The Murderer (1935), page 8
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“Only that I’m not going to toe the line… And now you might as well tell me what people say. Do they think I knew my wife was carrying on with Schutter?”
“Really!”
“Answer me.”
“I’ve never heard anyone suggest such a thing.”
He knew perfectly well what he was leading up to. He might have stopped at that. He’d already gone far enough. But he didn’t want to stop. He was standing, his head level with the hanging lamp that shone on the embroidered tablecloth. And the bit of blue knitting was lying on the table, exactly as though Alice would be picking it up at any moment to go on with it.
“Who do the police suspect?”
“How should I know?”
“Why can’t you leave her alone, Hans?” said Van Malderen.
“Then answer for her.”
“Nobody knows anything. What do you expect people to say?”
“The less people know, the more they talk… Come on, what do they say?”
“That it’s the work of some vagrant.”
His nerves were stretched to breaking point. He would have liked to have done with it once and for all. Done with what? With this gnawing anguish, this impatience, this giddiness, this nameless uneasiness.
“And me?”
“What about you?”
“I might have killed them myself. Hasn’t anybody suggested that yet?”
“Stop, Hans!” pleaded Jane. “Stop, or I’ll go.”
She was dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief. Her breast was heaving with emotion.
“Let’s talk of something else,” she went on. “If I’d known it would come to this…”
Calmly Kuperus pursued the subject.
“For my part, I’m quite sure there are people who suspect me and don’t hesitate to say so.”
“What does it matter to you what they say?”
Kuperus stood his ground stolidly, and the others didn’t even notice that this last remark had hit him like a stone. For a moment he could find nothing to say, could not even lift his cigar to his lips. Finally, he said very quietly:
“You’re right. It makes no difference to me at all.”
“Listen, Hans,” broke in Van Malderen, “we’ve all been trying to help you, and it was to show our affection and our confidence in you that we elected you president of the club…”
At the mention of the club Kuperus regained all his aggressiveness.
“Only because I forced you to,” he countered.
“You were elected unanimously.”
“On a show of hands. Nobody had the courage to refuse, but I don’t mind betting they’re sorry now.”
“You’re very unjust… And you’re making it very difficult for us… Do you think we can’t see that you’re in a bad way? If you don’t do something about it, it’ll end up badly… I’ve been watching you in the Onder den Linden. Jane’s been watching you as you walk along the street. We hear what your friends say about you…”
“So you’re coming to the point at last!”
“I wish it hadn’t been necessary.”
Van Malderen got up in turn and stood with his hands clasped under his coattails.
“You can’t fail to be aware that your practice has dwindled. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
It was a fact. In a few weeks, half the doctor’s patients had faded away.
“You know the Frieslanders as well as I do, and most of all those of Sneek… The people here have a horror of scandal. So much so that they feel it reflects on them if they even set foot in the house of a woman…”
“Who has been unfaithful to her husband.”
“Since you want me to say it — yes… And if you had a son, he’d find his schoolmates turning their backs on him…”
“As the whole town is going to turn its back on me — is that what you mean?”
“Nobody blames you… On the contrary, we’re all sorry for you…”
“And I don’t care whether anyone’s sorry for me or not.”
He said it airily, as though he was thoroughly pleased with himself.
“I tell you I don’t care! I don’t care two hoots for the Billiard Club, nor for my practice, nor for any young widows who might be waiting for me in Switzerland!”
Jane was completely bewildered. She gave a meaning look at her husband, jerking her head toward the bottle. No doubt she thought Kuperus was drunk.
“You’d never understand that. All you’re concerned with is your petty reputations in this petty little town. I don’t mind betting Jane took an hour to get ready to come here, and I daresay she even went to the hairdresser’s this morning, so as to be properly dolled up for the occasion!…A lot of good it’s done her!… But it had to be done. Just because it always has been.”
He opened the door and shouted across the hall:
“Neel! Bring another bottle, will you, my precious!”
Turning back into the room, he looked at Alice’s photograph, which he picked up.
“In her time, it would have seemed very uncalled for to produce a second bottle of wine.
‘Really, Hans! What are you thinking of? People will be taking us for drunkards!’. . . What a lot of nonsense. All for the sake of a pack of fools…”
“Hans!” pleaded Jane once again.
“ ‘Hans! Hans!’ ” He imitated her high-pitched voice. “You won’t get anywhere with your ‘Hans! Hans!’ Hans doesn’t care a damn for you, and he’s not going to Switzerland or the South of France or anywhere else just to oblige the townsfolk of Sneek, who are beginning to be scared of him!”
He stopped, surprised himself by what he had said. He looked narrowly at the others, but they made no sign. Neel came in with another bottle of Burgundy, and as she uncorked it he patted her thigh familiarly.
After shutting the door, he came back to his guests, running his hand across his forehead.
“What were we saying? Won’t you sit down again? It’s not time for you to go yet. Don’t forget: it’s half past six you’re supposed to go, except on the second Thursday of the month, when you have dinner thrown in…”
Jane turned toward her husband.
