The Twin

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Book: Read The Twin for Free Online
Authors: Gerbrand Bakker
hands on his hips. Always that smile, a crooked smile that shows his teeth. 'You'll have to make do with me for the time being,' he says.
     
'God help me,' I say.
     
Now the smile changes into a laugh, showing even more teeth. He doesn't say goodbye as he walks to the cab. We've laughed off the news of the death and that's not the kind of thing you follow with small talk. He opens the door and jumps up smoothly. His blue trousers tighten around his take-off leg, a leg that could belong to a skater. I walk out of the yard, following the tanker as it drives away. If he looked in his rearview mirror he'd see me standing there, like the red-headed boy last summer. It's raining, the donkeys are at the gate with their heads bowed. If it doesn't stop I'll put them in the shed. I look out over my wet farmyard.
     
Old, gruff and dead, I think.
     
Until his death we were Henk and Helmer, even though I was the oldest. Until recently I took regular afternoon naps on his bed. I've stopped doing that because of all the junk in his bedroom and because of Father's proximity. I would lie on my side with my legs pulled up, like in the old days when we shared a bed. Now I use the sofa in the afternoons. Since Ada's comments about my bed, I no longer feel comfortable in it, especially not in the daytime. A few days ago I went to Monnickendam to buy a new bed. I settled on the kind that's really only two mattresses, with very short legs under the bottom one. They're going to deliver it soon – they said they'd call me. 'Definitely before Christmas,' according to the jovial bed salesman. From another shop I bought a duvet and two duvet covers, one light blue and one dark blue, I trust Ada's judgement. The duvet is still wrapped in plastic in a corner of my bedroom. I haven't unpacked the two pillows either. I asked for one pillow, but the female shop assistant (a young thing with black plaits) said 'One?' so emphatically that I had no choice but to say, 'No, two, of course.' I won't unpack it until the bed has been delivered and for now I carry on sleeping under the frayed blankets and the single sheet.
     
Henk and Helmer, not Helmer and Henk. I'm the kind of person who doesn't have any memories at all of the first four or five years of their life. And if I do have memories, I suspect them of being contaminated, suggested by things other people have told me. My memory only starts in the fifties. I don't know how often Father beat us before then.
     
He found the two of us together infuriating, he always had to deal with two boys forming a united front. He thought we were conspiring against him, that that was our goal in life, and that we met his eye to provoke him. I got the most blows because I was the oldest, so I 'must have cooked it all up'. He'd pound away at us with his bare hands, and if he had time, he'd pull off a clog to hit us on the bum and sometimes on the back. It was partly to do with my name, I thought. Helmer is a name from my mother's side. Henk was named after his father.
     
Before doing the milking, I bring in the donkeys. There's not much to it. I just open the gate and walk to the donkey shed. Before I get there, they're standing waiting for me. I let them in, cut up a sugar beet and throw the pieces into the feeding trough. Then I stuff a few handfuls of hay into the rack. I've taught Teun and Ronald to always ask whether they're allowed to feed the donkeys. If I gave them free rein the donkeys would be fat in no time, or ill. The rain taps on the corrugated roof. When I scratch their ears, they ignore it, they're too busy eating. Before leaving the shed, I turn on the light. They don't watch me walking away.
     

11
In Monnickendam I take the N247 and follow it to Edam, where I drive through the village to the dyke, because if I don't get off here I'll be stuck on the main road to Oosthuizen. Near Warder I stop the car for a moment to have a better look at a flock of birds: oystercatchers, crows, herring gulls and

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