajoled them for days to abandon Amsterdam and head south to Den Bosch for the Carnival and despite his worries for Marcel’s health; he’d been outvoted three to one and had reluctantly agreed.
They’d manoeuvred Marcel, complete with wheelchair into the back of a hired van, made sure he was secure and then crammed themselves into the front and set off on what was a beautiful and unseasonably warm, February day. All the indications were that it was going to be a positive experience for them all.
The centre of Den Bosch looked like a picture postcard; absurdly medieval and thronged with people. The atmosphere was ebullient and it seemed that everybody was determined to enjoy themselves to the full. From the oldest pensioners to babies in prams, everybody had done their best to look more colourful and more extravagantly dressed than everybody else. For all four visitors from the big city it was a new experience and they had to admit that their preconceptions of vulgar Carnival revelry were somewhat miscued. The day was designed for pure enjoyment and nothing else. As elaborately constructed float after float passed by, all four were swept up in the infectious crowd dynamics and they laughed like they hadn’t laughed for months. Suddenly Tinnie’s insistence that they all make an effort to wear at least something stupid didn’t seem so embarrassing. It became clear that, in order for the mores of Amsterdam to be expelled, the people had to leave Amsterdam.
The trouble began when Marcel demanded his first beer. The other three had been drinking since they’d arrived, much as ninety percent of the rest of the people were doing. Very few were getting drunk but everyone was inebriated with the joie de vivre; that’s how it was with the Carnival; you could drink all day and night and still walk home in a straight line.
At first, John had refused. The idea of Marcel adding alcohol to the concoction of chemicals in his body seemed irresponsible at best, Tinnie had backed him up and for a while Marcel had accepted it and sat back in his chair with a mineral water. They had however, met a group of like-minded Amsterdammers who’d come down for the day and it was one of these well meaning men who’d brought Marcel two beers in one go. These were downed with relish and at speed and before he knew it John was persuaded that all was well and the beer began to flow regularly in Marcel’s direction. The first warning sign came when someone inadvertently bumped into his chair. Marcel’s reaction was over the top to say the least; he exploded with rage and lambasted the startled but apologetic woman with the foulest insults available. Amália nudged John and he hastened to rescue the situation, mollifying the woman as best he could while Tinnie dealt with a still fuming Marcel. His mistake was to say something afterwards.
“Okay young man, that’s your last beer; you’re not to be trusted; we can’t take you anywhere!”
It had been meant lightly but Marcel’s expression showed that it had been received as anything but! Even Tinnie, who was frequently the victim of Marcel’s scowls, was shocked to see the way his faced changed this time. It was not so much a flash of anger as a calculated and controlled sneer, behind which lay all the pent up frustrations of the previous months.
“You don’t tell me what to do mister. If I want another beer, I’ll have another beer. If I want another ten beers, I’ll have them too! Comprende? Capisce? I’m enjoying myself okay! In fact, I want to go to De Pieteke. I want to see what all the handsome men are wearing for a change!”
John paled under the assault. He was used to Marcel’s mood swings but this came like a bolt out of the blue. Up to this moment he’d been happier than he’d been for months.
“Marcel! That’s totally unfair and you know it; don’t be so mean! Nobody does more for you than John and you never thank him. If it were me, I’d slap you silly!”
Tinnie also tried to be light-hearted and to laugh it off but Marcel was too far gone to see the funny side of anything.
“Huh! I didn’t ask him to wet nurse me, or rescue me, or adopt me as his gay son; the choice wasn’t mine to make. You all decided that this was best for Marcel and you…”
This was directed at John;
“…decided that I should fall in love with you and we’d all live happily ever after, with the cripple under control! Well, I’m sick of it. I don’t love you; never will if the truth be known and I don’t see why I should be eternally grateful for something that was out of my control. I’m fucked if I’m going to be the solution to your hang ups my friend; I’ve got enough problems of my own! Now are we going to the gay bar or not; I’m fed up with all these straights and their mewling brats?”
Amália rounded on Tinnie.
“Are you going to let him talk to John like that? Do something!”
“Whoa lady; I’m not his mother and besides which, John’s a grown man; he can look after himself.”
“So you’re taking Marcel’s side?”
“I’m not taking anybody’s side. I’ve said my bit and it didn’t work so I’m going to stay out of it.”
“Well that’s just typical of you! You’ve got the power to stop this right now but for the sake of political correctness or some other stupid reason, you’ll let two people who love each other tear each other apart?”
Marcel wheeled his chair right in front of Amália and yelled at her.
“Are you deaf you stupid gypsy! I told you like I’m telling the whole of Den Bosch; I don’t love him and by the way will you stop talking about me as if I’m not her! You do that all the time!”
As John walked away through the mass of people, he could still hear them rowing above the general hubbub until he rounded a corner and headed for nowhere in particular.
They’d met up again after John finally found his way back to the car. He’d spent an hour in a side street, away from the crowds, hung over a railing and staring at a narrow canal that drifted by. The black waters gave him ample depths in which to swirl his thoughts. For the first time the idea that it really wasn’t worth all the hassle entered his head. That initial time where everything had a rose coloured tint had gone. The power of his initial love for Marcel had given him the energy and the drive to perform all those tasks necessary to bring the younger man to this point but he’d been carried along on that wave of emotion that keeps all lovers afloat. Now, the reality had set in and he realised that this was a turning point. If he stayed, then it had to be permanent, for better or for worse and up to now there had been much more of the latter. He still had the chance to escape before everything was set in emotional stone though. It was now or never and for the first time he began to think that ‘never’ might be the better option. If a psychologist had told him his reserves were gone; he was emotionally drained and physically tired and through all his caring for Marcel he had almost forgotten to care for himself, he would have probably agreed. The nightmares continued, to such an extent that he’d almost got used to them; they were a nightly occurrence which showed no signs of abating. The daily grind of washing and dressing another person as well as the constant maintenance of the wounds, clearing up of mess and preparing of meals were another constant in his life and he’d been running on adrenaline for weeks. If only Marcel had shown at least some understanding of his predicament instead of continually moaning about his own lot in life. A few kind words, delivered at the right times, would have made all the difference but rarely came. Marcel lived in a world of bitterness and regret and John had come to accept it and had learned to live with it. The theory was of course, that everything would change with time and that Marcel would become mellower and less bitter. It hadn’t happened as yet and John had been warned by the doctors that it might take years. In the beginning all that had been easy to accept; ‘If you love someone…’ he reasoned, ‘…then you’ll put up with all the shit until it gets better.’ It wasn’t the right tactic of course and Amália, in her mother hen manner, kept telling him to fight back and not to take the abuse for much longer. Marcel was entitled to his time of self-pity, recrimination and rage, whatever but after a while he had to accept things the way they were and move on. She badgered John to stop mollycoddling the man and force him to stand on his own two feet, figuratively speaking. Above all, she told him that he should demand the respect to which he was entitled. It hadn’t worked that way and John had found it almost impossible not to give in to Marcel’s every demand. Now, however, his patience was at an end. He was hurt and angry and for the first time felt like giving up the struggle. Marcel had begun by being a hard person to love; now, he was downright impossible!
