'Bah,' Hylkje squeaked.
'Harmless little chap,' de Gier said. 'Smells nice too. Just washed him with lemon-scented dishwash detergent. Here, Eddy, have some cheese.'
Hylkje held the morsel between her fingertips. Eddy snatched at it with darting little paws. His yellow teeth sank into the cheese.
'Now who would ever keep a rat?' Hylkje asked. 'I've got a rabbit. Durk looks better, and feels nice and flurry. Makes me itch a little at times, but otherwise he's the sweetest thing.'
'I've got a cat,' de Grier said.
Hylkje grabbed hold of Eddy and gave him back. De Gier took the rat upstairs. He came back in two bounds. Hylkje observed the sergeant's movements with approval. 'You wanted to upset me, right? Thought I would scream the ceiling down? Frighten the little woman? Missed out again?'
'Men are weaker,' de Gier said. 'I've known it for some time. I keep trying, but women always floor me. Doesn't take them long either. Now that I know it doesn't make me feel so bad.'
'What else do you have except a cat? A wyf? Bern'
'Don't know all the words yet,' de Gier said. 'Haven't met any bern yet in the local literature. Some Frisian animal that hasn't yet crossed the dike?'
'Frisian children.'
'Never had any,' de Gier said, 'of any source. I would really rather have nothing at all, but that's hard to get. There are the necessities. Got to live somewhere, and once you have an apartment, there's furniture that flies in, and plants on the balcony, and the cat sneaking about. There are always the complications. I've got neighbors, too, to look after the cat when I'm away.'
'You never have visitors?'
'Grijpstra drops in. Not too often. Too bulky. The apartment is small.'
'The adjutant is your friend?' Hylkje stared at the sergeant's chest.
'Yes.' De Gier analyzed Hylkje's steady gaze. 'Oh, you mean it that way? No, no, are you crazy?'
Hylkje jumped off the low seat and walked around de Gier. 'You sure, now? I hate to start off wrong. Last week I was shopping in the Gardens here, and there was this man, as handsome as you are, dressed well too, the very same type, a most attractive male. I smiled a bit and he didn't even see me, and then there were suddenly two of them. The other had been looking at a window display.'
'There's only one of me.'
'Not an uncommon variety,' Hylkje said. 'They pop up on the screen and on magazine covers. Wide shoulders and fall mustaches. Strong bones covered with firm flesh.'
'I'm a normal male,' de Gier said, 'at your service.'
'It'd be easier if you were married,' Hylkje said. 'You came up the dike, you're around for a few days, and then you're gone again, forever. No problems, if you can see what I mean. Durk and I have a good life, but a change… at times… variety… a dream…'
'Aren't you going a little far?' de Gier asked. 'I'm sorry I was silly enough to try and frighten you with Eddy. You've evened things out now, don't overdo it. I'm normal. I adore and cherish women.'
'Unattached males are often hard to handle,' Hylkje said. 'They make for heavy going. If they're married, there's something to pull them back and I'll be rid of them again.'
'Who's being hard to handle here?' de Gier asked. 'Did I throw myself at you? I thought we were going out for a beer?'
'Asshole,' Hylkje said, smiling politely.
De Gier grinned. He gave her his arm. They walked to the door together. He pulled his arm back and opened the door.
'Are you usually so well mannered?' Hylkje asked. 'Or is this an act for the occasion?'
'No,' de Gier said. 'I was taught to be civil, by my mother. If I wasn't, I was hit. Conditioned behavior. Pavlov's dog. Ring the bell and the animal slavers.'
'Is your mother still alive?'
'I take flowers to her grave,' de Gier said, 'every other Sunday. We hated each other, when we didn't share some love. I have her engagement photo above my bed. My father is in it too. He wears a bowler hat.'
Hylkje's car was a Deux Chevaux, high on its wheels and colored bright orange. She maneuvered it cleverly through winding alleys. A passing church tower pointed the hands of its clock straight up. 'Isn't it getting late?' de Gier asked. 'Surely provincial pubs close early?'
'Our beer house goes on until one, and later, for the likes of us.'
'The police?'
'And the other powers,' Hylkje said, 'as you will see.'
'And the ordinary folks? Common pleasure is cut off by midnight?'
Hylkje pointed at a square house straddling two canals. 'A sex club, open until four. Soft drugs are sold downstairs, and hard drugs in the loft.'
'With police protection?'
'The Municipal Police ignore the house somewhat. It's known as 'channeling the tension.' When they close everything down, they don't know where it goes. It's also a hangout for colonial types and citizens from the province next door. The foreign element, their private niche.'
The little car reached a square surrounded by impressive buildings. Hylkje defined their plastered gables. 'Provincial Government, the mayor's office, the Queen's representation. All the powers that lead us, and the pub in between, for when the pressure depresses.'
De Gier stopped to look at the stately stone shapes. High windows stared back, arrogantly sedate. Flowing walls ended in slowly rising gable tops holding up a golden lion stepping out of a sky-blue plaster frame. Downstairs, wide pavements led, step by slow step, to very large doors painted in lush greens offset by copper ornaments. From the square rose huge trees with overhanging branches, rustling their loads of leaves.
'Nice and quiet,' de Gier asked.*The law lives here?'
'We don't care for being told what to do,' Hylkje said. 'We have better ideas ourselves; the law knows that and hardly interferes. The result is peace, not the clamor you're used to in the nether parts.'
'Do you ever visit the other end of the dike?'
'I've been there. I was a cop in Amsterdam for a year. Some police like to swagger down there, and it invites reaction. Some motorcyclists rode me down one night. Hurt my leg, couldn't wear a dress for years. Scar tissue-the cylinder of my own bike burned my shin. They pushed me over from the side and were off again.'
'Revenge burns in your gentle soul?'
'A little less every day. A beer, Sergeant?'
The pub spread out under low, heavy beams. Hylkje was greeted by an aged bartender, hopping about spryly behind the weathered shelves and counters in the back. The glasses were foaming already, waiting to be beheaded by the wooden skimmer in the old man's bony hand.
'Working for the same boss?' the bartender asked, pointing his scraggly beard and gleaming sharp nose at de Gier.
'He's ours,' Hylkje said. 'But from down below. Maybe you can trust him, Doris.'
'Rinus,' de Gier said. 'All yours, forever after.'
'Don't stay long,' Doris cackled. 'Keep the bad elements down on your end. We've got it good here, and it may still last for a while.' The wrinkles around his eyes folded in and out. The dark beady eyes glinted. 'Meanwhile, enjoy what we can offer. Have her and strong beer.'
'He's here to work,' Hylkje said.
'I can recommend her,' Doris said loudly.
'That's enough,' Hylkje said, 'or we'll go to another pub.'
'Still have your cold?' Doris asked.
'It's my voice,' Hylkje said. 'If you weren't so decrepit and a little more male, you might find the low pitch exciting. Do your job, Doris, there are customers waiting.'
Doris was off, carrying a tray, shouting insults at clients in the rear. 'I quite like your voice,' de Gier said.
'You too? It isn't nice to criticize the voice of your hostess. People used to say I lowed.'
