by Guus Kuijer

1

Thomas saw things no one else could see. He didn't know why, but it had always been like that. He could remember a violent hailstorm one day. Thomas leapt into a doorway and watched the leaves being ripped from the trees. He ran home.

"It's autumn all of a sudden," he shouted. "All the leaves have gone from the trees."

His mother looked out of the window. "Of course they haven't. What on earth makes you think that?"

Thomas could see she was right. The trees were still covered in leaves.

"Not here," he said. "But in Jan Van Eyck Street all the leaves are on the ground."

"Oh, I see," said his mother. He could tell from her face that she didn't believe him.

Thomas went up to his room and took out the book he was writing. The Book of Everything, it was called. He picked up his pen and wrote. "It was hailing so hard that the leaves were ripped from the trees. This really happened, in Jan Van Eyck Street in Amsterdam, when I was nine, in the summer of 1951."

He looked out of the window to think, because without a window he couldn't think. Or maybe it was the other way round: When there was a window, he automatically started to think. Then he wrote, "When I grow up, I am going to be happy."

He heard his father coming home and thought, "It is half past five and I still don't know what my book is about. What are books about, anyway?"

He asked this question during dinner.

"About love and things," giggled his sister Margot, who went to high school and was dumb as an ox.

But Father said, "All important books are about God."

"They are about God as well as about love," said Mother, but Father glared at her so sternly it made her flush.

"Who reads books in this family?" he asked.

"You do," she said.

"So who should know what books are about, you or I?"

"You," said Mother.

"When I grow up, I'm going to be happy," Thomas thought, but he didn't say it out loud. He looked at his mother and could see that she was sad. He wanted to get up and throw his arms around her, but he couldn't do that. He didn't know why, but it was simply not possible. He stayed where he was, on his chair.

Margot giggled again. That was because she was so dumb.

"It was hailing so hard in Jan Van Eyck Street that the leaves were ripped from the trees," he said aloud.

Mother looked at him and smiled. It was as if he had thrown his arms around her after all, she looked so happy.

"This is a secret message only Mama understands," he thought. That must be true, because Father and Margot didn't look up from their plates.

When Mother was tucking him in, she asked, "Are you going to have wonderful dreams, my little dreamer?"

Thomas nodded. "Do you think I'm a bit nice?" he asked.

"You're the nicest boy in the whole world," she said. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him. Thomas could feel she was crying a little. He went ice-cold inside and thought, "God will punish Father terribly, with bubonic plague or something."

But later, when he lay staring into the dark all alone, he grew afraid that God might be angry with him. He said, "I can't help it if I think things. And I don't mean it, so it's not really bad. I don't even know what bubonic plague is."

Then he fell asleep.

It had been so boiling hot for a week that there were tropical fish swimming in the canals. Thomas had seen them with his own eyes. They were swordtails. He knew that for sure because he had swordtails in his aquarium. They're cute little fish who do a funny dance in the water when they're in love.

It was not far from the girls' high school where Margot went. He was lying flat on his stomach in the grass at the water's edge on Reijnier Vinkeles Quay and saw them swimming past. Dozens at a time. As he was walking home, he wondered if anyone was going to believe him. Then he met Eliza, who was sixteen. She was in the same class as Margot and lived around the corner. She had an artificial leg made of leather, which creaked like a new pair of shoes.

"There are tropical fish swimming in the canal," he said.

Eliza stopped, so her leg stopped creaking.

Thomas felt a kind of electric shock, because he suddenly realized how lovely she was.

"That's because people flush them down the toilet when they go on vacation," she said.

For a moment, Thomas could not think, because Eliza kept looking at him with her dark blue eyes. "And because of the heat," he stuttered.

"Actually, there are crocodiles living in the sewer too," said Eliza. She walked on, so her leg started creaking again.

Thomas followed her. "Really?" he asked. "Have you seen them yourself?"

"One of them," said Eliza. "The size of my little finger. In the toilet." She held up her hand.

Thomas was shocked, because the hand only had its fourth finger. The rest of the fingers weren't there.

"Oh," he said. He waited till Eliza had turned the corner. He felt the shock deep in his stomach. But in his head merry bells were ringing. "She is lovely," he thought. "And she understands what I see. She understands that what I see is really there. So Eliza knows it too."