The journey back to Amsterdam was pretty much silent, except for a barked insult when he took a wrong turning. The women weren’t speaking to each other either and the atmosphere only needed a spark for it to explode.
He took the road towards Amália’s flat, intending to drop them off first but was met with another tirade from a still drunken Marcel, who wanted to get home as quickly as possible because he needed the toilet. One thing led to another and the three of them hysterically renewed their bickering, while John stoically kept his mouth shut, refused to change his mind and headed as planned for Amália’s building. Finally he couldn’t take any more and brought the van to a screeching halt at the corner of the street.
“Okay, everybody out.”
It was quietly delivered and they didn’t hear him at first, so he waited for a short lull in the arguing and repeated it.
“I said…everybody out!”
The sniping stopped and the three of them looked at him in disbelief. He slowly stepped out of the driver’s seat, walked round to the sliding door, opened it and grim-faced, waited. Tinnie and Amália struggled out sheepishly, dragging Marcel rather unceremoniously in his wheel chair out onto the footpath in the process, then turned and looked at John for further instructions. If it hadn’t been so serious, it would have been a comical sight; two lesbians and an invalid, dressed in clown costumes and army gear respectively, clustered at the side of the road in the middle of Amsterdam. John, equally bizarre in his papal gown, closed the van door, got back in the driver’s seat and to everyone’s amazement, not least his own, started up the engine.
“If you leave me here, I’ll not come back…ever!” threatened Marcel, though this particular threat sounded a little more like a plea and less like an ultimatum. John didn’t give him a second look and with heart racing, rejected the blackmail and roared off.
He threw the carnival’s costumes in the machine and absent-mindedly flicked the switch. Tinnie had arrived earlier in the afternoon with Marcel’s costume and to pick up dressings, medicines and everything else necessary for the day to day caring of his damaged friend. She’d rung first to warn him that she would be coming alone and why but when she arrived at the door, the first thing she did was to crush him in her arms and cuddle him fiercely.
“I’m sorry John; I’m really sorry okay! This is all a storm in a teacup; he’ll come round when he’s cooled down. You’ve got to give him time, then he’ll realise everything and put everything in perspective but you know what he’s like; he can’t be forced; he has to make up his mind in his own time. I feel that we’re responsible for some of this too. If we hadn’t been arguing like cats, we might have been able to diffuse the situation sooner. The truth is; it’s not going well for Amália and me too but you’ve probably guessed that already.”
He looked at her, standing there, all one metre sixty five of skin and bones, attitude and energy. Suddenly he couldn’t keep up with them all any more; suddenly it didn’t seem worthwhile even to make the effort to be polite.
“Frankly Tinnie, I couldn’t care less what you and Amália get up to. I can’t keep track of all the times you two fall out one day and are blood sisters the next. It’s tiring, can’t you see that? Every time one of you comes round crying on my shoulder, telling me it’s all over, I summon up the sympathy from somewhere and then find out it’s wasted five minutes later when you’re all kisses and cuddles again. It’s beginning to really get on my tits and I wish you’d both find someone else to moan to; Marcel for example! Then he can find out he’s not the only one who can cry wolf and find his energy being sucked out of him.”
He sat down; head in his hands, genuinely wishing she’d just go and let him get a moment’s rest.
“That’s not fair John. Amália and me; we’re like that; it’s just the way we are. Though I think you’ll find that we’re on the point of breaking up, though clearly that’s of little consequence to you. I’m sorry if we’re such a burden; I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
The sarcasm and the bombshell were duly noted but he didn’t rise to the bait and apologise for being tetchy, or enquire further as to the latest crisis; on the contrary, he’d really had enough.
“Good and you can tell Marcel I’m sick of walking on eggshells around him. He’s not the only one who’s suffering here and if he wants to stay with you two and sulk, well fine; you’re welcome to him but he should know that the longer he’s away the more I’ll get used to being on my own again and maybe even get to enjoy it. He’s not the only one who can issue ultimatums! What’s more, if he doesn’t roll in through that door prepared to apologise and promise to treat me as something more than his personal slave then he can roll right out again. I can’t take any more; I’ve had it right up to here and I’m going to start thinking of myself for a change; something I haven’t done for months.”
Tinnie wasn’t in the mood to be particularly sympathetic; she was wrapped up on her own problems. She and Amália really were on the point of splitting up and unknown to them both; the row in Den Bosch had been the straw to break the camel’s back. The truth was; all four of them needed a break from each other and a break from the constant tension that the fire and Marcel’s injuries had caused. The impasse was caused by the fact that they were all too close to the problem. Nobody could see that external forces were at work and creating cracks in their armour. Not one of the foursome could step back far enough to see what was happening and restore some sanity and perspective.
Tinnie and Amália’s differences were old ones that were now being exaggerated by circumstances. Amália felt that as it was her house, she should have some say, or at least be consulted, as to who should live there. Tinnie took this as a hint that Marcel wasn’t welcome and leapt to his defence and the attack at the same time and the usual hurtful things were said. Amália accused her, not for the first time, of putting Marcel before her relationship, to which Tinnie heartily agreed and threw back the fact that Amália was still married; if that wasn’t putting someone else before the relationship than Tinnie couldn’t see what was. The circles got tighter and more vicious until they both descended the spiral and began to question whether the relationship was really worth the effort after all. Marcel didn’t help, partly because he was temporarily in a lot of pain and partly because he decided to clam up and not say more than two words to anyone. Everyone was suffering and nobody could do a damned thing about it. Nobody cared enough about the others anymore to fight for solutions or compromises, so the end results were almost inevitable.
February 25th
John rubbed away the rapidly freezing condensation and stared out of the bathroom window as flakes of snow flickered through the beams of the street lights. He had an armful of bizarre clothing ready for the wash but seemed hypnotized by the weather as in typical Dutch fashion; it did a U-turn from the sunshine of a few hours ago. The huge blue-grey clouds had rolled in with the evening, wrapping the city up like a child in a comfort blanket but it brought no comfort to John. It was more symptomatic of what had happened in the last two days.
He was confused and hurt on so many levels but deep down thought he understood what was going on and on some levels, actually felt relief. It looked almost certain that the relationship was going to end before it had really got started and that was painful if only for the innate sense of failure that came with it.
