Chapter 3

Nederlands
Chapter 3. Ria, the maid.

When I was seven years old, I was sitting with my brother and Ria, the maid, in the kitchen. Ria was twenty years old. She could yodel very nice and accompanied herself rhythmical, with the jingle of a fork and a spoon.
The next day I tried to imitate this with a couple of wooden spoons. Without any success. The wood was too soft. For that reason I made out of beechwood two small strips. Each one ten centimetres long and four centimetres wide. Everyone took over this invention in a rapid way. After a while, you could even buy these ‘Jingles’ in shops. In this way, the ‘Jingles’ came into fashion in the Fifties.
While Ria was jodling, I started to dance. Ria urged me to make my very special and well know dancing-steps.
‘Holy smokes,’ Ria called. ‘You dance like a monkey. Let me examine you better.’
On the moment, she stood in front of me and studied me very careful in a special way, with her eyes half closed, she shouted of joy: ‘you are a monkey. Like me. Miraculous! How it is possible with these unfortunate feet.’
She raised her voice of extreme agitation.
‘You are a very high monkey, perhaps the highest! I have never seen such a beautiful monkey. And what are you dressed nice!’
‘Beg you pardon,’ I said. ‘I only wear this old pullover.’
‘I mean the clothes which you wear as a monkey.’
‘I do not understand you. I am ordinary myself. I am called Cappy.’
‘Look again,’ she called excited. ‘I shall dance for you. You like it.’
She started to dance for me as a little monkey on and on.
‘Look carefully, I dance for you especially!’
‘Yes,’ I said and pretended stupefaction concerning so much rubbish. From the other hand, I felt myself particularly honoured and caressed with all this attention.
When she sat again at the kitchen table, my brother mumbled:
‘We are ordinary dogs and can do nothing about this. We are born in this way.’

2
Ria had some small books, which she could not read unfortunately, just like me. They had been written in the Thai language. However, she could tell.
One of the stories concerned a fisherman family in Thailand. Father, mother and two small boys. On a given moment, the parents had to go to the market in order to sell the caught fish. The parents had impressed the oldest boy well that he had to take care of his younger brother.
‘Take very good care of him. Let him stay clean,’ they told him before they left.
When they returned the little brother was dead. The eldest boy had also cleaned him inside. He had took out all his organs, his abdomen and cleaned with water. Afterwards he had put everything back.
‘My brother did not awake again,’ he told.
The parents could not accept the boy any more.
The boy started to wander alone in the wide world. He could talk in a smart and nice way and won all discussions in spite of the fact he was still young. Everyone praised him and he was never hungry. On his travels, he could settle all disputes and brawls. Where he came, everyone asked for his support, his advice.
The king of Thailand heard about the boy and ordered him to the court. He became, in a very short time, the most important consultant. He was extremely strong with words. Even in discussions with the highest placed monks, he could convince everyone.
In fact, the boy was the king and the real king agreed. In this way, the boy had the necessary protection and the king a perfect consultant. The king did not have to worry any more. Someone who could solve all the problems in a better way was impossible to find.
In another book, you could find stories about dogs. On nearly each page, you could find a picture. In that time, I only wanted to read books with pictures.
‘Have a look,’ said Ria, whereas she indicated to a picture of a dog, which stood for a window from a house. ‘Dogs are doing this kind of things. Always peep inside, always looking for a possibility to snatch something.’
On another picture, a man was busy to braid a rope of long stalks hemp. He was sitting on a table. On the ground, under the table, lay his dog, who was eating the finished rope.
On one of the pictures, you could see a man who threatened his dog with a thin rod. Ria told me that it was sometimes necessary to beat a dog. In generally to threat was more as sufficient. It was also not at all pitiful for dogs. They were accustomed to this. According to their character, they tried to become the boss. With a threat, the relations became normal again.
On another page, you could see a monkey bowing the branches of a shrub. He was looking to a bird in a large cage. The bird snivelled of happiness. This bird had never seen such a beautiful monkey.