He walked home, wondering, "What does Eliza know?" It was hard trying to think without a window to look through. "I can't explain what Eliza knows, but I know it too: that there is something strange about me." And when he was home, sitting in front of his window, he thought, "Where could her other fingers have gone?"

"Sunday is the only day you have to push like a handcart," Thomas wrote in The Book of Everything. "The other days roll down the bridge by themselves."

On Sundays, they went to church. Not to an ordinary church in the neighborhood, but to a special church a long way from home. It was a church in an ordinary house, without a steeple. During the service, you could hear the people upstairs doing the vacuum cleaning. Hardly anybody went to that church, but his family all did: Father, Mother, Margot and Thomas. Mother wore a hat, and Margot a scarf on her head, because they had to in church. You weren't allowed to see the women's hairdos. For men it didn't matter, because they didn't have hairdos.

They walked, because God did not want trams to run on Sundays. The trams ran anyway, and that was not very nice for God to have to put up with.

There were two most shameful things. One was having been on the wrong side in the War. The other: riding in a tram on a Sunday.

Thomas simply thought the trams away. He thought away everything that

was forbidden: the trams, the cars, the bicycles and the boys playing football in the street. The birds could stay, for they didn't know it was Sunday. Because they had no soul.

The church service was attended by about twenty ancient people who were deaf or blind or lame. And if there was nothing else wrong with them, they had at least two warts growing on their chin. Apart from Thomas and Margot, there were two other children. Two sisters. They were so pale under their headscarves they would obviously die soon. "I give them till 1955," Thomas wrote in The Book of Everything. "By then they will be dead and buried. May they rest in peace for all eternity." He wrote these words with a lump in his throat because it was so sad for those children. But unfortunately there was nothing to be done about it.

The service took a long time. The children of Israel dragged themselves murmuring through the wilderness and the pews were hard.

The good bit was the singing back and forth. That went like this:

A bald gentleman in a long black dress with lots of small buttons sang a line by himself. Then the people had to sing a line back all together. Again and again. Turn and turn about. The black dress sang something different every time, but the people always responded with the same line:

"Musical Lord, forgive our miserable singing."

Thomas joined in at the top of his voice. He tried to count the buttons on the black dress at the same time, but he kept losing count.

On the way home, Thomas noticed that Father was cross about something.

Father said nothing and looked straight ahead. At the table, after the prayer, he said, "Thomas, stand up."

Thomas was just about to put a forkful of potato and peas into his mouth. His fork stayed halfway up.

"Stand up?" he said.

"Stand up," said Father.

"Why?" Mother asked, worried.

"Because I say so," replied Father.

"Oh, that is why," said Margot.

Thomas put his fork down on his plate and stood up.

"Hee hee hee," Margot giggled, because she was as dumb as an onion. You couldn't understand how she kept getting eighties and nineties in all her classes.

"Let us hear what you were singing during the litany," said Father with a stern look on his face. The litany was the singing back and forth in church.

Thomas looked at his mother.

"Look at me and sing," said Father.

Thomas took a deep breath and sang: "Musical Lord, forgive our miserable singing."

Then it became terribly quiet. Before his eyes, Thomas saw a black dress with more than a thousand little buttons. Two sparrows on the windowsill were playing bright trumpets, because they didn't know it was Sunday.

Mother said, "He is only nine. He doesn't do it deliberately."

Father was silent. Solemnly, he put his fork and knife down on his plate and stood up. He grew taller and taller until his head was higher than the lamp over the table.

Every living thing on earth held its breath. The sparrows on the windowsill choked on their trumpets. The sun went dark and the sky shrank.

"What are you doing?" Mother cried. She jumped up and pulled Thomas back.

"Go away, woman," Father roared. "I am speaking to your son."

But Mother pulled Thomas further away from the table and put her arms around his shoulders.

Then Father's hand flashed out suddenly and slapped her on the cheek.

She staggered back and let go of Thomas.

The angels in heaven covered their eyes with their hands and sobbed loudly, because that is what they always do when a man hits his wife. A profound sadness settled over the earth.

"Papa," whispered Margot.