He hadn’t seen it coming but had sensed it was always possible. Tinnie and Amália had cajoled them for days to abandon Amsterdam and head south to Den Bosch for the Carnival and despite his worries for Marcel’s health; he’d been outvoted three to one and had reluctantly agreed.
They’d manoeuvred Marcel, complete with wheelchair into the back of a hired van, made sure he was secure and then crammed themselves into the front and set off on what was a beautiful and unseasonably warm, February day. All the indications were that it was going to be a positive experience for them all.
The centre of Den Bosch looked like a picture postcard; absurdly medieval and thronged with people. The atmosphere was ebullient and it seemed that everybody was determined to enjoy themselves to the full. From the oldest pensioners to babies in prams, everybody had done their best to look more colourful and more extravagantly dressed than everybody else. For all four visitors from the big city it was a new experience and they had to admit that their preconceptions of vulgar Carnival revelry were somewhat miscued. The day was designed for pure enjoyment and nothing else. As elaborately constructed float after float passed by, all four were swept up in the infectious crowd dynamics and they laughed like they hadn’t laughed for months. Suddenly Tinnie’s insistence that they all make an effort to wear at least something stupid didn’t seem so embarrassing. It became clear that, in order for the mores of Amsterdam to be expelled, the people had to leave Amsterdam.
The trouble began when Marcel demanded his first beer. The other three had been drinking since they’d arrived, much as ninety percent of the rest of the people were doing. Very few were getting drunk but everyone was inebriated with the joie de vivre; that’s how it was with the Carnival; you could drink all day and night and still walk home in a straight line.
At first, John had refused. The idea of Marcel adding alcohol to the concoction of chemicals in his body seemed irresponsible at best, Tinnie had backed him up and for a while Marcel had accepted it and sat back in his chair with a mineral water. They had however, met a group of like-minded Amsterdammers who’d come down for the day and it was one of these well meaning men who’d brought Marcel two beers in one go. These were downed with relish and at speed and before he knew it John was persuaded that all was well and the beer began to flow regularly in Marcel’s direction. The first warning sign came when someone inadvertently bumped into his chair. Marcel’s reaction was over the top to say the least; he exploded with rage and lambasted the startled but apologetic woman with the foulest insults available. Amália nudged John and he hastened to rescue the situation, mollifying the woman as best he could while Tinnie dealt with a still fuming Marcel. His mistake was to say something afterwards.
“Okay young man, that’s your last beer; you’re not to be trusted; we can’t take you anywhere!”
It had been meant lightly but Marcel’s expression showed that it had been received as anything but! Even Tinnie, who was frequently the victim of Marcel’s scowls, was shocked to see the way his faced changed this time. It was not so much a flash of anger as a calculated and controlled sneer, behind which lay all the pent up frustrations of the previous months.
“You don’t tell me what to do mister. If I want another beer, I’ll have another beer. If I want another ten beers, I’ll have them too! Comprende? Capisce? I’m enjoying myself okay! In fact, I want to go to De Pieteke. I want to see what all the handsome men are wearing for a change!”
John paled under the assault. He was used to Marcel’s mood swings but this came like a bolt out of the blue. Up to this moment he’d been happier than he’d been for months.
“Marcel! That’s totally unfair and you know it; don’t be so mean! Nobody does more for you than John and you never thank him. If it were me, I’d slap you silly!”
Tinnie also tried to be light-hearted and to laugh it off but Marcel was too far gone to see the funny side of anything.
“Huh! I didn’t ask him to wet nurse me, or rescue me, or adopt me as his gay son; the choice wasn’t mine to make. You all decided that this was best for Marcel and you…”
This was directed at John;
“…decided that I should fall in love with you and we’d all live happily ever after, with the cripple under control! Well, I’m sick of it. I don’t love you; never will if the truth be known and I don’t see why I should be eternally grateful for something that was out of my control. I’m fucked if I’m going to be the solution to your hang ups my friend; I’ve got enough problems of my own! Now are we going to the gay bar or not; I’m fed up with all these straights and their mewling brats?”
Amália rounded on Tinnie.
“Are you going to let him talk to John like that? Do something!”
“Whoa lady; I’m not his mother and besides which, John’s a grown man; he can look after himself.”
“So you’re taking Marcel’s side?”
“I’m not taking anybody’s side. I’ve said my bit and it didn’t work so I’m going to stay out of it.”
“Well that’s just typical of you! You’ve got the power to stop this right now but for the sake of political correctness or some other stupid reason, you’ll let two people who love each other tear each other apart?”
Marcel wheeled his chair right in front of Amália and yelled at her.
“Are you deaf you stupid gypsy! I told you like I’m telling the whole of Den Bosch; I don’t love him and by the way will you stop talking about me as if I’m not her! You do that all the time!”
As John walked away through the mass of people, he could still hear them rowing above the general hubbub until he rounded a corner and headed for nowhere in particular.
They’d met up again after John finally found his way back to the car. He’d spent an hour in a side street, away from the crowds, hung over a railing and staring at a narrow canal that drifted by. The black waters gave him ample depths in which to swirl his thoughts. For the first time the idea that it really wasn’t worth all the hassle entered his head. That initial time where everything had a rose coloured tint had gone. The power of his initial love for Marcel had given him the energy and the drive to perform all those tasks necessary to bring the younger man to this point but he’d been carried along on that wave of emotion that keeps all lovers afloat. Now, the reality had set in and he realised that this was a turning point. If he stayed, then it had to be permanent, for better or for worse and up to now there had been much more of the latter. He still had the chance to escape before everything was set in emotional stone though. It was now or never and for the first time he began to think that ‘never’ might be the better option. If a psychologist had told him his reserves were gone; he was emotionally drained and physically tired and through all his caring for Marcel he had almost forgotten to care for himself, he would have probably agreed. The nightmares continued, to such an extent that he’d almost got used to them; they were a nightly occurrence which showed no signs of abating. The daily grind of washing and dressing another person as well as the constant maintenance of the wounds, clearing up of mess and preparing of meals were another constant in his life and he’d been running on adrenaline for weeks. If only Marcel had shown at least some understanding of his predicament instead of continually moaning about his own lot in life. A few kind words, delivered at the right times, would have made all the difference but rarely came. Marcel lived in a world of bitterness and regret and John had come to accept it and had learned to live with it. The theory was of course, that everything would change with time and that Marcel would become mellower and less bitter. It hadn’t happened as yet and John had been warned by the doctors that it might take years. In the beginning all that had been easy to accept; ‘If you love someone…’ he reasoned, ‘…then you’ll put up with all the shit until it gets better.’ It wasn’t the right tactic of course and Amália, in her mother hen manner, kept telling him to fight back and not to take the abuse for much longer. Marcel was entitled to his time of self-pity, recrimination and rage, whatever but after a while he had to accept things the way they were and move on. She badgered John to stop mollycoddling the man and force him to stand on his own two feet, figuratively speaking. Above all, she told him that he should demand the respect to which he was entitled. It hadn’t worked that way and John had found it almost impossible not to give in to Marcel’s every demand. Now, however, his patience was at an end. He was hurt and angry and for the first time felt like giving up the struggle. Marcel had begun by being a hard person to love; now, he was downright impossible!