“Franz!… Do say something… Stop him… Don’t let him drink any more.”
Kuperus poured himself a glass of wine, which, having come straight from the cellar, was cold and sharp.
“Look here, Hans! Do be reasonable…”
“No.”
Jane had been blowing her nose until it was red, a tiny little button nose that now looked like an unripe cherry.
“At first you behaved with great dignity, and everybody was grateful to you for it.”
“Thanks.”
“We’d better go now… Think over what we’ve said, and remember that we only said it out of affection for you…”
“Thanks again.”
“Come on, Jane. Are you ready?”
She nodded and moved toward the door. Halfway there, however, she turned around to say:
“I can’t bear leaving you like this…And I can’t help thinking…”
“That I’ll do something rash? You needn’t worry. As soon as you’re gone, I’ll call Neel, and we’ll chat quietly till it’s time for us to go to bed… You see how things are. You’re the first people to be told officially, but I’m sure the neighbors have a pretty shrewd idea by now… For the last few days she’s even been having her meals with me. It makes a little company for me. You see, I’m not used to eating alone…”
“Let’s go, Franz!”
And Jane fled. She was in such a hurry that she put her arm in the wrong sleeve of her coat. It was a coat she had modeled on one of Alice’s, except that Alice’s was cinnamon, whereas hers was blue-gray.
“Shall I see you tomorrow?” asked Franz, holding out his hand.
“Tomorrow and every other day… To my mind, the president of a club ought to be regular in his attendance. So until you throw me out…”
“Nonsense!”
“Good-bye, good night, sleep well!…As a matter of fact, I’m sure you’ll both sleep abominably. As for you, Jane, don’t fail to be on your veranda tomorrow to see me pass!”
He glanced into the street, at the stone parapet by the canal, the bollards between the trees, the shaped gables of the houses opposite. When he shut the door, he stood still for a moment, his hand to his heart, since once again he had that sudden feeling of constriction that had caused him so much alarm. For a second he thought of calling one of his colleagues, a heart specialist who had seen him previously and had told him it was nothing to worry about.
It seemed to him strange for some reason to be alone in the empty hall, standing under the light, which was in the form of a lantern with colored glass sides. At the far end was the kitchen door, whose frosted-glass panels were lit up. Now and again a shadow moved across them.
Upstairs all was darkness. Here, the umbrella stand, which also had its history. Another little quarrel. Alice had given it to him for his birthday, and his idea of a birthday present was something for your own personal use. So annoyed had he been that he had threatened to give her a box of cigars for hers.
How silly it all was! And how far, far away! Like the coatstand. Alice had wanted one of fumed oak, he one of bamboo. There’d been an argument, Alice maintaining that bamboo was common.
They had bought one of fumed oak with bronze pegs and a bevel-edged looking-glass in the middle. They had bought it at Versma’s, the best furniture store in Sneek.
Kuperus could follow the Van Malderens all the way home. Jane, as always hanging on her husband’s arm, out of breath because he took such long strides. And it wasn’t hard to guess that they’d be talking about him…
And then their arrival home, to their newly built house, one of the smartest in town… Jane heaving a sigh of satisfaction as she took off her outdoor shoes, which cramped her feet.
Like a nightmare, the discomfort in his chest passed off. He crossed the hall and opened the kitchen door. The new maid, Beetje, was ironing, while Neel was cutting thin slices of cheese.
“When would you like dinner?” she asked.
“As soon as possible. You can set the table now.”
He was tired all of a sudden. Was there a chance of their doing anything to him in the Billiard Club? Would they have the courage to replace him? It was an important question. It wasn’t the billiards that counted, but the circle of people who made up the club. All the best people belonged, and there was nothing in Sneek that quite compared with it. Even the café itself was not like any other. If it wasn’t exactly reserved for the notabilities of the town, few went there who did not come under that classification, and when they did, they were generally made to feel out of place.
If they asked him to resign, it could only mean that they suspected him. In fact, it would almost amount to a public accusation.
Rather than that, they had approached Franz Van Malderen… Franz had spoken to his wife… His wife had invited herself to tea… And, after a little maneuvering, she had broached the subject of a trip abroad. And the young widow! Of course, if he married abroad, there was all the less chance of his ever coming back.
When Neel came in with the tablecloth, he was still holding his wife’s photograph. Suddenly conscious of it, he put it down quickly, but not before she had seen it.
“There are too many things in here,” he said roughly. “We must get rid of some of these photographs.”
To which Neel answered:
“It wouldn’t be right.”
For the life of her, she couldn’t have given a reason. It was always like that with her. It just wasn’t the thing to do. It wouldn’t be right.
He shrugged his shoulders, then paused to study her. Jane had not failed to notice the change in her. Her hair was neatly done and her whole appearance showed signs of care. Kuperus even came to the conclusion she must be using face powder.
He had told the truth when he’d boasted of having her eat with him. It had started only a few days before.
“Why don’t you sit down?” he had said as she stood waiting.
