The Book of Everything Page 5

  “I only said what I’ve learnt from you,” said Margot virtuously. She chewed her meat enthusiastically. “Nice meal, Mama.”

  Mother glanced at her and smiled.

  “So tomorrow,” Father said loudly. “Tomorrow …” His voice cracked. “Tomorrow you will go and see Mr. de Rijp and apologize.”

  “Okay, Papa,” said Margot. She did not look at her father. “Shall I do your hair later, Mama?”

  “What is this world coming to?” Father exclaimed. “I just can’t believe it. You will read all the books that are assigned, understood?”

  “Yes, Papa,” said Margot. “Shall I plait it for you, Mama?”

  “That would be nice, Margot,” said Mother.

  “Do you know Alone in the World?” Thomas asked Father. “It’s about a boy who is all alone in the world.”

  But Father didn’t hear. He angrily mashed his potatoes with his fork.

  “That book is sad,” said Thomas. “But it is exciting too.”

  He felt Mother’s hand on his head. “Eat up, Thomas,” she said.

  When Mother said that, he knew he’d better keep his mouth shut for a while.

  “Why don’t you say something?” Father said. “She is your daughter too, you know.”

  Mother looked at him. “Ah,” she said. “You say all that so much better than I could.”

  An icy silence followed.

  “Smart aleck,” Thomas thought. “Good word. Must remember it.”

  “So where did you get that book from?” Father asked suddenly.

  “Book?” said Thomas.

  “Alone in the World,” said Father impatiently.

  Thomas felt rigid with fear.

  “From me,” Margot said casually.

  Thomas looked at her, speechless.

  “Oh,” said Father. He looked distrustful. “And how did you get hold of it?”

  “A Saint Nicholas Day present years ago,” said Margot.

  Father bent over his plate.

  “He’s eating,” thought Thomas, relieved.

  Father read about the third plague of Egypt: all the world’s dust changed into gnats. Everyone was bitten viciously. The whole world was itching. But Thomas knew Mother did not want it, so a plague like that was no use to him. A different plan was needed to change Pharaoh’s heart. But Thomas could not think of any plan.

  Father closed the Bible. “Let us pray,” he said. He folded his hands and closed his eyes. “Lord our God …”

  “Listen to this, Thomas,” Thomas heard. It was the Lord Jesus. He stood calling in the wilderness. “I haven’t had an easy time with my father either, you know.”

  “Really?” asked Thomas.

  “Really,” said the Lord. “He was very strict. I had to be nailed to the Cross whether I wanted to or not.”

  “Oh yes,” said Thomas. “That wasn’t very nice for you.”

  “No,” said the Lord. “It happened once, but never again. And now I’ve lost Him on top of it all.”

  “Who?” asked Thomas.

  “God the Father,” said the Lord Jesus. “I can’t find Him anywhere. Searched all over Heaven. Very strange. He disappeared after your last beating. I think it got to be too much for Him.”

  “You think?” Thomas asked.

  “I think He loved you very much, Thomas, and that He couldn’t bear it anymore. That is my personal opinion.”

  “In the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, amen,” said Father.

  “Bye, Jesus,” Thomas whispered. And then the doorbell rang.

  Aunt Pie came storming up the stairs. Thomas stood at the top of the stairs waiting for her. It was as if the sun was rolling into the house. With Aunt Pie, warmth streamed into the cold hallway.

  “Hello, my boy,” said Aunt Pie. She was wearing a large hat fastened with a hatpin. She kissed Thomas from underneath her hat.

  “Hello, Aunt Pie,” said Thomas.

  He always liked it when Aunt Pie came. But this time was different. Aunt Pie did not look happy. Her face was covered in red spots.

  “You’re such a gorgeous boy,” she said. Her voice sounded hoarse, as if she had been crying. She walked on and sailed into the living room with her flapping hat. She went up to the table, planted her hands on her hips, and called, “Benno has hit me!”

  The earth trembled and Heaven held its breath. The birds in the trees fell silent and the wind died down. Church bells started ringing of their own accord and trams ground to a halt. Uncle Benno had hit Aunt Pie! Bewilderment spread through the land.