The journey back to Amsterdam was pretty much silent, except for a barked insult when he took a wrong turning. The women weren’t speaking to each other either and the atmosphere only needed a spark for it to explode.
He took the road towards Amália’s flat, intending to drop them off first but was met with another tirade from a still drunken Marcel, who wanted to get home as quickly as possible because he needed the toilet. One thing led to another and the three of them hysterically renewed their bickering, while John stoically kept his mouth shut, refused to change his mind and headed as planned for Amália’s building. Finally he couldn’t take any more and brought the van to a screeching halt at the corner of the street.
“Okay, everybody out.”
It was quietly delivered and they didn’t hear him at first, so he waited for a short lull in the arguing and repeated it.
“I said…everybody out!”
The sniping stopped and the three of them looked at him in disbelief. He slowly stepped out of the driver’s seat, walked round to the sliding door, opened it and grim-faced, waited. Tinnie and Amália struggled out sheepishly, dragging Marcel rather unceremoniously in his wheel chair out onto the footpath in the process, then turned and looked at John for further instructions. If it hadn’t been so serious, it would have been a comical sight; two lesbians and an invalid, dressed in clown costumes and army gear respectively, clustered at the side of the road in the middle of Amsterdam. John, equally bizarre in his papal gown, closed the van door, got back in the driver’s seat and to everyone’s amazement, not least his own, started up the engine.
“If you leave me here, I’ll not come back…ever!” threatened Marcel, though this particular threat sounded a little more like a plea and less like an ultimatum. John didn’t give him a second look and with heart racing, rejected the blackmail and roared off.
He threw the carnival’s costumes in the machine and absent-mindedly flicked the switch. Tinnie had arrived earlier in the afternoon with Marcel’s costume and to pick up dressings, medicines and everything else necessary for the day to day caring of his damaged friend. She’d rung first to warn him that she would be coming alone and why but when she arrived at the door, the first thing she did was to crush him in her arms and cuddle him fiercely.
“I’m sorry John; I’m really sorry okay! This is all a storm in a teacup; he’ll come round when he’s cooled down. You’ve got to give him time, then he’ll realise everything and put everything in perspective but you know what he’s like; he can’t be forced; he has to make up his mind in his own time. I feel that we’re responsible for some of this too. If we hadn’t been arguing like cats, we might have been able to diffuse the situation sooner. The truth is; it’s not going well for Amália and me too but you’ve probably guessed that already.”
He looked at her, standing there, all one metre sixty five of skin and bones, attitude and energy. Suddenly he couldn’t keep up with them all any more; suddenly it didn’t seem worthwhile even to make the effort to be polite.
“Frankly Tinnie, I couldn’t care less what you and Amália get up to. I can’t keep track of all the times you two fall out one day and are blood sisters the next. It’s tiring, can’t you see that? Every time one of you comes round crying on my shoulder, telling me it’s all over, I summon up the sympathy from somewhere and then find out it’s wasted five minutes later when you’re all kisses and cuddles again. It’s beginning to really get on my tits and I wish you’d both find someone else to moan to; Marcel for example! Then he can find out he’s not the only one who can cry wolf and find his energy being sucked out of him.”
He sat down; head in his hands, genuinely wishing she’d just go and let him get a moment’s rest.
“That’s not fair John. Amália and me; we’re like that; it’s just the way we are. Though I think you’ll find that we’re on the point of breaking up, though clearly that’s of little consequence to you. I’m sorry if we’re such a burden; I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
The sarcasm and the bombshell were duly noted but he didn’t rise to the bait and apologise for being tetchy, or enquire further as to the latest crisis; on the contrary, he’d really had enough.
“Good and you can tell Marcel I’m sick of walking on eggshells around him. He’s not the only one who’s suffering here and if he wants to stay with you two and sulk, well fine; you’re welcome to him but he should know that the longer he’s away the more I’ll get used to being on my own again and maybe even get to enjoy it. He’s not the only one who can issue ultimatums! What’s more, if he doesn’t roll in through that door prepared to apologise and promise to treat me as something more than his personal slave then he can roll right out again. I can’t take any more; I’ve had it right up to here and I’m going to start thinking of myself for a change; something I haven’t done for months.”
Tinnie wasn’t in the mood to be particularly sympathetic; she was wrapped up on her own problems. She and Amália really were on the point of splitting up and unknown to them both; the row in Den Bosch had been the straw to break the camel’s back. The truth was; all four of them needed a break from each other and a break from the constant tension that the fire and Marcel’s injuries had caused. The impasse was caused by the fact that they were all too close to the problem. Nobody could see that external forces were at work and creating cracks in their armour. Not one of the foursome could step back far enough to see what was happening and restore some sanity and perspective.
Tinnie and Amália’s differences were old ones that were now being exaggerated by circumstances. Amália felt that as it was her house, she should have some say, or at least be consulted, as to who should live there. Tinnie took this as a hint that Marcel wasn’t welcome and leapt to his defence and the attack at the same time and the usual hurtful things were said. Amália accused her, not for the first time, of putting Marcel before her relationship, to which Tinnie heartily agreed and threw back the fact that Amália was still married; if that wasn’t putting someone else before the relationship than Tinnie couldn’t see what was. The circles got tighter and more vicious until they both descended the spiral and began to question whether the relationship was really worth the effort after all. Marcel didn’t help, partly because he was temporarily in a lot of pain and partly because he decided to clam up and not say more than two words to anyone. Everyone was suffering and nobody could do a damned thing about it. Nobody cared enough about the others anymore to fight for solutions or compromises, so the end results were almost inevitable.
55. Haven
April 10th
“Look, it’s all happening before our very eyes. See that tree; last week it was as bald as a coot and now see how green it is. Everything’s starting to live again. Look at those pigeons; he can’t wait to climb on top of her and produce more flying rats. You should hear the cacophony first thing in the morning! There’s a bird out there; I swear he’s imitating that fucking car alarm to get a mate; it’ll be the first Blackbird to get shagged by a Mercedes badge!”
Tinnie handed him his camomile tea and gave him a big hug.
“You know it’s so great to hear you cracking jokes and being bitchy again. Funny bitchy I mean, not the twisted, alter ego bitchy!”