“I wouldn’t like to.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not the right thing.”
“Well, you’re going to do it anyway!” he had snapped. “From now on you’re going to have your meals with me. Do you hear that?”
She had hardly been able to swallow a thing, but all the same she had had a meal with him, and with that a new custom had been inaugurated. As for Beetje, Kuperus didn’t bother about what she might think. On the contrary, he positively flaunted his relationship with Neel, going into the kitchen at night on purpose to say:
“Coming to bed, Neel? Good night, Beetje.”
Beetje didn’t seem to understand. Or if she did, it was a matter of complete indifference to her. She worked twelve to fourteen hours a day, and to judge by the expression on her face — or the lack of it — she didn’t have a thought in her head the whole day long.
“You can leave the wine here,” he said.
Half the second bottle was left. And habit was so strong in him that he couldn’t help getting out the special silver-mounted cork, which they had always used for bottles that had been opened. It was part of a plated service that had come from The Hague. They had chosen it from a catalogue, and within two years the plating had worn off.
“I’m tired, Neel,” he sighed, sinking back into the chair in which Van Malderen had sat.
And when the meal was served he complained:
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’d better eat something… It’s not good to go to bed on an empty stomach.”
Exactly what his wife would have said, or Jane Van Malderen, or any other woman, for that matter.
“They came about the electricity,” added Neel, “and I paid the bill.”
And every object was in its exact place, immutably, unbearably in its place!
* * *
SIX
« ^ »
Still only half awake, Neel had not had time to light the kitchen fire and was warming up the coffee on a gas ring. Kuperus had shaved with cold water. He reached the kitchen at the same time at Beetje, who had obviously just been wrenched from her sleep, too.
“I’ll have it here,” he said.
He sat down at a corner of the table. Neel gave him his coffee, then stood dreamily watching him. It was six o’clock in the morning. It was March now, but it was still cold.
“Will you wear your fur coat?” she asked.
“I think I’d better.”
The streets were deserted. Carrying a small suitcase, Kuperus walked briskly toward the station, accompanied only by the sound of his own steps. Not till he got near the station was he joined by others, obviously making for the same place.
Suddenly it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d taken the train since the event had happened. The month before, he hadn’t even thought of the Biological Association, and apart from the monthly meetings he hardly ever went on a train.
The station was only just beginning to come to life. At the ticket office he had to knock on the shutter for it to be opened.
“Amsterdam. First class.”
It was only as Kuperus was going, ticket in hand, toward the barrier that he realized that the collector might know something. Why hadn’t he thought about it before? He held out his ticket and stared hard at the fair young man with bad teeth who punched it.
Would he have remembered that, on the night in question, Kuperus had not handed in his ticket, and had not even gotten off at Sneek?
Under the doctor’s stare, a look of surprise came into the other’s pale blue eyes and a line formed on his forehead, perhaps with the effort to remember. But there was nothing unusual in his voice as he said:
“Good morning, Doctor!”
It was a matter of a few seconds, not long enough to draw any conclusions. Yet the fact remained that the man had looked surprised and frowned slightly.
Kuperus took his usual seat in his usual carriage, where he was sure of being undisturbed.
As the train started off, a ray of sunshine lit up the sky just behind the sails of a windmill. It was exactly like a picture postcard or a holiday poster.
The doctor leaned forward to look at the man who had punched his ticket. The latter was standing on the platform looking back at him.
The important thing was to know what he would do, or whether he’d do anything. Would he remember not having seen Kuperus that night? If he was in doubt, he might even hunt through the used tickets. Surely they would be kept somewhere or other.
And then, would he go to the police? Kuperus had been seen getting into the train at Staveren, and the stationmasters would doubtless be able to say that he hadn’t got off at Hindeloopen, Workum, or IJlst.
So everything depended on the chance ideas that might enter a certain railwayman’s head. If he said anything, they’d know that Kuperus had got out of the train between stations. And if they knew that…
“Tell the boss to send me some dough. I mean it.”
That had been the last sentence in Karl’s letter to Neel. Nothing more. No particulars.
No threats. Karl was down and out and asking for money: that was all. Kuperus had taken his address, having decided to go and see him when he went to Amsterdam.
At eight o’clock they got to Staveren, where the boat was waiting alongside. The sun was already warm, and Kuperus regretted having worn his fur coat. The Zuider Zee was a pale silky blue, its rippled surface dotted with the sails of two or three dozen fishing boats.
Everything happened as usual. The train whistled, the ship’s bell rang. The passengers made straight for the saloon, where they ordered tea. Kuperus went down with the others, but saw nobody he knew. He couldn’t help feeling, however, that the steward looked at him in a rather peculiar way, so he changed his mind and went back on deck, where he sat with his suitcase beside him, staring first at the receding church spire of Staveren, then, a quarter of an hour later, at the town of Enkhuizen, lit up by the morning sun.
After all, the man at Sneek might only have been surprised by the way the doctor had looked at him. Or perhaps he’d simply been curious to see Kuperus after reading about the case in the papers.
