Southern types, from the Belgian border. I had some sheep dealers too, well away in the bottle. A Friday it was, when there's the cattle market in Friesland and they had collected some cash, safely tucked away in the purse. The Frisian purse is chained to the neck. It's all cash with us up north, we don't believe in checks and such. We're a bit silly that way."
"Frisians aren't silly," the commissaris said.
"Maybe they are sometimes. Carrying cash into this district? Cash that comes from evading taxes should be well hidden, I believe." Troelstra smiled. "It's silly to pay taxes, of course, especially when the money leaves the country. Hasn't everybody always been after our profits? The Romans, the Spanish, the French, the Germans, we kicked them all out, and then came the Dutch."
"And you were fighting for United Europe?"
Now why did I say that? the commissaris thought. Here he wants to tell me something and I have to argue.
"United Europe," Troelstra's eyelids dropped. "That's the dream. Why shouldn't it come about some day? All together and still apart? America has done it. Why don't we do the same? The State of Friesland, and the State of Germany, and the State of Russia, and so on and so forth? United above our troubles?" He poured more coffee.
"You're too early," the commissaris said. "It'll come if we grant ourselves time."
Troelstra held a finger alongside his nose. "That's what I think now, but I'm still not sure. Maybe the urge to fight is too strong in us. Maybe it's part of human nature. Ever seen little kids play? They'll always invent weapons and bang away at each other. Have you ever seen little kids play peacemaking games?"
"Well..."
"Take the movies," Troelstra said. "I fought too, I know how bad it is. Creep up to a Russian camp and see the enemy eat, or sleep, or shit in a quiet corner, and you still have to mow them down. That can't be right. So why do I go to see future air vessels destroying each other, with humans in them, eh? I enjoy watching that destruction. So how can that be? If it isn't right, I mean?"
"About that bald Ary," the commissaris said, "and Fritz with the tuft."
Troelstra closed one eye. "You don't know either, right?"
"I don't know," the commissaris said.
Troelstra laughed dryly. "Nobody knows, I think. Maybe we just do what we were planned to do, maybe we have no say. I read the paper. There's war all over the place again. Same thing all over."
The commissaris waited.
"Right," Troelstra said. "Here's a fight for you. Ary and Fritz were watching my sheep dealers and licking their chops. Suppose each dealer was carrying some twenty thousand in cash, and you hit them all—then you have a year's good wages. That's hardly enough if the risk is a few years in jail. Ary and Fritz had just come from jail."
"So?"
"So," Troelstra said, "they discussed better possibilities and I listened in a bit, for they kept ordering refills. On the cattle market in Leeuwarden..."
"Hey, hey," the commissaris said. "And the subjects are professionals?"
"Bank robbers," Troelstra said.
"But listen here, at the Leeuwarden market there'll be hundreds of dealers, and there are only two of them."
"It can be done," Troelstra said. "Each dealer has a purse, and if you pull the copper chains, they'll snap. Herd them together..."
"Thanks." The commissaris felt for his wallet.
"No money." Troelstra crossed his arms.
The commissaris put down a note. "Not for me, for your customer over there."
The old man in the dirty coat laughed gratefully. "It's really quite easy."
"You're sure now?" the commissaris asked.
"Have a few drinks with me, sir, and you'll know for yourself." The old man waved an all-explaining arm. "Drink your ignorant self to the center where the mystery lives. Once you see it, everything becomes clear."
"And can you stay there?"
The old man winked. "Follow me."
"I'd rather go alone."
"The method is the same," the old man said. "I'll guide you a bit of the way."
"Perhaps
"Frisians aren't silly," the commissaris said.
"Maybe they are sometimes. Carrying cash into this district? Cash that comes from evading taxes should be well hidden, I believe." Troelstra smiled. "It's silly to pay taxes, of course, especially when the money leaves the country. Hasn't everybody always been after our profits? The Romans, the Spanish, the French, the Germans, we kicked them all out, and then came the Dutch."
"And you were fighting for United Europe?"
Now why did I say that? the commissaris thought. Here he wants to tell me something and I have to argue.
"United Europe," Troelstra's eyelids dropped. "That's the dream. Why shouldn't it come about some day? All together and still apart? America has done it. Why don't we do the same? The State of Friesland, and the State of Germany, and the State of Russia, and so on and so forth? United above our troubles?" He poured more coffee.
"You're too early," the commissaris said. "It'll come if we grant ourselves time."
Troelstra held a finger alongside his nose. "That's what I think now, but I'm still not sure. Maybe the urge to fight is too strong in us. Maybe it's part of human nature. Ever seen little kids play? They'll always invent weapons and bang away at each other. Have you ever seen little kids play peacemaking games?"
"Well..."
"Take the movies," Troelstra said. "I fought too, I know how bad it is. Creep up to a Russian camp and see the enemy eat, or sleep, or shit in a quiet corner, and you still have to mow them down. That can't be right. So why do I go to see future air vessels destroying each other, with humans in them, eh? I enjoy watching that destruction. So how can that be? If it isn't right, I mean?"
"About that bald Ary," the commissaris said, "and Fritz with the tuft."
Troelstra closed one eye. "You don't know either, right?"
"I don't know," the commissaris said.
Troelstra laughed dryly. "Nobody knows, I think. Maybe we just do what we were planned to do, maybe we have no say. I read the paper. There's war all over the place again. Same thing all over."
The commissaris waited.
"Right," Troelstra said. "Here's a fight for you. Ary and Fritz were watching my sheep dealers and licking their chops. Suppose each dealer was carrying some twenty thousand in cash, and you hit them all—then you have a year's good wages. That's hardly enough if the risk is a few years in jail. Ary and Fritz had just come from jail."
"So?"
"So," Troelstra said, "they discussed better possibilities and I listened in a bit, for they kept ordering refills. On the cattle market in Leeuwarden..."
"Hey, hey," the commissaris said. "And the subjects are professionals?"
"Bank robbers," Troelstra said.
"But listen here, at the Leeuwarden market there'll be hundreds of dealers, and there are only two of them."
"It can be done," Troelstra said. "Each dealer has a purse, and if you pull the copper chains, they'll snap. Herd them together..."
"Thanks." The commissaris felt for his wallet.
"No money." Troelstra crossed his arms.
The commissaris put down a note. "Not for me, for your customer over there."
The old man in the dirty coat laughed gratefully. "It's really quite easy."
"You're sure now?" the commissaris asked.
"Have a few drinks with me, sir, and you'll know for yourself." The old man waved an all-explaining arm. "Drink your ignorant self to the center where the mystery lives. Once you see it, everything becomes clear."
"And can you stay there?"
The old man winked. "Follow me."
"I'd rather go alone."
"The method is the same," the old man said. "I'll guide you a bit of the way."
"Perhaps
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