“I know! Where was I all those months? I think I was in there somewhere but my evil, dark queen side kept me under lock and key. I’ve got you to thank for setting me free; I owe you big time Tin; not that I didn’t owe you before but now I’m in your eternal debt. What can I ever do to repay you oh mighty rescuer of lost and bewildered homos?”
“Oh piss off you silly old drama queen and anyway, it’s so not true. You and I both know it’s John you owe and not me.”
“…And maybe to some extent Amália eh?”
She nodded and the grin slid off her face.
“Sad times; for them and for us! I never meant to hurt Amália and I’m sure you never meant to hurt John; they were just in our lives at the wrong time.”
“Casualties of the gay love wars eh!”
“But we couldn’t have made it through the last months without them, you know we couldn’t.”
“Especially me you mean! I know; you don’t need to be subtle about it; I was a complete prick! I’ve never been like that in my life you know. I’m not a bad person really and I’m shocked at what I was capable of but the circumstances were a little extenuating; I wasn’t really myself.”
“No, you were possessed! You know I dreamed last night that Amália and John got together and had children and cursed us so that we’d never fall in love again; just shows how screwy my mind is at the moment.”
“Well, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility is it? I’m sure they comforted each other after we did the respective dirty deeds and they were both straight in previous lives.”
“I’m not so sure. John and Amália never really got that close did they? They were sort of thrown together because of us; it was a sort of forced friendship; happens all the time. You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your girlfriend’s friends sort of thing. Anyway, nothing could make me feel more guilty than I already do but really, there was no choice; we outgrew each other.”
“The dumper’s eternal excuse to the dumpee; you’ll have to come up with better than that Tinnie. However, if you feel guilty, how do you think I feel? At least you two were more or less civilised with each other; I ripped the wings off an angel; how many years in gay purgatory do I get for that!”
“Oh, at least twenty; with the added penance that you have to take the minutes of every meeting of the gay gardener’s club and sing ‘I Will Survive’ backwards at the openings of COC annual conferences!”
“Am I a bad person Tinnie? Did the true me come to the fore in all this; after all the layers of civilisation were stripped away. John didn’t deserve the way I treated him; the man was a reincarnated Florence Nightingale.”
“I could make another stupid remark here Mary but no, seriously, I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. You were more of a victim than John; you had to survive and being nasty and bitchy and totally impossible to live with showed you were still alive and still fighting. I’m planning to make it up to Amália after the pain has subsided; can’t you do the same with John? Does that sound like supreme arrogance? It’s not meant to be but I know if I go and see her now, it’ll just rake it all up again; it’s far too soon.”
“You’re right but I can’t help thinking of him rattling round that flat like a pea in a drum; wishing me dead, or at least wishing he’d never met me at all. I really hurt him Tin; the sort of hurt someone never forgets and all he ever gave me was love and caring and selflessness. How can I ever put that right, or make it up to him?”
“First of all, you’ve got to give it time. You know yourself that open wounds, physical or mental take time to heal. God, I sound like Dr. Phil! You want psychology on the cheap? Come to Sister Tineke; all hurts instantly healed.”
“At the same time and correct me if I’m wrong here, we had to break up with them to become our old selves again. Well, you’re your old self; I’m my old self in a body a leper would be proud of.”
“Hello! Are we sinking into self-pity again here? Need your happy pills? Come on, it’s spring out there; new beginnings and new life and all that shit. Where’s Miss Optimism disappeared to now?”
“No, I’m okay, really but you’ll have to let me have my odd moments of self-pity you know; the butterfly’s not quite out of the chrysalis yet.”
“You’re right though. Ironic isn’t it and tragic that people have to get hurt but I do feel back to normal and optimistic again. I can’t wait to get back to the garden again for instance; there’s so much to do! I know; let’s go tomorrow; the weather’s supposed to be warm. We can open everything up and give it some air and I can make a list of what needs to be done.”
“Hold on a moment Speedy Gonzales. We don’t know if the site’s even open yet and what about the wheel chair and I’m not sure I’m allowed to sit in the sun yet and…”
“…and, and, and! And is banned okay! Don’t be so negative. There’s a whole world out there just waiting for our grand entrée; it’s about time we put on our Easter bonnets and showed them what they’ve been missing.”
“God the Queen of clichés rises again! Okay, I give in. What’s my new mantra; ‘You’ve got nothing to lose’ or, ‘The only way is up?’ Both a pile of shit but they’ll do. I love you Tinnie, you know that don’t you?”
“Aw shucks Miss Scarlet, you say the purdiest thangs! Now fuck off into the other room, I have to change my knickers.”
“Since when have you been so prudish?”
“Uhm…once more…hello! Time of the month!”
“Oh that explains everything!”
The wind whipped up off the IJsselmeer and swirled around their bus shelter cocoon, flicking spots of rain into their faces as a challenge to come out into the open. Tinnie wrapped the blanket ever more closely around Marcel’s knees, pulled his scarf tight around his neck and fastened the ties of his hood.
“I feel like a bloody Eskimo! I’m not an invalid you know; Ican do it myself!”
“Yes you are and no you can’t, so just shut up and let me tuck you in.”
She was wearing one of his cast-off coats from the early eighties; a green Parka with a fur trimmed hood. He associated it with scooters and The Jam and hated the very sight of it but she loved it, declaring it the height of lesbian chic. Her face was bright red from the wind and her exertions in pushing him in the teeth of a gale and her hair stuck out at all angles, so that she looked every inch the archetypal, in-your-face dyke. Peroxide matrons, who’d seen most things in their lives as fishermen’s wives, tutted behind twitching nets in the tiny, painted houses lining the shore. Marcel and Tinnie were most decidedly the odd couple but they didn’t care or give it a thought even. She dug deep into her back pack and pulled out a mangled, cling film wrapped package of sandwiches and presented it to Marcel.
“Canapés, with caviar and foie gras?”
“Of course; nothing but the best for my crippled friend and somewhere in here…”
She struggled like a dog chasing its tail to reach into the bag.
“…I’ve got champagne to wash it down with.”
Dragging out a plastic flask, she opened it and poured him a beaker of lukewarm coffee. Exhausted from her exertions, she collapsed on the bench beside him and linked her arm through his.
“Careful! This Moet’s expensive you know!”
“Are you happy?”
She gave him one of her famous quizzical looks; sincerity personified.
“As much as someone who looks like an oil painting that’s been done with a trowel and has never dried can be you mean? Or a dog that’s had his balls cut off and has a highly developed sense of smell for bitches in heat? Or a Mariah Carey impersonator who’s gone deaf; oh no, sorry, that is happiness! Or a …”
“Okay, okay, I get the message; stupid question but are you? Or at least are you happier?”
“Here? Now? In a hurricane by the IJsselmeer having been shut out of my allotment because someone forgot to ring beforehand to find if they were open yet?”