  “And do you know why?” shouted Aunt Pie. “Because I bought a pair of slacks! He hit me because I was wearing trousers! Has he gone completely off his head?”

  Mother, Margot, Thomas, and Father stared at Aunt Pie as if she were a ghost. Father had gone pale. Then he said, “Margot and Thomas, go to your room. Aunt Pie and I have something to discuss.”

  “No, not at all!” said Aunt Pie. “There’s nothing secret about it.” She looked from Margot to Thomas and back again. “Margot, Thomas, your Uncle Benno has hit your Aunt Pie. There.”

  “Have a seat, Pie,” said Mother. She got up and pulled over a chair. Aunt Pie sat down.

  “And I think that you” — Aunt Pie stabbed her finger at Father — “that you, as his eldest brother, need to go and talk with him. You have to tell him that he just cannot do this. If not, I am going to stand in front of our house with a placard that says ‘Mr. Klopper Beats His Wife Because She Wears Trousers.’ So there. Has he gone totally bonkers?”

  “Calm down, Pie,” said Father with a trembling voice. “It is simply a fact of life that the man is the head of the household …”

  “But that doesn’t mean he has to go about belting everybody!” exclaimed Aunt Pie.

  “Listen, Pie,” Father said severely. “Let me finish. It is the man’s task to lead and instruct his wife and children. And if they refuse to listen to him, he has no choice but to …”

  “Beat?” screamed Aunt Pie.

  “… but to take severe measures. That is how God has ordained things. God has also ordained that women wear dresses and men, trousers.”

  Aunt Pie grinned maliciously. “Ludicrous!” she shouted.

  Father raised his voice. “And if you obstinately resist God’s commandments, your husband has the right, no, the duty, to compel you to obey, with a hard hand if need be.”

  Aunt Pie regarded Father mockingly. “Oh, is that so?” she said sweetly. She opened her handbag and produced a packet of cigarettes. She drew one out and lit it, then blew a cloud of smoke at the light. “Okay,” she said. “You are obviously useless. But I tell you this: If Benno hits me just once more, I’m off, and he’ll never see me again. And from now on, all I’ll wear is trousers. Look.”

  She lifted one leg above the table. It was covered by a pink trouser leg. She winked at Thomas. “Don’t you agree, my sweet?”

  Thomas quickly glanced at Father. “Blank’s my name,” he thought.

  “What’s happened to your nose, anyway?” Aunt Pie asked Mother. “You haven’t been resisting God’s commandments, I hope?”

  “No, nothing,” Mother said awkwardly. She looked at the tablecloth. There were a few gravy stains on it.

  “Only joking,” said Aunt Pie. “So how come your nose is so swollen?”

  “Oh, nothing,” said Mother. “I bumped into something.”

  “Into the aquarium,” said Margot. “Didn’t she, Papa?”

  Thomas felt the fear in his stomach. “Don’t, Margot,” he thought. “Don’t needle.”

  Aunt Pie puffed small clouds of smoke up at the ceiling. “Yes,” she said. “They can do nasty things to you, those aquariums. I’m forever bumping into aquariums, usually with my nose.”

  “Shall I make some coffee?” said Mother nervously.

  “Not for me,” said Aunt Pie. She looked at Father venomously. “I have suddenly realized something,” she said. “You’re just as big a coward as your brother.”

  “Pi
e,” said Mother. “You’re mistaken….”

  Aunt Pie squashed her cigarette on Father’s plate. “Duty calls,” she said. “Back to my pious husband with the flapping hands. But I’ll teach him! You just watch me!”

  She bent and kissed Mother, then Margot, and finally Thomas. “We’re not going to take things lying down, are we?” she said. Then she sailed out of the room with her hat and floated down the stairs.

  Silence descended. No one dared look at anyone. Thomas could smell Aunt Pie. Her smoke and her perfume still hung under the light.

  “Isn’t it time you did your homework, Margot?” Father asked. His voice sounded like an empty bucket.

  “Yes, Papa, but first I’ll do Mama’s hair.”

  “Oh,” said Father. He got up. “I’ve got things to do for work,” he said. He withdrew into the side room, where his desk stood.

