him to watch out for strange men.
‘And strange women,’ added his father.
‘Just be careful,’ said Frieda.
Futh thought that she worried about him unduly. When he was little, when he climbed on rocks, when he was reckless, trying to be like the other boys, she would say, ‘You’ll fall. You’ll hurt yourself.’ And then he would indeed fall and hurt himself and she would tell him, ‘You’re an accident waiting to happen.’
When she took him to the swimming pool, she made him wear armbands even though he told her he could swim. Sometimes he went to the river with Kenny, and later he went on his own. Frieda warned him against swimming in the river, because of the current and the weeds and the rocks, and there were parasites and diseases and God knows what in that river, she said, and every now and again someone drowned. When he last saw Frieda, some weeks before coming to Germany, she asked him not to go, not to drive all that way, not to walk all that way, not to go on his own. She telephoned the day he left to warn him to look after his feet, to keep his passport safe, to be careful. ‘Stay away,’ she said, ‘from that river.’
‘This is it,’ says Carl, peering through the windscreen, pointing out the turn they need to take, their route off the motorway and into Utrecht.
Futh follows Carl’s directions which take them to the far side of the city. They park by the kerb in front of an old three-storey house which has been divided into flats. Futh, out of the car, standing on the pavement, still feels the lurch of the ferry.
The front door has an intercom with three buttons, one of which Carl presses. There is a crackle and then a woman’s voice speaking what Futh assumes to be Dutch.
‘Mummy,’ says Carl, speaking in English for Futh’s benefit, ‘it’s Carl, and I have a guest.’ When the door makes a clicking sound, Carl pushes it open and Futh follows him inside.
They climb the stairs up to the third-floor flat, to a door which has been opened and left ajar for them. They enter and Carl closes the door behind them. Hanging up his coat and turning to take Futh’s, Carl calls, ‘Mummy?’ They walk through to the living room, Futh taking in the high ceilings, bare floorboards, wooden slatted blinds, sparse furniture, uncluttered surfaces, glass and leather and the smell of polish. Again Carl shouts, ‘Mummy!’ and the acoustics in the harshly furnished room are like those in an empty house or in a bathroom.
In the far corner, a swinging door opens and a woman comes into the room. The smells of coffee and baking follow her. She greets Carl with little air kisses while Futh stands waiting to be introduced. When Carl turns to him and says, ‘Mummy, this is our guest, my friend,’ Futh steps forward and kisses Carl’s mother on one cheek and then the other, smelling soap and flowers beneath the coffee and the baking.
‘I’m so pleased to meet you,’ he says.
‘You are very welcome,’ says Carl’s mother, turning away. ‘Come and sit down.’
The three of them walk over to an uncomfortable-looking sofa and Futh sits down in the middle. On a low table in front of the sofa stands a tray, from which Carl’s mother lifts a coffee pot. She fills three cups and passes the first one to Futh who takes it with a smile. She asks him about his journey and his holiday, and while he talks she listens and offers milk and sugar. Passing a plate of little pastries, she enquires about his wife, his children.
‘My wife and I have just separated,’ says Futh.
Expressing sympathy, she puts the plate of pastries down in front of him.
‘And we didn’t have children.’ He shifts his buttocks on the thinly upholstered sofa.
‘Perhaps that’s just as well,’ says Carl’s mother.
‘I keep stick insects,’ he says. ‘I wanted a dog.’ Angela had said no to a dog. She did not want to end up being the one who had to walk it every day. So he got stick insects. He is rather fond of them but he supposes that they have no sense of him, that they do not remember him from one day to the next.
Carl’s mother says to Carl, ‘You aren’t drinking your coffee. Has it gone cold?’
Carl, who has been taciturn all morning, ever since the conversation in the car, looks down at the untouched cup of coffee in his hand. He puts it down on the little table. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ he says, ‘there is something I have to do.’ He crosses the living room again, going back out into the hallway, his mother following him with her eyes.
After a moment, she turns back to Futh. ‘More coffee?’ she says, turning away to pour it, asking what he does for a living.
‘I work in the manufacture of synthetic smells,’ says Futh.
‘Oh yes?’ She looks glazed.
He elaborates. ‘We artificially replicate the chemical compounds which make apples smell like apples and so on, mimicking natural smells. Have you heard of scratch and sniff? In scratch and sniff technology, the chemicals are captured in microscopic spheres, like tiny bottles of perfume. When a scratch and sniff panel is used, a few of the bottles are broken, but there are millions of them – after twenty years all the bottles will not be broken, the fragrance will not be gone.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that’s very interesting,’ she says. She glances at her watch. ‘And what does your father do?’
‘He was a chemistry teacher,’ says Futh. ‘He’s retired now.’ He finishes his coffee and Carl’s mother smiles and reaches out to take the cup from his hands. ‘Thank you,’ he says, glancing at the coffee pot.
She begins to stand, with Futh’s empty cup in her hands, saying, ‘Well, I’m sure you want to go on your way.’
‘I’m not in any hurry,’ says Futh. She hesitates, and then settles back down again. Futh shifts towards her and continues, his breath heavy with coffee. ‘Everything you smell contains a volatile chemical, which evaporates and activates the nasal sensory cells. When you can smell something it’s because it’s releasing molecules into the air, which you inhale.’
‘I have so much to do,’ she says, and Futh begins to explain the rota system he and Angela used for housework.
Carl’s mother seems distracted. From time to time, she glances towards the door through which Carl left. Suddenly, she stands up, saying, ‘I know what he’s doing.’ She strides across the room and into the hallway. Futh hears her give a single knock on a door before entering. She closes the door behind her and Futh can hear her speaking angrily to Carl, although he can’t make out what is being said.
When she returns she says to Futh, who is reaching out to take another pastry, ‘Perhaps you should be going after that.’ Futh, trying to choose between the remaining pastries, is only vaguely aware of Carl reentering the room. Carl’s mother, already moving away from Futh towards the kitchen, says, ‘Shall I pack you a lunch to take with you?’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he says. ‘I’m due to have lunch in Hellhaus.’
‘You won’t be there for lunch,’ she says.
Futh, who has lost track of the time and who in any case does not really know how long this leg of his journey will take, looks at his watch and sees how late in the morning it is. ‘Well,’ he says, smiling gratefully at his host, ‘if that’s the case then that would be very kind of you.’
She goes into the kitchen and Carl follows her.
Futh, left behind, perched on the edge of the terrible sofa, looks towards the kitchen door. When it swings open, he sees Carl quietly admonishing his mother. It swings to and then swings open again and he sees Carl’s mother turning, making her hushed reply. They speak not only in low voices but in Dutch, and Futh does not understand a word. The swinging slows and stops. Futh is reminded of the scenes he tried not to hear as a child, his parents whispering furiously on the other side of closed doors.
Carl is the first to come out of the kitchen.