“You’re such a bitch!”
“Well thank you kind sir; you say the kindest things! No, I mean yes, I am happy Tin. Given everything that’s happened, I couldn’t be happier being here with you; it’s brilliant; I love it. I am worried though. When are you going to get a life? You’re going to have to cut the umbilical cord and set me loose sometime or other.”
“How many times do we have to go over this Marcel? It’s simple; you’re part of my life and like it or not, I’m part of yours; what’s so bad about that? You could be my invalid and ancient mother and I’d have to look after her wouldn’t I? We’re family and that’s that. I’m not going to devote my life to your service, you know that and yes, eventually, I’m going to need to go out and get laid every now and then. I might even meet someone and fall in love and so might you for that matter! You can snort all you like but I’m sure there are enough good looking men still alive in Amsterdam who have a thing for gay lepers in wheel chairs! Who knows what’s going to happen but for the moment, you’re the most important thing in my life and I’m going to look after you until you can better look after yourself. God man, it won’t be for ever but it’s only six months since…well, ‘it’ happened! What do you expect, miracles? I can’t afford to fly you to Lourdes I’m afraid, so you’ll just have to let nature take its course. In the meantime, it’s you and me against the world okay and as far as I can see, you’ve got no choice in the matter.”
“Yes but…”
Marcel! Change the record! You’ve got to get over this guilt trip of yours. I blame your mother; she obviously brought you up to give a damn about how other people feel! Well, let me tell you, this is the twenty first century; lesbians rule and dominate all men. You’ve had your time, when everything was Phallocentric and you lot called the shots. It’s all Clitocentric now and you’ll have to do as you’re told; the penis is redundant.”
“Huh, you can say that again! Alright, I give in but I want you to promise me one thing. No putting on a brave face okay? If it’s too much, or if I’m being a shit, or you want to get away for a few days, you tell me. No beating around the bush!”
“You leave my bush out of it thank you very much. Okay, deal! Anyway, what makes you think I’ve not adopted you as my new sugar daddy? Look what we’ve got, I can’t believe it sometimes! The three-times-a-week male stud nurse; all that stuff from the Calamity Fund and the Disaster Fund and the Social Services and the flat! Who would have thought it? A fully-fitted apartment in the centre of Amsterdam with all the facilities a chic and sophisticated cripple could want; all arranged and signed for inside a month! And then of course, there’s my carer’s allowance and your compensation! Now that’s worth being a kept woman for!”
“Yeah, when I get it! That’ll take years, you know it will. There’ll be court decisions made, then appeals against them, then appeals against the appeals; you know how it goes. One thing’s for sure, I’m going to pay John back every penny of what he spent on me and you and Amália.”
“You pay me back every day sweetie; just by being alive.”
Marcel stuck two fingers down his throat but then started choking for real and for the next few minutes, the two of them struggled to contain the pain the coughing caused.
“Have you had enough of wild and wonderful nature in the raw yet? There’s a pancake house over there that’s definitely open, ‘cos I can see people staring at us. Can I treat you to a double apple, bacon and cinnamon with lashing of syrup?”
Tinnie hardly waited for an answer as she started pushing the wheel chair towards the brightly lit restaurant. Its light contrasted strongly with the deep blue banks of cloud that were rolling towards them over the water. They reached the door as the first sweeps of rain lashed down.
“God, I’m going to have biceps like Arnold Schwarzenegger!”
“Let’s hope it has the same effect on your tits! Are you ready to shock some more local yokels?”
She slapped him before pushing the door open and manoeuvring the wheel chair through the narrow gap. The dozen or so customers stared at the newcomers but not one offered to help. Tinnie cursed under her breath.
“Why can’t you just be a cute little old lady with walking stick and hearing aid? Then we might get some help in these places.”
She pushed him towards a table by the window, causing, to her immense satisfaction, as much inconvenience as possible to as many people as possible.
Sitting back and letting Tinnie wipe the excess syrup from his mouth and hands, Marcel gave a deep sigh.
“The whole world’s changed hasn’t it; or at least our little corner of it. Amsterdam’s a different place and although I’m ashamed to whisper it in public, in many ways it’s changed for the better. I read the Roze Gazette yesterday. You should see how many new gay piano bars and cafés and restaurants are opening up; all plush and luxurious; all mod cons and all getting licences because they’re finally decent places to go. Health clubs too! Unbelievable! Not just covers for sex saunas or gyms but real health spas for gay men and women; places to go and get fit and not to get fucked. I was the first to call this government a fascist cabal but thanks to them, gay social Amsterdam is going ultra chic and yuppyish. Apparently, they’re expecting a tourist boom next year; who’d have thought it!”
Tinnie wrinkled her brow and wagged her finger.
“Don’t be in too much of a hurry to praise the bastard politicians. It’s because of the fire and people like you that this is all happening. The government just used it to push through their own conservative agenda and as for freedom and tolerance; forget it! Amsterdam’s controlled tighter than a duck’s arse. Then again, you’re right, some good things are happening. Did you know that there’s a brand new lesbian drop-in centre on the Overtoom? Nothing new you might say and I know you will, so I’ll say it first but this one is a former library and it’s got a bar and lounges and discussion rooms and a café and internet facilities. It looks really good; I thought I’d pop in next week sometime if that’s okay?”
Marcel just gave her a look and turned towards the counter.
“Can I pay the bill please?”
The lugubrious woman busy wiping down the tiles picturing scenes of fishing boats in a storm much like the one outside, appeared to ignore him, or hadn’t heard.
“Uhm, can I pay…”
“I heard you the first time dear and the answer is no, you most definitely can’t!”
Marcel and Tinnie both stared open-mouthed. What was this all about? Were they going to meet yet more weird reactions from the public at large? Tinnie got up and bristling marched over to the counter.
“Now look here…”
The woman never once stopped the frantic polishing.
“Now don’t get you knickers in a twist dear; the reason he can’t pay is because it’s on the house. You people are heroes; the least I can do is treat you to a couple of pancakes.”
Tinnie’s jaw dropped again but then she glanced at a magazine lying on the counter. It was open at a page where photos of victims and survivors of the fire stared out at anyone who cared to look. The article was some weeks old but there was no mistaking the face in the centre. She picked it up and held it open for Marcel to see.
“At last darling! You’ve made the glossies!”
April 10th
“Look, it’s all happening before our very eyes. See that tree; last week it was as bald as a coot and now see how green it is. Everything’s starting to live again. Look at those pigeons; he can’t wait to climb on top of her and produce more flying rats. You should hear the cacophony first thing in the morning! There’s a bird out there; I swear he’s imitating that fucking car alarm to get a mate; it’ll be the first Blackbird to get shagged by a Mercedes badge!”
Tinnie handed him his camomile tea and gave him a big hug.