  “How did you like those frogs?” asked Mrs. van Amersfoort.

  Thomas was surprised. He was sitting in the chair with the carved legs. A black cat was rubbing against his legs.

  “Quite good,” he said. “But Mama doesn’t want this.”

  “I can imagine,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “It was rather meant to be a joke. I think it’s actually not a very practical plague.”

  Thomas took a gulp of his cordial to recover from the shock. Mrs. van Amersfoort was a powerful witch. Much more powerful even than he had thought.

  “Listen to this,” she said. “This is fun.” A small book lay in her lap. “You’ve got an aquarium, haven’t you?”

  Thomas nodded. Mrs. van Amersfoort knew everything.

  “Listen,” she said. She put her glasses on and read aloud.

  Master Sweet

  washed his feet

  on Saturdays in the aquarium.

  And as he splashed

  and as he splattered

  he warbled: “Hum-tiddly-um-tum!”

  When she had finished, she gave Thomas a questioning glance. “Well, what do you think?”

  “Funny,” said Thomas seriously.

  “I think she’s such a wonderful writer, Annie M. G. Schmidt,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “She writes for the newspaper.”

  “Oh,” said Thomas. “But what does that poem mean?”

  “Nothing, really,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “It’s just fun.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Thomas. He considered. It was just fun.

  “Music usually means nothing much either,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “It is just beautiful.”

  “Yes, yes,” he said. “Just beautiful. Now I see.”

  “The forest and the sea don’t mean anything either, do they,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “Forest is forest and sea is sea. You can enjoy them.”

  “Yes, yes,” said Thomas. “Enjoy.” He thought about the beach and the sea. About building sand castles against the tide. Of catching shrimps in a net. “We go to Zandvoort for the day sometimes,” he said.

  “And how do you like that?”

  “Great,” Thomas sighed.

  “And what does Zandvoort mean?” she asked.

  Thomas laughed. He had understood. “Nothing,” he said. “It’s just great.”

  The cat jumped onto his lap. It was warm and soft. He could feel the purring right through his body. It was just good to be at Mrs. van Amersfoort’s place, even though her husband had been shot dead with guns.

  “Will you do something for me?” she asked.

  “Of course,” said Thomas.

  “Will you read to me? Here.” Mrs. van Amersfoort put the book by Annie M. G. Schmidt down on top of the cat in his lap. “Start at the beginning.”

  Thomas felt himself blush. At school, he often had to read aloud, but he had never done it in someone’s home. It was a strange feeling. He opened the book and began.

  At first, he stumbled over some of the words. But it quickly became easier. At times, Mrs. van Amersfoort laughed. He didn’t know why. He was too busy reading.

  It was miraculous. Weren’t these supposed to be children’s rhymes? So why did they make a grown-up person laugh? He raised his eyes from his book occasionally so he could see her face. When she laughed, funny wrinkles darted from her mouth to her ears. Her head nodded as if she were saying, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” And without him noticing, she had grown two plaits, bows and all.

  At first, Thomas didn’t know what he was seeing, but that didn’t last long. He saw that Mrs. van Amersfoort was not an old lady, but an old little girl. She might jump out of her chair any moment and grab her jump rope. That’s what she looked like.

  Thomas read and read. Mrs. van Amersfoort was a witch, but now she was under a spell herself. That was a good feeling. Thomas wanted never to stop reading aloud, never.

  “That was lovely,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort when Thomas had read five poems. “But now I need a rest. You know, my husband used to read aloud to me. We always enjoyed that so much.” The plaits had gone, and so had the bows. Her gray bun was back.

  “I think I shall start a reading-aloud club,” said Thomas.

  “What a good idea,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort.

  “With music in the breaks,” said Thomas. “We’ll need a program, otherwise people won’t know what to expect. For instance:

  “Item one: Psalm 22, recited by Thomas Klopper, because I already know that one by heart.

  “Item two: Music from Mrs. van Amersfoort’s portable gramophone.

  “Item three: Emil and the Detectives, chapter one, read by Thomas Klopper.

