The Last Little Blue Envelope by Maureen Johnson

Author:Maureen Johnson
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins US
Published: 2011-05-26T21:26:35.514000+00:00

The Stain on the Page

When she opened her eyes next, Ginny found that her face was pressed up against the window, hard. Just outside the window was the gentle, constant tinkling of bicycle bells.

“We’re in Amsterdam,” she said groggily, her lips rubbing against the cold glass.

“Have a nice kip?” Keith called from the front.

Something was weighing her down. Ginny turned to find the sleeping form of Oliver slumped against her, using her as a pillow. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant to have him there. He was warm, and not overly heavy. She had probably slept so well because of the body heat he was giving off. Still, he had to go. Ginny straightened herself up, and Oliver fell senselessly in the other direction, toward his door. This woke him up, and he reflexively rubbed his face and looked around.

“Are we there?” he asked.

“We’re almost there,” Keith said. “Not that we have any idea where we are supposed to go. Where are we going, precisely?”

“We should leave the car outside the city and ride the tram in,” Oliver replied. “There should be a car park coming up in a few minutes.”

“Not actually an answer,” Keith said. “Give us the next bit. Recite, freak.”

Oliver was still waking up. He yawned hard, pressed his hand to his temple, and began.

“‘From Paris, it’s time . . .’ Hang on.”

He blinked a few times and stared at the car ceiling, moving his lips silently.

“He’s forgotten it, hasn’t he?” Keith said.

“Shut it. ‘From Paris, it’s time to return to Amsterdam, the city of canals, bicycles, and delicious, delicious cheese. The Dutch are famous for their open windows. No curtains. No blinds. Their houses are on display. Walk along the canal streets, Gin. You’ll be right at eye level with every variety of human life. You can see into a thousand different worlds.

“ ‘But here’s the thing: You aren’t supposed to look. This is an understood Dutch custom. Everything will be laid bare for you, but you can’t ever turn your head and gawk. This is both elegant and incredibly perverse. The idea, I think . . .’ ”

He paused again.

“This is really much better than just bringing the letter,” Keith said.

“ ‘. . . is that whatever you are doing in your house, however you choose to live, is fine. You have nothing to be ashamed of and nothing to hide. But at the same time, you have to respect your neighbors enough not to stare.

“ ‘I don’t know. I’m making this up. I don’t even know if the Dutch know why this is the way of things. There’s probably some complicated historical precedent involving the curtain makers’ union or something. Also, I looked. I peeked in every window where anything even remotely interesting was going on. You can’t put something in front of me and expect me not to look.

“ ‘So, for the next layer of the painting, I decided to make a Dutch window, except you ARE supposed to look through it. Charlie has it. I am sure you have already seen it.

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