“You know it’s so great to hear you cracking jokes and being bitchy again. Funny bitchy I mean, not the twisted, alter ego bitchy!”
“I know! Where was I all those months? I think I was in there somewhere but my evil, dark queen side kept me under lock and key. I’ve got you to thank for setting me free; I owe you big time Tin; not that I didn’t owe you before but now I’m in your eternal debt. What can I ever do to repay you oh mighty rescuer of lost and bewildered homos?”
“Oh piss off you silly old drama queen and anyway, it’s so not true. You and I both know it’s John you owe and not me.”
“…And maybe to some extent Amália eh?”
She nodded and the grin slid off her face.
“Sad times; for them and for us! I never meant to hurt Amália and I’m sure you never meant to hurt John; they were just in our lives at the wrong time.”
“Casualties of the gay love wars eh!”
“But we couldn’t have made it through the last months without them, you know we couldn’t.”
“Especially me you mean! I know; you don’t need to be subtle about it; I was a complete prick! I’ve never been like that in my life you know. I’m not a bad person really and I’m shocked at what I was capable of but the circumstances were a little extenuating; I wasn’t really myself.”
“No, you were possessed! You know I dreamed last night that Amália and John got together and had children and cursed us so that we’d never fall in love again; just shows how screwy my mind is at the moment.”
“Well, it’s not beyond the bounds of possibility is it? I’m sure they comforted each other after we did the respective dirty deeds and they were both straight in previous lives.”
“I’m not so sure. John and Amália never really got that close did they? They were sort of thrown together because of us; it was a sort of forced friendship; happens all the time. You can choose your friends but you can’t choose your girlfriend’s friends sort of thing. Anyway, nothing could make me feel more guilty than I already do but really, there was no choice; we outgrew each other.”
“The dumper’s eternal excuse to the dumpee; you’ll have to come up with better than that Tinnie. However, if you feel guilty, how do you think I feel? At least you two were more or less civilised with each other; I ripped the wings off an angel; how many years in gay purgatory do I get for that!”
“Oh, at least twenty; with the added penance that you have to take the minutes of every meeting of the gay gardener’s club and sing ‘I Will Survive’ backwards at the openings of COC annual conferences!”
“Am I a bad person Tinnie? Did the true me come to the fore in all this; after all the layers of civilisation were stripped away. John didn’t deserve the way I treated him; the man was a reincarnated Florence Nightingale.”
“I could make another stupid remark here Mary but no, seriously, I don’t think you’re a bad person at all. You were more of a victim than John; you had to survive and being nasty and bitchy and totally impossible to live with showed you were still alive and still fighting. I’m planning to make it up to Amália after the pain has subsided; can’t you do the same with John? Does that sound like supreme arrogance? It’s not meant to be but I know if I go and see her now, it’ll just rake it all up again; it’s far too soon.”
“You’re right but I can’t help thinking of him rattling round that flat like a pea in a drum; wishing me dead, or at least wishing he’d never met me at all. I really hurt him Tin; the sort of hurt someone never forgets and all he ever gave me was love and caring and selflessness. How can I ever put that right, or make it up to him?”
“First of all, you’ve got to give it time. You know yourself that open wounds, physical or mental take time to heal. God, I sound like Dr. Phil! You want psychology on the cheap? Come to Sister Tineke; all hurts instantly healed.”
“At the same time and correct me if I’m wrong here, we had to break up with them to become our old selves again. Well, you’re your old self; I’m my old self in a body a leper would be proud of.”
“Hello! Are we sinking into self-pity again here? Need your happy pills? Come on, it’s spring out there; new beginnings and new life and all that shit. Where’s Miss Optimism disappeared to now?”
“No, I’m okay, really but you’ll have to let me have my odd moments of self-pity you know; the butterfly’s not quite out of the chrysalis yet.”
“You’re right though. Ironic isn’t it and tragic that people have to get hurt but I do feel back to normal and optimistic again. I can’t wait to get back to the garden again for instance; there’s so much to do! I know; let’s go tomorrow; the weather’s supposed to be warm. We can open everything up and give it some air and I can make a list of what needs to be done.”
“Hold on a moment Speedy Gonzales. We don’t know if the site’s even open yet and what about the wheel chair and I’m not sure I’m allowed to sit in the sun yet and…”
“…and, and, and! And is banned okay! Don’t be so negative. There’s a whole world out there just waiting for our grand entrée; it’s about time we put on our Easter bonnets and showed them what they’ve been missing.”
“God the Queen of clichés rises again! Okay, I give in. What’s my new mantra; ‘You’ve got nothing to lose’ or, ‘The only way is up?’ Both a pile of shit but they’ll do. I love you Tinnie, you know that don’t you?”
“Aw shucks Miss Scarlet, you say the purdiest thangs! Now fuck off into the other room, I have to change my knickers.”
“Since when have you been so prudish?”
“Uhm…once more…hello! Time of the month!”
“Oh that explains everything!”
The wind whipped up off the IJsselmeer and swirled around their bus shelter cocoon, flicking spots of rain into their faces as a challenge to come out into the open. Tinnie wrapped the blanket ever more closely around Marcel’s knees, pulled his scarf tight around his neck and fastened the ties of his hood.
“I feel like a bloody Eskimo! I’m not an invalid you know; Ican do it myself!”
“Yes you are and no you can’t, so just shut up and let me tuck you in.”
She was wearing one of his cast-off coats from the early eighties; a green Parka with a fur trimmed hood. He associated it with scooters and The Jam and hated the very sight of it but she loved it, declaring it the height of lesbian chic. Her face was bright red from the wind and her exertions in pushing him in the teeth of a gale and her hair stuck out at all angles, so that she looked every inch the archetypal, in-your-face dyke. Peroxide matrons, who’d seen most things in their lives as fishermen’s wives, tutted behind twitching nets in the tiny, painted houses lining the shore. Marcel and Tinnie were most decidedly the odd couple but they didn’t care or give it a thought even. She dug deep into her back pack and pulled out a mangled, cling film wrapped package of sandwiches and presented it to Marcel.
“Canapés, with caviar and foie gras?”
“Of course; nothing but the best for my crippled friend and somewhere in here…”
She struggled like a dog chasing its tail to reach into the bag.
“…I’ve got champagne to wash it down with.”
Dragging out a plastic flask, she opened it and poured him a beaker of lukewarm coffee. Exhausted from her exertions, she collapsed on the bench beside him and linked her arm through his.
“Careful! This Moet’s expensive you know!”
“Are you happy?”
She gave him one of her famous quizzical looks; sincerity personified.