  “Item four: Music from Mrs. van Amersfoort’s portable gramophone.

  “Item five …”

  “Very good, excellent,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “How come you know that psalm by heart?”

  “We have to know a psalm by heart every Monday for school,” said Thomas.

  “How about saying it for me?” said Mrs. van Amersfoort.

  “Okay,” said Thomas.

  He gently pushed the cat from his lap, stood up, and said:

  (WARNING: You can safely skip the poem Thomas is about to recite. It is totally unreadable!)

  My God, my God, oh why have you abandoned me, oh why?

  And why do you forsake me while in grief I groan and cry

  And struggle ’gainst the bitter blows the evil fiend still sends.

  And if I pray at daybreak or implore you when day ends,

  My pleas remain unheard, your silence puts me to the test:

  I suffer still and from my tribulations find no rest.

  “Goodness gracious,” exclaimed Mrs. van Amersfoort when Thomas had finished. “Very clever. And so cheerful for children, don’t you think?”

  Thomas sat down. “Eh … yes,” he said. “But it is very difficult to learn by heart, you know.”

  “I could never do it,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “Good, so now you have a reading-aloud club and a program. And where are you going to do it?”

  “What do you mean, where?” said Thomas, surprised.

  “Well,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “A club needs a meeting place. Where is the meeting place?”

  Thomas suddenly felt embarrassed. He knew where, but he didn’t dare say it.

  “I know what we’ll do,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “We’ll do it here, but the program will have to be changed a little. You read poems by Annie M. G. Schmidt, and I take care of the audience.”

  “Good,” said Thomas.

  “Take the book home with you,” said Mrs. van Amersfoort. “So you can practice.”

  Thomas went home and practiced till he was cross-eyed.

  It was a windy day with a lot of rain. A day that would shake the world. For ever after, trams would scream as they rounded a corner. Men walked through the streets with grim faces, not liking one another.

  “It seemed like an ordinary day,” Thomas wrote in The Book of Everything. “But that was because I hadn’t paid proper attention. I should have known, because my ears were already ringing when I woke up. My window was rattling, so I cou
ldn’t think. And I couldn’t find my socks.”

  But good things had happened too on that day. When Thomas was walking home from school, he saw Eliza coming out of Mrs. van Amersfoort’s house. That surprised him. He had never seen Eliza there before.

  She came up to him, creak, creak, and spread her arms. “Come here, my favorite friend,” she said. She embraced him and pressed him firmly against her chest. That was nice, for it felt as if his head lay on a bouncy pillow. He looked up into her face. Eliza had put lipstick on. When she smiled at him, he thought he would expire on the spot. “And I wouldn’t have minded at all,” he wrote in The Book of Everything. “Luckily she held me for a long while and I thought, ‘Girls are nice.’ I will never forget that, because I never forget anything. I write everything down. This too: ‘Perhaps Eliza cannot find a boyfriend because she has a leather leg and a bad hand. Perhaps she is waiting for me to grow up a bit. My good fortune.’”

  “Mrs. van Amersfoort tells me you’re very good at reading aloud,” said Eliza. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Then she let go of Thomas. She left a terrible emptiness. “I’ll wait for you forever,” Thomas whispered. But once she turned the corner, he waited no longer. His ears buzzed. He rang the bell and Mother opened the door.

  “Hello, Mama,” he said.

  “Hello, my dream prince,” said Mother. Her nose had healed quite well. The cotton wool was gone. He wasn’t a dream prince, really, he was more of a thinker. But Mother meant well.

  “Mrs. van Amersfoort tells me you’ve started a reading-aloud club,” she said. “That should be fun.”

  It seemed the whole world knew about it.

  “Yes,” said Thomas. “But I have to practice.” He ran up the stairs to his room.

  “Don’t you want a drink?” Mother called.

  “No, rather not,” he responded, closing the door.

  But he did not practice. He sat in front of the window to think. The window rattled in the wind, so the thinking was rather jerky. He thought, “I am a coward, because I’m scared.”

  Then he thought nothing for a while. He listened to the window rattling.

  “I don’t like cowards,” he thought next. “But that is how I am.”