and rode into the pumping station, cart and all. Gieles parked his bike in the bicycle rack next to the entrance.
Upon entering they were greeted by a lady sitting behind the ticket counter, who immediately stood up and walked over to them. ‘Hello, Waling,’ she said. She spoke the words very courteously, as if he were someone important.
Nobility!
The slender elderly woman with red, protruding eyes made Gieles think of something reptilian. A kind of gecko. The woman took Super Waling’s hand as if she were weighing it. ‘How are you and how is your health?’ she asked.
‘Excellent,’ said Super Waling, placing his slab of a hand over hers. ‘Couldn’t be better.’
‘I saw you in the newspaper,’ she cried with alarm. ‘Good heavens! Stuck in the potato field.’ Her gecko eyes protruded even further as she spoke.
‘Saved by the firemen,’ smiled Super Waling. ‘Life is full of surprises. May I introduce Gieles Bos? An extremely kind young man who rescued me on another occasion when my buggy broke down.’
Gieles smiled shyly.
‘Some people are never rescued,’ she said, patting his hand. ‘You’re lucky, Waling.’
‘How right you are,’ he said, turning his attention to Gieles. ‘He’s doing a report for school on the pumping station. A few folders would come in handy.’
‘Of course.’ The woman walked to the counter.
The sound of muted applause could be heard from somewhere in the building.
‘A wedding,’ she explained, handing Gieles a stack of folders. ‘In the Water Board Room.’
Super Waling nodded and rode over to the stairs where a wheelchair elevator had been installed. In a practised motion he rolled onto the platform and began the ascent. His thighs bulged out over the seat.
‘I saw that piece in the paper, too.’ Gieles slowly climbed the stairs beside him. ‘I didn’t know that was your name. Waling Cittersen van Boven.’
The elevator came to a halt with a slight jolt.
‘Sometimes you change so much that your name no longer fits you,’ said Super Waling. ‘I chose my nickname myself. Which, by the way, is more the exception than the rule. Usually other people give you a nickname. In grade school the kids called me mama’s boy. And they were completely right. But this time I beat them to it.’
He smiled a mournful smile.
Super Waling rode his cart off the platform and clapped his hands as if he were trying to drive something away, thereby bringing the topic to a close.
The steam engine was in the tower. It was soaring and gigantic, as if the engine were crashing out of the building. ‘She still works,’ he said proudly. ‘Which is a good thing. Who knows, we may have to use her again if we ever get flooded.’
‘You really think so?’ asked Gieles. He gazed into the pumping steam engine. The upward pressure made his hair stand on end.
‘Well, water is supposed to flow. People used to understand that much better than they do today. They lived with the water back then. When floods threatened their homes, they packed up their stuff and set off for higher ground.’
Super Waling got ready to climb out of his scooter. With one hand firmly grasping a pillar he pulled himself upward as he talked. His sweatshirt began creeping up, exposing the skin of his stomach.
‘We don’t accept the fact that water seeks its own level … We want to bend everything to our will … yessss,’ groaned Super Waling as he hung from the pillar, ‘… we defy all the laws of nature … but … pfffffff … at the same time we demand … a risk-free … society …’
Then he straightened himself up, jovial and proud as an overheated nuclear reactor.
‘Carry my bag for me, would you?’ he asked. ‘There’s something in it I want to show you when we get to the top. The most beautiful thing about the steam pump isn’t inside the tower but on top of it.’ He pointed to a narrow spiral staircase.
Gieles took the linen bag and put his own backpack in the basket of the mobility scooter. He raised his eyebrows.
‘Don’t worry. I’ve been up there a hundred times. What am I saying—a million times. I can climb those stairs with my eyes closed.’
He waddled over to the stairs. Gieles was reminded of the chicks. He hoped they wouldn’t shit all over his room. And he hoped the little one wouldn’t panic. She didn’t like to be alone.
Super Waling made an awkward bow. ‘After you, sir.’
Gieles looked up at the cramped turns in the staircase. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely. Go ahead. The thing isn’t going to collapse. It’s indestructible,’ said Super Waling, slapping the cast iron handrail.
Gieles began climbing the steps, which were decorated with four-leaf clovers.
‘How’s it going with your geese?’ he heard him ask. He was halfway up, while Super Waling was only on the third step. His cheeks had turned the same colour as his sweatsuit. Gieles was afraid his head would explode.
‘Good. I got two new geese chicks a couple of days ago. Uncle Fred found them.’
‘Do they have … grmmmm … names?’
‘No. I don’t know if I’m allowed to keep them or not. My father doesn’t know.’
Super Waling was panting. His swimming-tube neck was soaking wet.
‘You can … ,’ he wheezed with a look of determination. ‘… You can name them after the people you’re … humgrrr … fond of.’
Gieles was just about to tell him that he had named his two other geese when Super Waling tumbled forward. He expected him to bounce all the way down the stairs, but his right arm got caught between two bars. Gieles was at his side in a couple of jumps, crouching over his head. Super Waling was lying with his right cheek pressed against one of the steps and he looked anything but comfortable. His lips hung heavily down as if the rubber band in his mouth had snapped.
‘You okay?’ Gieles had no idea what he was supposed to do.
‘Not bad,’ Super Waling replied weakly. ‘Although something tells me I’m not going anywhere.’
His body was blocking the stairs. Gieles had no intention of climbing over him. Super Waling’s sweatshirt had slid up and his pants had dropped a bit, exposing kilos of backside.
‘Are you religious?’ Super Waling asked.
‘No. I don’t think so.’ Gieles sat down on a step with Super Waling’s bag on his lap.
‘Me neither. Not any more. Used to be … before all the trouble started … Oh, I’m just blabbering … But suddenly a psalm came into my head. Be pleased, O God, to deliver me! O Lord, make haste to help me! … That’s pretty
