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 up his ears and leapt up with a short bark.
‘Do come in,’ Jan said, leading them to the examination room.
He showed the girl a chair.
‘Are you new in town?’ he asked after plopping into his leather desk chair.
The girl nodded.
‘Just three weeks now. I live in an apartment.’
‘Ah.’ The only apartments he knew of were from the subsidized housing, so he added: ‘Let me guess: number 27?’
She nodded and cast her eyes downward, blushing.
‘And you live at number 72. I thought that was a funny coincidence.’ She stuttered with embarrassment. He thought she was adorable.
‘We’ve already got the digits of our house numbers in common. And a fondness for animals too, I suppose?’ His smile relaxed her.
‘I’m so happy I can have Zeppos. I take him out for a walk every day, and when I’m not home I put him in the courtyard.’
Jan nodded.
‘You’re doing the right thing. A spaniel’s terribly cute, but he needs plenty of exercise. A lot of people forget that. They buy a dog and make him spend his whole life in a doghouse. And then they’re surprised when he keeps the neighborhood up all night.’
He rolled his eyes as a sign of rapport. The girl giggled.
‘I take him out every day, rain or shine, sleet or snow.’
‘Good heavens, don’t tell me you drag poor Zeppos through snowstorms?’
In just a second her cheeks and neck went blood-red.
‘No, no,’ she stuttered, her hands folded in a cramp that seemed even more painful than his own hand-wringing as he fretted over the garden. Startled by her reaction, Jan turned to the computer.
‘I’ll just open a new file, and you can tell me what’s up with your dog.’
He hoped she would get over his misplaced joke by the time he had entered her data. The program had finally finished loading—it took forever, it was high time he got a new computer—when the front door slammed shut and he heard the clatter of high heels. The kitchen door shut a bit too loudly, he thought, a sign that his wife did not expect anyone besides him would hear it.
‘There, the program’s loaded.’ He brought his hands to the keyboard. ‘I already have your address,’ he winked, ‘but perhaps you could also tell me your name.’
He had typed just three letters of her first name when the high heels approached. The door to the practice swung open and Catherine appeared half in the doorway. Still, after fifteen years of marriage, her stylish beauty took his breath away. His stomach knotted up when her long blonde hair glided over a shoulder.
‘I’ve got sirloin for later,’ she said. He nodded, and only then did she notice the young woman sitting motionless in the chair. The dog had turned toward her and inquisitively wagged its tail.
‘Oh, you’ve got a visitor. I’ll leave you to it, I’m just going out. Don’t worry about dinner, I’ll be back in time.’
Before she closed the door she said ‘good day’ to the statue that appeared to be riveted to the chair. She suggestively raised her eyebrows.
◆
Panic gripped his heart. The melody of Magda’s voice told Walter she was expecting an answer,
