holiday.'
The masks sprouted blunt horns, and blood dripped from the eyes.
'Expressive,' Grijpstra said.
'I changed my interests and collected Fellini.' Joop pointed at stacked videotapes. 'I want that included in my obituary.'
'Joop,' Sara warned.
'Not in the Rotterdam Times,' Joop said, 'I know I'm not on that level. Maybe in the Nieuwegein Advertiser!' He was rubbing his hands. 'What do you think, policeman? You think that my regression from present-day pop art to a nostalgic interest in surrealism, due to reliving World War II horrors, will make good copy?'
'So that poor old man in Central Park was Dutch,' Sara said. 'He spoke English to us. Amazing. Our running into a Dutchman in Central Park, I mean.'
'Nothing out-of-the-way about that,' Joop said. 'Holland is rich so we Dutch can travel. New York welcomes big spenders. Six jumbos a day on the transatlantic route. 'Step right up, step right up.'' He made inviting gestures. 'We're bound to stumble into each other in Central Park.'
'Did that poor man survive?' Sara asked. 'He seemed to be feeling very bad. The horse kicked him, you know. There he was, spinning and turning. And that uniformed hussy just rode off.'
'Uniformed hussy,' Grijpstra said. 'What uniformed hussy would that be?'
'The policewoman,' Sara said. 'We had been watching the poor man for a while, you see. So had she. From high up on her huge horse.'
'Well,' Joop said, 'that's what you thought, Sara. We can't know for sure. She was wearing sunglasses.'
'To answer your question,' Grijpstra said, 'yes, the old man died. He was found in the azalea bushes the next morning. So the police horse kicked him?'
'Just a little,' Sara said. 'There was a lot going on. They had a big balloon beast going up for the kids, on the meadow, some kind of dinosaur.'
'Tyrannosaurus rex,' Joop said. 'Enormous. Made from multicolor balloons stuck together.'
'And there was a jazz group playing, on a big bandstand.'
'Don't underestimate jazz,' said Joop. 'Even if I collect classical myself I admit that jazz is a superior art form.' He looked at de Gier.
De Gier nodded.
'We had been listening to the music,' Sara said. 'And watching all the costumed people. There was a contest going on. Look-alikes of famous movie characters. Madonna in garters. Monroe pretending her skirt was caught in a draft. Marlon Brando dancing the last tango. Yves Montand being seduced by Catherine Deneuve.'
'Mayor Koch was one of the judges,' Joop said. 'Odd-looking man but his speech was funny.'
'But this man you came about,' Sara said. 'He was the most impressive. He reminded me of a professor I had when I was studying interior decoration in Utrecht.'
'He wasn't part of the contest, was he?'
Sara seemed sure. 'Oh no, not at all.'
'I can see you are an interior decorator, that you are visually perceptive,' Grijpstra said, looking about the apartment, noting open spaces and a different way of lighting. 'Could you describe the man, please?'
'A tall majestic old man wearing plus fours,' Sara said. 'Like mountaineers do. Old-fashioned trousers that tie up half-way between knee and ankle. And a waistcoat and jacket, all dark brown tweed, a matching outfit. White shirt, buttoned down. Plaid tie. Long white beard. High forehead. Sharp nose. Bushy eyebrows. Lovely blue eyes. Polished boots and cream woolen stockings. A full head of hair.'
'Sara loves hairy types,' Joop said. 'He struck me as a performer. He was standing absolutely still when Sara first saw him, but I had noticed the fellow before. He was skipping about then, an unlikely thing for a sage to do.'
'Where was I,' Sara asked, 'when he skipped?'
'Going kootchy-coo at a baby.'
'A sage?' Grijpstra asked.
'A kind of Voltaire type. You've heard of Voltaire?' Joop asked. 'He had that sort of world-waking aura, but he looked rather like George Bernard Shaw. You've heard of George Bernard Shaw?'
Grijpstra looked at de Gier.
De Gier nodded.
'Yes,' Grijpstra said. 'He looked like them, did he?'
'Upper-class prophet,' Sara said. 'That's what he seemed like to me. Not crazy looking, but decent. After the skipping he stood at a crossing-still, like a statue, on one leg, leaning forward. Posing, in an exaggerated attitude, for effect. Very startling. You couldn't help noticing the man, and wondering what he was up to.'
'Kids went over and touched him,' Joop said. 'Making sure he was real.' He nodded. 'Excellent performer. A showman. You know?'
'And then we became aware of the mounted cop, also watching him,' Sara said. 'Mounted cops look nice in America. Not operatic-looking, like here. No long coats and stupid hats. In America their wear blue helmets. And that policewoman had a long ponytail. She wore a smart uniform. Dark riding pants, a blue starched shirt. A lot of leather. High boots. Belt.'
'Nice-Nazi,' Joop said. 'Gun belt with hardware, complete, all the sidearms and a two-way radio with waving antenna. Like in Star Wars. I liked those films,' Joop said. 'I don't like the police myself, of course. They're all fascists, you know. Will do anything when ordered. Like in the war when they picked up my parents. Dutch cops did that, because the Germans said to take all Jews to the railway station. If I hadn't been playing outside they would have kicked me into a boxcar too. To gas me in Treblinka.'
'Yes,' Grijpstra said.
'Nothing personal,' Joop said. 'Obedience to authority goes with being human. We like to follow orders. Gets us up in the morning. We like violence too. Now there are Jewish police on the West Bank and in Gaza. Doing the same thing. Then that will turn around and they'll be beating us up again.' Joop smiled, impressed with the exactitude of his argument. 'Maybe humanity can evolve though? Suddenly twist its genes and become a new species?'
'Joop,' Sara warned.
'So the Central Park female police officer on horseback caused her mount to kick Termeer?' Grijpstra asked. 'That was his name, by the way, the name of the man you call a prophet. She attacked Bert Termeer, using her horse as a weapon?'
'No,' Joop said. 'That's to say, not on purpose. This Termeer was standing still, like a statue of someone, about to take off at speed, and then suddenly he did. He leaped onto the path, to start skipping again-the other part of his act-and the horse reared and its hoof struck him.'
'The policewoman ignored that?' Grijpstra asked. 'She rode off? Left the scene of an accident without taking proper action?'
'No,' Sara said. 'She dismounted and asked him if he was okay. He said he was, and then she rode off. But he wasn't okay. Soon after that the man-Mr. Termeer- started reeling and swaying. We helped him over to a bench. The policewoman was still in view, riding about in the meadow where the people were bopping to jazz from the bandstand. When we started yelling and waving, she came back and got nasty.'
'Ordered us 'on our way,'' Joop said. 'We're not the kind of people that can be ordered around, you know. We complained about her. Left our card at the Park Precinct.'
'Of course,' Sara said, 'we didn't expect to get any response.'
'You didn't get the messages the NYPD left on your machine?' Grijpstra said.
Sara blushed.
'Before we went on our trip I bought a new answering machine,' Joop said. 'When we came home Sara pressed the wrong button and erased everything. So this gentleman-Termeer-died, did he? What of, do you know?'
'Maybe a heart attack,' Grijpstra said. 'The body was found in some azalea bushes, dressed in rags, partly covered by a filthy blanket. Animals had consumed some of the corpse. Mr. Termeer's dentures were found at a distance from the body.' The adjutant produced the faxed NYPD report and accompanying photograph, which had