“As much as someone who looks like an oil painting that’s been done with a trowel and has never dried can be you mean? Or a dog that’s had his balls cut off and has a highly developed sense of smell for bitches in heat? Or a Mariah Carey impersonator who’s gone deaf; oh no, sorry, that is happiness! Or a …”
“Okay, okay, I get the message; stupid question but are you? Or at least are you happier?”
“Here? Now? In a hurricane by the IJsselmeer having been shut out of my allotment because someone forgot to ring beforehand to find if they were open yet?”
“You’re such a bitch!”
“Well thank you kind sir; you say the kindest things! No, I mean yes, I am happy Tin. Given everything that’s happened, I couldn’t be happier being here with you; it’s brilliant; I love it. I am worried though. When are you going to get a life? You’re going to have to cut the umbilical cord and set me loose sometime or other.”
“How many times do we have to go over this Marcel? It’s simple; you’re part of my life and like it or not, I’m part of yours; what’s so bad about that? You could be my invalid and ancient mother and I’d have to look after her wouldn’t I? We’re family and that’s that. I’m not going to devote my life to your service, you know that and yes, eventually, I’m going to need to go out and get laid every now and then. I might even meet someone and fall in love and so might you for that matter! You can snort all you like but I’m sure there are enough good looking men still alive in Amsterdam who have a thing for gay lepers in wheel chairs! Who knows what’s going to happen but for the moment, you’re the most important thing in my life and I’m going to look after you until you can better look after yourself. God man, it won’t be for ever but it’s only six months since…well, ‘it’ happened! What do you expect, miracles? I can’t afford to fly you to Lourdes I’m afraid, so you’ll just have to let nature take its course. In the meantime, it’s you and me against the world okay and as far as I can see, you’ve got no choice in the matter.”
“Yes but…”
Marcel! Change the record! You’ve got to get over this guilt trip of yours. I blame your mother; she obviously brought you up to give a damn about how other people feel! Well, let me tell you, this is the twenty first century; lesbians rule and dominate all men. You’ve had your time, when everything was Phallocentric and you lot called the shots. It’s all Clitocentric now and you’ll have to do as you’re told; the penis is redundant.”
“Huh, you can say that again! Alright, I give in but I want you to promise me one thing. No putting on a brave face okay? If it’s too much, or if I’m being a shit, or you want to get away for a few days, you tell me. No beating around the bush!”
“You leave my bush out of it thank you very much. Okay, deal! Anyway, what makes you think I’ve not adopted you as my new sugar daddy? Look what we’ve got, I can’t believe it sometimes! The three-times-a-week male stud nurse; all that stuff from the Calamity Fund and the Disaster Fund and the Social Services and the flat! Who would have thought it? A fully-fitted apartment in the centre of Amsterdam with all the facilities a chic and sophisticated cripple could want; all arranged and signed for inside a month! And then of course, there’s my carer’s allowance and your compensation! Now that’s worth being a kept woman for!”
“Yeah, when I get it! That’ll take years, you know it will. There’ll be court decisions made, then appeals against them, then appeals against the appeals; you know how it goes. One thing’s for sure, I’m going to pay John back every penny of what he spent on me and you and Amália.”
“You pay me back every day sweetie; just by being alive.”
Marcel stuck two fingers down his throat but then started choking for real and for the next few minutes, the two of them struggled to contain the pain the coughing caused.
“Have you had enough of wild and wonderful nature in the raw yet? There’s a pancake house over there that’s definitely open, ‘cos I can see people staring at us. Can I treat you to a double apple, bacon and cinnamon with lashing of syrup?”
Tinnie hardly waited for an answer as she started pushing the wheel chair towards the brightly lit restaurant. Its light contrasted strongly with the deep blue banks of cloud that were rolling towards them over the water. They reached the door as the first sweeps of rain lashed down.
“God, I’m going to have biceps like Arnold Schwarzenegger!”
“Let’s hope it has the same effect on your tits! Are you ready to shock some more local yokels?”
She slapped him before pushing the door open and manoeuvring the wheel chair through the narrow gap. The dozen or so customers stared at the newcomers but not one offered to help. Tinnie cursed under her breath.
“Why can’t you just be a cute little old lady with walking stick and hearing aid? Then we might get some help in these places.”
She pushed him towards a table by the window, causing, to her immense satisfaction, as much inconvenience as possible to as many people as possible.
Sitting back and letting Tinnie wipe the excess syrup from his mouth and hands, Marcel gave a deep sigh.
“The whole world’s changed hasn’t it; or at least our little corner of it. Amsterdam’s a different place and although I’m ashamed to whisper it in public, in many ways it’s changed for the better. I read the Roze Gazette yesterday. You should see how many new gay piano bars and cafés and restaurants are opening up; all plush and luxurious; all mod cons and all getting licences because they’re finally decent places to go. Health clubs too! Unbelievable! Not just covers for sex saunas or gyms but real health spas for gay men and women; places to go and get fit and not to get fucked. I was the first to call this government a fascist cabal but thanks to them, gay social Amsterdam is going ultra chic and yuppyish. Apparently, they’re expecting a tourist boom next year; who’d have thought it!”
Tinnie wrinkled her brow and wagged her finger.
“Don’t be in too much of a hurry to praise the bastard politicians. It’s because of the fire and people like you that this is all happening. The government just used it to push through their own conservative agenda and as for freedom and tolerance; forget it! Amsterdam’s controlled tighter than a duck’s arse. Then again, you’re right, some good things are happening. Did you know that there’s a brand new lesbian drop-in centre on the Overtoom? Nothing new you might say and I know you will, so I’ll say it first but this one is a former library and it’s got a bar and lounges and discussion rooms and a café and internet facilities. It looks really good; I thought I’d pop in next week sometime if that’s okay?”
Marcel just gave her a look and turned towards the counter.
“Can I pay the bill please?”
The lugubrious woman busy wiping down the tiles picturing scenes of fishing boats in a storm much like the one outside, appeared to ignore him, or hadn’t heard.
“Uhm, can I pay…”
“I heard you the first time dear and the answer is no, you most definitely can’t!”
Marcel and Tinnie both stared open-mouthed. What was this all about? Were they going to meet yet more weird reactions from the public at large? Tinnie got up and bristling marched over to the counter.
“Now look here…”
The woman never once stopped the frantic polishing.
“Now don’t get you knickers in a twist dear; the reason he can’t pay is because it’s on the house. You people are heroes; the least I can do is treat you to a couple of pancakes.”
Tinnie’s jaw dropped again but then she glanced at a magazine lying on the counter. It was open at a page where photos of victims and survivors of the fire stared out at anyone who cared to look. The article was some weeks old but there was no mistaking the face in the centre. She picked it up and held it open for Marcel to see.
“At last darling! You’ve made the glossies!”
The Amsterdam Series
Home
54. The pain of recovery
55. Haven
