Carmiggelt

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After All These Years
Vertaling: Elizabeth Willems-Treeman

Professional duties had taken me out of town. It was nearly midnight when I put my key to the door and climbed the stairs, mournfully mimicking a man of the house who has slaved another day for his loved ones and now has a right to tea and sympathy.

My wife sat in the living-room, sunk in a book.

‘Hello,’ I said.

She looked up from the page and echoed, ‘Hello.’ Thereupon she let out a little sigh and closed the volume. I sat down across from her.

‘How'd it go today?’ I asked.

‘Wonderfully,’ she replied. ‘I was alone the whole day long. Did everything I wanted to. And all by myself all evening, too. It was lovely. I had a bite to eat. No hurry or fuss. Read the paper while I ate. Washed up when I was good and ready. Had a cup of tea. And then I snuggled down with that book...’ She gave it a spiteful glance.

It was not the welcome home I had expected. Rather stiffly I said, ‘Go right on with your reading.’

‘No, I can't any more.’

‘Why not?’

She shrugged her shoulders. ‘You're home,’ she said simply.

‘I'm sorry about that,’ I replied; ‘but after all, I live here, too. I've lived here for twenty-four years, in fact. Hadn't you no-

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ticed? You must have passed me now and then in the hall.’

She smiled at me. ‘Now you're mad,’ she said.

‘Mad? What on earth about?’ I exclaimed. ‘But the idea that you can't read any more for the main and simple reason that I came home does seem somewhat absurd to me.’

She picked up a cup and poured me some tea.

‘That's not it,’ she said. ‘I mean - well - when you come home - well - the peace and quiet sort of goes away, if you know what I mean.’

‘But what do I do?’ I asked.

‘Oh, nothing. You're just here. That's enought. It breaks the spel somehow.’

I lit a cigarette. In a wounded way. I don't know precisely how to describe it, but you can light a cigarette in a wounded way, take it from me.

‘So I should just stay away,’ I said acidly. ‘For your peace and quiet.’

She looked thoughtful, as if she were weighing it over. ‘Well, that's not quite true,’ she said.

‘But...’ I began.

‘No,’ she continued in a friendly tone, ‘if I knew that you never would come, I wouldn't have another peaceful moment. You know that. But...’ She hesitated.

‘But - what?’

‘Well - but since I know for sure you will come, it's so nice if you don't for just one evening. I can really relax.’

I looked injuredly into my tea.

‘One evening,’ she went on. ‘Or maybe two. That would be heavenly. But you mustn't stay away a whole week. I'd begin to miss you.’ Her face was serene.

‘Oh, don't be so childish,’ she suddenly exclaimed. ‘You know very good and well it's so, after all these years.’

I nodded. For a while we sat silently across from each other.

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‘Did you have a busy day?’ she asked.

‘Terrible.’

‘Are you tired?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you want to go right to bed, or would you rather eat something first?’

‘Yes - go make something.’

She stood up to go to the kitchen. At the door she turned round and said, ‘See - it's all gone. The peace and quiet. It's not so bad, but it is a fact.’

I nodded again and picked up the paper. I was hungry.

(uit ‘A Dutchman's Slight Adventures’)

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