She did not need to call him, he sprinted toward her of his own accord. She stroked his brown head while he licked her hand. He’s a lick addict, she giggled to herself.
‘Have you eaten up all your food, Zep?’
She peered into the kitchen. Zeppos’s dish was as clean as a whistle.
‘Let’s go then.’
Before pulling the door shut behind them, she glanced around the apartment, at the living-room suite she had bought with the last of her savings, to make it feel a bit like her apartment, at the cabinet where the compilation CDs were neatly arranged next to the old CD player, at the round dining table with the cheap chairs. She cleaned house at least twice a week. The sober interior meant more to her than just a collection of thrift-store furniture. Here, she decided things for herself. Here, no one could harm her.
◆
Zeppos sniffed around lamp posts and doorsteps, wagging his tail, and occasionally lifted his leg to offer the Blaashoekstraat a sign of his appreciation. Saskia’s feelings swung between the enjoyment of a summer stroll and the acrid guilt of not really deserving this little pleasure.
Then she heard a car approach. She froze and flattened herself against a wall.
‘Zep, come,’ she hissed, and the little dog cowered at her feet. She dared not look, and turned her face to the wall. She heard the rattle of the old engine, recognized its sound. She braced herself for squealing brakes, the slam of a door and her furious grandfather’s screams and blows. Her escape from the ugly past was about to come to an end, with Granddad dragging her into the dirty green Mercedes, back to the farm. Back to the life she deserved.
The car slowed, then picked up speed and drove past. It was in fact a Mercedes, but a clean blue one. Saskia felt her heart sink back into her chest. Her breathing returned to normal. But the fear would never pass. She was constantly on edge, took the putt-putt of a lawnmower for Granddad’s jalopy, or her heart skipped a beat every time a Mercedes drove by, like just now.
She had to put it out of her mind. She watched Zeppos’s carefree sniffing and tried to enjoy the warmth of the sun on her face. She’d been living in the town for three weeks now—if you could call a street with a hundred houses at most a town—and she was getting to like it here more and more. The first time she rode into Blaashoek on the bus, something struck her as strange. Along the Blaashoek Canal were ten tall poles, like chimneys from an underground factory. But no smoke came out, and the sight had something surreal about it. The poles appeared to have no use whatsoever. All they did was spoil the view of the countryside.
A few days later she realized that they were not chimneys at all. Silly me, she thought, when she saw the blades rotating in the air. She had to admit they couldn’t have found a better place for the turbines: a persistent, potent wind blew over Blaashoek. Even now she felt it tug at her clothes, like a child nagging for candy.
Despite its modest size, Blaashoek offered its inhabitants all the amenities you could want: there was a butcher shop—the butcher was a jovial fellow, and his wife always politely nodded hello—and a small grocery, where the manager Patricia was always up for a chat. Saskia liked the town’s casual friendliness.
The neighboring pharmacy was the one place she unconsciously gave a wide berth. She hoped never to have to set foot inside. Since learning what the pills had done to her mother, she couldn’t walk past a pharmacy without a chill running down her spine.
The only drawback was the poor bus connection to the city, just one per hour. Tomorrow she’d have to take the 7:15 bus to make her appointment with the social worker. She would love to have a car, but didn’t know how to drive. Who would have taught her? Granddad said women behind the wheel was about as good an idea as pigs in a cockpit.
Her daydream had led her further from home than she’d ever been until now. She didn’t like going out much, and if she did, she usually chose the other side of the town. She glanced around.
‘Oh, Zeppos, look!’ she said. The dog skipped expectantly toward her, but returned to the flower planter when it became clear he was not going to get a treat. Saskia squinted in order to read the brass nameplate across the street. JAN LIETAER, VETERINARY SURGEON. The brilliant sunlight gave the hard-to-read letters a golden halo.
‘Now we don’t have to go to the city anymore for your shots,’ Saskia laughed. She pulled Zeppos away from the planter and crossed the road.
◆
The large sliding glass doors in the study offered a splendid view of the backyard. The lawn gleamed: yesterday he had treated it with Evergreen lawn fertilizer. The grass was bordered with lavender, sunflowers, grapevines and juniper shrubs, plants meant to evoke a Provençal atmosphere. Something that worked perfectly on a dry, hot day like today. Pieris rapae butterflies—‘small whites’ in everyday language—cheered up the yard with their romantic flutter. He gazed with fitting pride at the five small olive trees that marked the back edge of the garden. All that was missing was the chirping of the horny cicadas, the mating song that gave most people that blissful vacation feel.
Jan Lietaer sighed, and his relaxed posture—hands loosely behind his back—tightened into a cramp. Irritated, he kneaded his left wrist with his right hand. Since last week his eyes hadn’t had a moment’s rest. Every two seconds, dark blotches swept like monstrous slugs across the lime-green grass, only to vanish, quick as a wink, behind the fence. The shadows disrupted the orderly composition of the yard, they sliced the meticulously mowed rectangular lawn into irregular wedges as they rotated with the wind. Even more than the fact that they were there, it irritated him that they were there for good. He looked up and sighed again. How could he boast to his friends about the exceptional character of his garden anymore if they were forever being distracted by these ghostly shadows?
Chinese torture, that’s what they were. They incessantly assaulted his life’s work. And with each new shadow that passed across the lawn, the cramp in his hands become more resolute.
Nice yard, Jan, but those shadows, enough to drive you bonkers! He could just hear them saying it, he saw them laughing up their sleeves, because even though their yards might not be so gorgeous, at least they weren’t defaced by some stupid wind turbine. Worse yet, he could just hear his mother, with that icy, pinched voice of hers: a man with balls would have seen to it that they built their turbines somewhere else.
He wanted to sigh a third time, but his breath was cut short by the gentle tinkle of the bell, followed by the sound of footsteps and agitated clicks on the floor. The door to the waiting room squeaked. A client with a dog. He wrenched his eyes off his tormented backyard and hurried to the office.
Jan’s practice was on the rocks. Ever since farmer Pouseele’s daughter had gone into veterinary medicine, he had lost his livestock clients one by one. So he turned to specializing in house pets, but how many house pets were there in Blaashoek? Three cats and a pair of hamsters. It didn’t bother him. Thanks to the generous inheritance from Grandfather and Papa, his practice was no more than a hobby. And once Mama finally went to join dear old St. Peter—and what relief that would bring him—he would have no financial worries whatsoever.
He nevertheless gave his few remaining clients all the attention they deserved. He switched on the computer. He fumbled around in the drawers and laid a few pencils and ballpoint pens on the desk. He opened the filing cabinet and placed three manila folders on the tabletop. There, that looked good.
He went into the hallway and opened the waiting-room door. Sitting there was a mousy girl he did not recognize. She wore cheap clothes—gym shoes, white socks under a pair of wash-shrunk jeans, and an untucked yellow T-shirt whose collar was already a bit frayed. Her auburn hair had been twisted into a short ponytail. Her brown eyes were intelligent-looking but timid. Despite her plain appearance, she was not unattractive. With a little more attention to her looks she would certainly turn a few men’s heads when she took the cocker spaniel that lay between her feet out for his walk.
‘Good morning,’ he said amiably.
The girl nodded shyly, the dog pricked