"Silence!" Father thundered. "Thomas, upstairs. And don't forget the spoon."

Thomas turned, went to the kitchen, and pulled the wooden spoon from the spoon rack. Then he ran upstairs to his room. He sat down by the window and stared out, but he couldn't manage to think. The world was empty. Everything there had ever been had been thought away by someone. There was only sound. He heard the slap smack into his mother's soft cheek. He heard all the slaps Mother had ever suffered, a rain of slaps, as if it was hailing in Jan vaEyck Street and the leaves were being ripped off the trees. He pressed his hands over his ears.

When Thomas had been looking at nothing for an eternity, he heard, right through his hands, his father walking heavily up the stairs. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

"Everything is gone," he thought. "Nothing exists any longer. I don't either."

Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

There he was. The man appeared like a tree in the doorway. He came up to Thomas and held out his hand. Thomas gave him the wooden spoon. Then the man sat down on the stool next to Thomas's bed. He did not say anything. There was no need, for Thomas knew exactly what he had to do. He took off his trousers. Then his underpants. He lay face down across his father's knees, his bare bottom up.

The hitting began. The wooden spoon swished through the air.

Thwack!

The pain cut through his skin like a knife.

Thwack!

At first, Thomas thought of nothing, but, after the third hit, words came into his head.

Thwack! God…

Thwack! will…

Thwack! punish…

Thwack! him…

Thwack! terribly…

Thwack! with…

Thwack! all…

Thwack! the…

Thwack! plagues…

Thwack! of…

Thwack! Egypt…

Thwack! because…

Thwack! he…

Thwack! hit…

Thwack! Mama…

The sentence was finished, but the hitting went on. For a moment, his head was empty. But then they came again: terrible words, words he had never thought before:

Thwack! God…

Thwack! does…

Thwack! not…

Thwack! exist.…

Thwack! God…

Thwack! does…

Thwack! not…

Thwack! exist.…

When at last the hitting stopped and he pulled his underpants and trousers up over his fiery bottom, he knew that the Heavenly Father had been beaten out of him forever.

"Merciful Lord," said Father. "Repeat after me."

"Merciful Lord," said Thomas.

"Forgive us miserable sinners," said Father.

"Forgive us miserable sinners," said Thomas.

"You stay up here," said Father. "You'll repeat this sentence properly one hundred times and then you will come down." He stumbled down the stairs. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Thomas stayed standing up because his bottom felt like a pincushion. He stared out of the window and whispered, "Please, God, will you please exist. All the plagues of Egypt, please. He has hit Mama and it wasn't the first time!"

God was silent in every language. The angels tried to dry their tears, but their handkerchiefs were so soaked through that it started raining even in the deserts.

2

Next door to Thomas lived an old lady. All the children in the neighborhood knew she was a witch. She lived by herself, and all her dresses were black. She wore her hair done up in a gray bun and she had two black cats. Once a week she went out to do her shopping, but all the other days she stayed at home to brew her magic potions.

Because she was a witch, children pestered her. They banged on her windows or pushed filthy stuff through her letterbox. But when Eliza-with-the-leather-leg saw this, she became angry and ran after the children creaking. "Leave her in peace," she shouted. "You ought to know better."

Thomas left her in peace. He knew better. In The Book of Everything he wrote:

"On Wednesday the fifth of September 1951, Mrs. Van Amersfoort put a spell on the Bottombiter."

This is what happened:

Every so often, a large black dog stormed into the street. No one knew where he came from or where he lived. He just appeared, big, mean, and savage. All the children ran home screaming, but the Bottombiter always managed to get one or two of them. With his huge, growling teeth, he would bite their bottoms. And then he was gone. Where? Nowhere. He was just gone, until, a few weeks later, he appeared again.

On the fifth of September, old Mrs. Van Amersfoort, who, as everyone knew, was a witch, was lugging her heavy shopping bag home. It was a fine day. Lots of children were playing in the street. Suddenly, they started screaming, because the Bottombiter was bounding up the street, all his teeth bared.

Thomas tried to run home, but Mrs. Van Amersfoort got in the way. So he stopped right behind her and stood very still. The Bottombiter came straight at her. Thomas pressed his hands protectively against his bottom.

