“Yes.”
“Would you mind a personal question?”
“No.”
“Patient, isn’t he?” de Gier’s voice said close to Grijpstra’s ear. Grijpstra’s hands made an irritated flapping movement in response.
“You have a nickname, Mr. Vleuten. You are called die baboon. It would seem to me that you wouldn’t like that nickname. A baboon is an ape. I would have expected pictures of baboons in this room, maybe even skeletons of baboons.”
The baboon laughed. “I have several mirrors here, I can see the baboon anytime I wish to, and often when I don’t wish to.” The laugh was relaxed and spread to the three detectives.
“True. Another question, something that interests me, it has nothing to do with why we are here. Your effort is to do the opposite of what is expected and your effort must require strength. It is easier to glide along the groove. You are exerting yourself to go against that movement, to break out of the groove altogether, perhaps. Does that effort get you anywhere?”
The baboon had come back to his chair and sat down. His flat strong hands rested on his knees. “An intriguing question.”
“Yes. Would you answer it?”
“Why not? But I don’t think I can. Perhaps the vision I tried to describe just now set me off. Everything was going so well at that time, you see. I was, in a way, making a career. I was selling unbelievable quantities of furniture. My income was based, in part, on commission, so I was earning a fair amount of money. On top of that I could have the business, the control of it, anyway. Bergen had weakened to the point where he was ready to have himself pushed out. Elaine wanted to marry me and it wouldn’t have been an impossible match, we are of the same age and I was fond of her. But nothing was happening.”
“How do you mean, Mr. Vleuten?”
“I was just driving a car, visiting customers, going home in the evenings, resting during the weekends. I had a boat, of course, and there were other pastimes, hobbies. I read, I painted a little. But still nothing was happening. I just moved along.”
“And you were bored?”
“No. I became bored after that drunken night. It seemed there was something else. But whatever that something else was, it was certainly frightening. The rat and the little boy, the skeleton threatening me. I don’t know whether you felt threatened just now, as it lunged at you from the cupboard. Perhaps to you it was just a silly shape like something you see at a carnival, something you scream at and then forget again. To me the shapes were much more, they came out of my own mind, out of the hidden part of my mind, and they were very strong. I was frightened throughout the vision, but I was also fascinated even while I was being tortured by the little boy-he isn’t as harmless as he looks, you know-and chased by his rat and even as the cow shape attacked me over and over again, hurting me badly every time. And it wasn’t just masochism. I don’t particularly enjoy being in pain, but yet…”
“You decided consciously to live with your fear? To deliberately recreate it?”
“I decided to try that. I’m not original. I’m quite content to follow ways already explored. I assume that you are acquainted with the work of Bosch, Breughel. There have been others, also now, the films of Fellini, for instance. And there are writers, poets, even composers…”
“Many who follow those paths go mad, Mr. Vleuten. They commit suicide, are found hanging in alleys, afloat in the canals, lifeless in gutters. We find them, our patrol cars bring them in and dump them in the morgue.”
The baboon’s chest expanded as he breathed. “No, the corpses you find have a different history. Drug addicts and alcoholics are caught in a groove too, they slip into habits like average citizens. I want to do something else, really do something, not to slip into a ready-made pattern that has, at the best, some moments of high perception but leads to utter degeneration eventually. The idea is not so bad perhaps; it’s romantic to be a tramp, I thought of that possibility. I even spent some time in Paris studying clochards, but I decided that their way of life is both uncomfortable and unnecessary and leads to what most lives lead to, a half-conscious dream that turns in a half- circle. The clochards I followed around had to beg or steal. I didn’t want to do that, even though the idea of being nothing, having nothing, not even a name, did appeal to me. But I wouldn’t want to break into some tourist’s car to be able to buy my next bottle or teaspoon of drugs. Why should I spoil another man’s vacation? The tourist has his rights too. I don’t quarrel with the ideals or lack of ideals of others. But it was interesting to live with the clochards for a while. Some of them were as sinister, as horrible, as my vision, but it seemed that I could prick through them. They were shadows, my vision was more real.”
“The clochards weren’t getting anywhere, you mean?”
“Oh, they were somewhere all right, in hell. A hell of boredom, not so different from my own when I was selling a lot of furniture.”
“And now, are you bored now?”
“No.”
“Happy?”
The baboon shook his head. “Happy! that’s a silly word. It has to with security, there is no security. The only thing we can ever be secure about is the knowledge that we will die.”
“Do you feel that you are getting anywhere?”
“No, but perhaps I am approaching…”
“Approaching what?”
The sergeant was listening with such concentration that his eyes had become slits. The conversation, intense, almost ominous in its inward direction, sounded familiar. He could understand both the significance of the questions and the penetration of the answers. It seemed, and the possibility didn’t appear so ludicrous later when he thought back on it, that the meeting between baboon and commissaris was staged for his own personal benefit. There was an accord between the old man and the bizarre figure opposite him that didn’t have to be stressed, they would have understood each other without the question-and-answer game. But some of de Gier’s own thoughts were being clarified in a way that made the game seem staged.
He glanced at Grijpstra, but the adjutant’s initial fascination had ebbed away. De Gier knew that Grijpstra had gone back to his task, the apprehension of Elaine Camet’s killer. He guessed, and the guess was substantiated later when he talked about the investigation again, that Grijpstra thought that the commissaris was only interested in determining the suspect’s character, to see if he could be fitted into the facts they had collected about Elaine’s death. No more, no less. The ideal policeman.
“A mystery perhaps.” The baboon’s answer had a mocking overtone. His hand, each finger moving individually, mocked the answer.
“Yes, a mystery,” the commissaris said pleasantly. “A useless word, I agree. Well, sir, we’ll be going. Just a last question about Mrs. Camet’s death. Could you think of anyone who would derive some pleasure, some gain, from her death? There are a number of suspects we are interrogating. There is Mr. Bergen, young Mr. Pullini, Gabrielle too, of course. There may be others, people Mrs. Camet employed, perhaps. We found a man, a certain Mr. de Bree, a neighbor, who tried to poison Gabrielle Camet’s dog some days ago.”
The baboon didn’t answer.
“You have no ideas that could be of help to us?”
“Only negative ideas. Mr. Bergen is mainly a businessman. He was, when I knew him, quite happy to run the business, I don’t think he wanted to own it. And with Elaine’s death he will still only own a quarter of the shares, the quarter she gave him years ago, the other three-quarters will go to Gabrielle. Did you mention Pullini?”
“Yes, Francesco Pullini. He is in town just now. We saw him briefly today, he isn’t feeling well.”
“I know Francesco. He dealt with Bergen, not with Elaine.”
The commissaris sat up and massaged his thighs.
“Is that so? I understood that Mrs. Carnet did pay attention to the Pullini connection, chose merchandise, determined the size of the orders, and so on.”
The baboon shook his head. “Not really, that was just a charade. Bergen liked to work on Francesco and he sometimes got Elaine to help. Tricks: he would give a very large order to get a good price and then he would later halve it and say that Elaine had made the decision, or he might delay the order altogether, also to get a better price.”