3
When my brother saw these books, he asked Ria, entirely dismayed: ‘Where did you find these books?’
‘I have promised never to say that.’
‘Certainly of him,’ he shouted furiously and pointed his index finger to me. He took the books out of her hands with force and threw them in the burning stove.
‘Never do this again,’ I called disconcerted. ‘You do not know the difference between good and bad. What you did is particularly bad. These books are not from you and you do not have the right to throw them in the stove.’
‘Who the hell you think you are,’ snarled my brother.‘I do not have to take care of you!’
The next morning I reminded him what he had done. Again, he became furiously.
‘What do you think! Because of your behaviour and those books, I have not been able to sleep this night. That is your guilt!’
‘You are a bad person,’ I shouted.
Probably I had chosen the wrong words. He took the long iron hook with which the upper windows were opened. I did not know how fast I had to run away. He ran along behind me. The iron hook slipped a couple of time close to my shoulders. In a reflex, I opened the front door and slammed him behind me. I heard a shocking screaming. The top of the thumb of my brother had been crushed between the front door and the doorframe.
‘This is a kind of memory,’ I thought. ‘My brother shall not forget me. The rest of his life he shall think about his sins when he is looking to his thumb.’
It took days before the mood of my brother had improved. He showed to everyone his thumb and told that I had done it. On a given moment, seemingly he had forget the incident, he called me, with his most pleasant voice, from the balcony near the sleep chamber of my parents.
‘Shall we play a game?’
‘What kind of a game,’ I answered downstairs from the garden.
‘You have to come up.’
When I was above, he told me: ‘you must go, so far as possible, to the edge of the balcony. Afterwards you must bend up forward to the point where you nearly can fall down. The one who can bend the most forward has won.’
We climbed over the wooden balustrade and started both to stay at the edge. Just when I was bowed far enough for my idea, he pushed me. If I did not take hold of his clothes, I had fallen down definitely.
‘What are you doing,’ I shouted and ran away. ‘A dirty trick! Next time I do the same with you.’
‘Ha, try it! I beat you to dead!’

4
The same day, during the evening meal, he told my father that we had played a game on the edge of the balcony.
‘I had almost fallen down,' my brother said, whereas he indicated with a piercing finger into my direction. ‘When I could not have take hold him at his clothes it was certainly happened.’
‘As always he is twisting the truth. He was the one who pushed me nearly from the balcony,’ I said angry.
‘Nevertheless nothing had happened,’ my father said to my brother, while he was not looking to me at all. ‘Probably a gap could have come in the terrace and perhaps some flags could have break. Do not do these kinds of things any more. Otherwise, it costs money to repair.

Some days after the burning of the books, Ria and I were sitting alone in the kitchen. On my request she started to yodel and jingle with a fork and a spoon. After a while, I interrupted her and told that the master of the primary school had spoken about the parable of Kane and Abel.
‘Take care,’ Ria told. ‘Your brother wants to that to you!
‘I do not understand you, what do you mean?’
‘Beat you to dead! Actually, your brother did this a long time ago once. In addition, your father wants to sacrifice you continuously. The times are not changed. You have to be very carefully. You are the egg of a cuckoo in this nest.’
‘I throw them all out,’ I said, still angry to my brother because of the books that he had thrown in the stove.
‘Take care. They are intend to do that with you!’
‘Egg of a cuckoo,’ I repeated mumbling. ‘Who is my father?’
‘Coming from Naples. A beautiful dark man. He knocked a long time at the front door. He was a tinker.’
My face clouded over.
‘Hear no! I just tease you a little. He is a prince!’
‘A prince,’ I asked astonished.
‘Not a real prince. He is a poet. A very important person.’
Ria stretched her arm, her hand, above her head.
‘He frequently visits the queen.’
At that moment, she closed her mouth with her hand and stammered: ‘I was not allowed to tell that.’
‘Who ordered you,’ I asked.
‘Your father. You have to take care of him. I am very afraid of him,’ she said, whereas she pointed her finger where my father lay sleep.
‘Shortly after the beginning of the world war, he has been indicated by a shoe manufacturer out of his hometown because of some sexual offences. In addition, he has murdered, a small little girl in a church, in 1938, but it was never been possible to prove. The Germans have taken him in prison during three days. For this purpose, the Germans had especially let come a couple of beautiful and firm Aryans with big blue eyes. Your father was already not normal, but when these Germans finished their treatment, he was entirely become an animal. And your grand father had no sickness in his eyes. He had put a screwdriver in his eyes. He wanted to put the screwdriver also in his ears, but they found him, covered with blood, in the living room, just in time. He wanted nothing more to see and to hear because of the terrible actions of his son-in-law.
‘I go to the police.’
‘You are crazy! You cannot do this. He is your father.’
‘You just told me that someone else is my father.’
‘It is true, but in his passport you are mentioned as his son. When you indicate him, they bring you to a mental hospital. They are always looking for an opportunity to manage that.’
Indeed, it could happen any moment. I frequently walked around in house with a flute kettle on my head. The bottom had been taken out. I had found the kettle in a cupboard in the hall. My brother persisted that I should go outside with this kettle on my head. In behalf of this, they should have a reason to lock me up for ever in a mental hospital.

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