"Stop!" Mrs. Van Amersfoort shouted sternly.

She dropped her shopping bag on the sidewalk with a thud and raised her hands, making her look much taller than she really was.

"Stop!" she repeated.

The Bottombiter stopped in surprise and looked up at her hands.

Then Mrs. Van Amersfoort started whispering things. They were obviously magic spells, but Thomas couldn't understand them.

The Bottombiter whined softly and wagged his tail timidly.

Mrs. Van Amersfoort lowered her hands, but her mouth muttered on.

First, the Bottombiter sat, then he lay down and finally rolled over onto his back with his four big paws up in the air.

Mrs. Van Amersfoort left him like that for a while, looking down on him silently.

Thomas was the only one to see it, because the other children had all run inside.

"Good dog," said Mrs. Van Amersfoort. "Off home now."

The Bottombiter rose and crept down the street, his tail between his legs.

Mrs. Van Amersfoort reached for her bag, but it was so heavy she could hardly get it off the ground.

Then Thomas heard a ringing in his ears and asked, "Would you like me to carry your bag inside?" He'd said it without even thinking, shocking himself.

Mrs. Van Amersfoort, who really was a witch, looked at him seriously.

The ringing changed into music of a kind Thomas had never heard before, with lots of violins. His heart was thumping anxiously and he hoped desperately that Mrs. Van Amersfoort would say no.

"Yes, please," she said. "That's very kind of you." She unlocked the front door.

The music had stopped and Thomas started tugging at the bag, but couldn't lift it even a centimeter off the ground. It felt as if it was chock-full of rocks.

Mrs. Van Amersfoort didn't notice. "It won't be heavy for you," she called as she walked into the house. "You're such a big boy already."

She had barely finished speaking when his ears started ringing again and the bag rose slowly off the sidewalk. It was still heavy, but a lot less so than it had been at first.

Mrs. Van Amersfoort had disappeared into the darkness of the hallway. In the distance, a light flicked on. "Just put it down here," she called. Thomas saw her standing by the sink in the kitchen. "Would you like a glass of cordial?"

"Yes, please," said Thomas. His heart was thumping because Mrs. Van

Amersfoort was a witch, and so her kitchen must be a witch's kitchen.

The cordial was as red as blood.

"Sit down in the living room," said Mrs. Van Amersfoort. "I'll be right there."

Thomas stepped into the room and took a look around. The glass with bloodred cordial shook in his hand. He thought, "Don't mind the mess," because that was what Mother always said when there was a visitor. At home, there never was a mess, but here there was. The chairs, the tables, and the floor were covered in stacks of newspapers, magazines, and books. Along the walls stood bookshelves full of books, stacked higgledy-piggledy. In one corner stood a huge globe with a black cat lying fast asleep on top. Pinned to one of the shelves was a map on which someone had roughly drawn some arrows. A large bird with spread wings was suspended from the ceiling.

Now Thomas knew for sure that it was true. This was the house of a witch. But he was not sure if it was the sinister house of a sinister witch. That remained to be seen.

"I'll be right there," Mrs. Van Amersfoort called from the kitchen. "Clear yourself a chair."

Carefully, Thomas put his glass on a low table between a photo album and a pile of books. He lifted a stack of papers from a chair with carved legs and sat down. A black cat appeared from under a cupboard. It meowed as it approached Thomas, its tail standing straight up, and rubbed against Thomas's legs. The cat on top of the globe woke up and gave him a drowsy look.

Then Mrs. Van Amersfoort came in. "There we are, a cup of coffee for me," she said, clearing a chair and sitting down. She regarded Thomas contentedly. "I think it's damned nice that you're here," she said.

Thomas was shocked by the word "damned." With his friends he swore all the time, because he went to the Biblical Christian School, but this was the first time he'd heard an adult swear.

"My children all left home long ago, and my husband…"

Mrs. Van Amersfoort sipped her coffee and looked Thomas in the eyes.

"Of course, you wouldn't know," she said. "You were too young at the time. They executed my husband."

Thomas said, "Oh," because he didn't understand what she meant.

"Executed means they shot him dead with guns," said Mrs. Van Amersfoort. "The Nazis did. He was in the Resistance during the War, you know."

