The Twin Read Online Free PDF

come home,' says Teun.
     
'Why?'
     
Teun thinks for a moment. 'I don't know.'
     
'Do you not know or have you forgotten?'
     
'Forgotten,' says Ronald.
     
'We'd better go then,' says Ada. She stands up. 'Have you seen Helmer's new room yet?'
     
'No,' says Teun.
     
'Go and have a look.' She follows the boys into the living room.
     
Teun and Ronald try to outdo each other shouting 'Oh' and 'Ah' because they think I'll like it. They're right. I also like sitting here in the kitchen while people are walking around and talking in the living room.
     
They go out through the front door. Halfway up the gravel path, Ada turns around. 'I completely forgot to tell you that the Koper boy, you know, from Buitenweeren Road . . .'
     
'Shoot, Jarno, shoot!' shouts Ronald. A football hero. He himself plays in the E or F team.
     
'That's right, Jarno, he's going to Denmark to farm. Or did you already know that?'
     
'No,' I say, 'I hadn't heard that.'
     
'Jutland, I think. There's room to breathe up there. Will you say hello to your father?'
     
'I will,' I say, closing the front door.
     
I stand in the doorway of my bedroom and look at the woollen blankets on my single bed. The top blanket has frayed edges. I turn around and look at the bare walls in the living room. Some art.
     
'Helmer!' the old man upstairs bellows.
     
I lie down on the fabric-covered sofa and close my eyes. Denmark.
     

9
Denmark. Jutland, Zealand, Funen, Bornholm, the Great Belt, the Little Belt, Odense. Ada has got me thinking. Rolling hills, lots of room, heathland. Jarno Koper is a farm boy who has had enough here. Dark-haired, he must be about twenty-five. When I speak to him – which is hardly ever – he always says things like 'slush and muck here'. He's leaving, he's brave enough to go to Denmark. An old country: if I'm not mistaken the mark in the name is something Germanic, I'll check in the dictionary. I get up off the sofa and look behind me. The low bookcase with the rural novels Mother used to read is no longer there. I'll have to go upstairs.
     
'Helmer!'
     
'Yeah, yeah,' I mumble, pulling the dictionary out from between the rural novels. I sit on Henk's bed with my knees touching the bookcase. I'll have to rearrange things in here, there's almost no space to move and the dressing table is pushed up against the door of the built-in wardrobe. The stuff in the wardrobe is mine. The kind of things you want to keep or can't bring yourself to get rid of, but never actually need. There's mark . From German Mark and Goth marka , borderland. The dirty Germans – that bit of land on the edge of our empire, that bit of land where the Danes live. It also means a landmark, a boundary or a tract of land held in common by German peasants. Is that how Marken came to be called Marken?
     
'Helmer!'
     
I clap the dictionary shut, slide it back between the rural novels and walk to the door. Mother could read for hours in the evenings. 'Romantic soul,' Father would sometimes mutter when heading off to the bedroom hours before her. It always sounded nasty.
     
I shit twice a day. First, just after milking, the second time after coffee. On very rare occasions I get an urge to go again later in the day, usually in the evening, but I always ignore it.
     
If I think of it, I carry Father downstairs to put him on the toilet. I shut the door and wait in front of it like a faithful dog – dogs are supposed to be faithful but I wouldn't know, we've never had dogs here – until he shouts 'ready'. He has to go when I put him on the toilet. That can be once every two days; sometimes four days go by. He hardly pisses either, now and then I find a splash of urine in the bedpan. I empty it and rinse it out with boiling water. I don't know how and when that thing came into the house, but it is handy.
     
'What is it?' I ask as I go into Father's bedroom.
     
'Nothing,' he says.
     
'What are you calling me for then?' I walk over to a straight-backed chair with armrests