Thomas nodded. "Oh, I see," he said.

He felt a great sadness in his throat and in his stomach. The same kind of sadness as when, again and again, year after year, they nailed Jesus to the Cross. He was always glad when it was over again and the Lord had risen, safe and sound, from His grave.

"Don't be sad," said Mrs. Van Amersfoort. She got up and pointed at a small blue case. "Here, have you seen one of those before?" She folded back the lid of the case.

Thomas nodded. It was a portable gramophone.

"I'll let you listen to something," she said. She vigorously turned a handle and then put on a record.

Music drifted into the room from far, far away. It was music Thomas had never heard before, with lots of violins. The sadness melted away from his throat and from his stomach. Thomas closed his eyes and there, in the dark behind his eyelids, suddenly appeared the Lord Jesus. Thomas was scared out of his wits, but he kept his eyes closed, because he was curious to know what the Lord would have to say.

Jesus smiled and said, "I'll never let myself be nailed to the Cross again, I just won't. I've had enough of it."

Then He disappeared, as quickly as He had come.

That was good news, particularly for Mr. Onstein at school. He would never have to tell that terrible story again. Thomas felt intensely happy.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Mrs. Van Amersfoort whispered.

"Yes," said Thomas. His ears started ringing again. The globe started spinning, cat and all. When he was about to draw Mrs. Van Amersfoort's attention to this, he saw that her heavy chair was floating above the floor like a low cloud. He barely had time to take this in when he felt the chair with the carved legs he was sitting in rising slowly, as if strong hands were lifting it. He wanted to shout with joy, but when he saw Mrs. Van Amersfoort's intent face, he realized that with this music it was normal for chairs to float.

"Beethoven," Mrs. Van Amersfoort whispered. "When I listen to this…" She didn't finish her sentence. There was no need, for Thomas knew exactly what she wanted to say, even though he could not find words for it. His mind wandered off and he could see himself floating above green meadows and a castle with a Rolls Royce parked in front. A wondrously beautiful princess waved to him with a white handkerchief. She had a leather leg that creaked when she walked, and she wore a sky-blue dress with a white collar. Her father stood on the terrace playing the violin while her mother sang sweetly.

The record came to an end and started making a scratching noise. Thomas was startled. Bump! The chairs landed gently on the carpet. "Did Mrs. Van Amersfoort notice we were floating?" he wondered. He didn't know and waited to see if she would say something, but she didn't. She was staring into the distance. Perhaps she was thinking of her husband who had been shot dead with guns.

Thomas took a sip of cordial and said, "You have such a lot of books. What are they all about?"

"Heavens," Mrs. Van Amersfoort exclaimed. "What are books about? They are about everything that exists. Do you like reading?"

Thomas nodded.

"Hold on," said Mrs. Van Amersfoort. "I may have something for you." She turned to one of the bookshelves. "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"Happy," said Thomas. "When I grow up, I am going to be happy."

Mrs. Van Amersfoort was about to pull a book from the shelf, but turned in surprise. She looked at Thomas with a smile and said, "That is a damn good idea. And do you know how happiness begins? It begins with no longer being afraid."

She pulled the book from the shelf. "Here you are," she said.

Thomas felt himself flush. He stared at the book on his lap. Emil and the Detectives, it was called.

"Thank you very much," he stammered.

"It's about a boy who does not want to be afraid, and who fights the injustice in the world," Mrs. Van Amersfoort explained. "You can keep it."

She finished her coffee and Thomas his cordial.

"You've been very brave today," she said. "You've come in even though all the children say I am a witch."

Thomas didn't dare look at her. She knew! She said it just like that, straight to his face.

"They're right, of course," she said. "I am a witch."

It became dead quiet. So quiet Thomas could hear Father shouting and Mother wailing, clean through the wall. "Goodness," he said. "It's after half past five. I have to get home." He jumped up with his book in his hand. "Goodbye. And thank you."

He walked out of the room, but stopped at the front door. Had he thanked Mrs. Van Amersfoort sufficiently? No. He returned to the room. "For everything," he said.

"That's all right, my boy," said Mrs. Van Amersfoort. "You won't be afraid any more, will you?"

"No," said Thomas. "Not of witches, anyway."