The Naturalist of Amsterdam by Melissa Ashley

Author:Melissa Ashley [Ashley, Melissa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Affirm Press
Published: 2023-07-04T00:00:00+00:00

Eliza Maria held her leg out, the yellow-leather boot foolishly small.

‘Keep still!’ said Philip.

She stopped swinging her foot, waiting with all the patience she could muster while he tied a blade on each shoe, checking that the knots were tight and safely tucked away. She squirmed, eager and unsure, bundled inside her brown coat and jacket and stockings, the furred cap tied under her chin, all wool-lined for warmth.

‘Go and have your skate,’ said Philip, grinning. ‘I’ll take her.’

I shuffled Eliza Maria from my hip into his arms; like a grappling cat, she clasped her legs around Philip’s waist. Her blue eyes opened wide to absorb the early-morning bustle at the edge of the frozen canal: small fires in braziers, hawkers in padded coats selling concoctions of ale, milk and egg to slake a skater’s thirst. I touched the tip of my daughter’s nose and pinched her cheek. Her lips were a wet reddish purple from the cold. ‘Papa has you.’ I reassured her again, to not be frightened. ‘It will be fun!’

She scowled, curling away from me, digging her chin into Philip’s armpit. He leaned down, kissing me on the side of the cheek. He scanned the canal. ‘Go,’ he whispered. ‘Enjoy yourself.’

Philip, called to family dinner the previous Sunday, had been shown the completed Metamorphosis and declared, a fist on the table which made the cutlery jump, that we were hereby commanded to follow his order to relax our punishing schedule. We must surrender ourselves to idleness, or we Merian women would grow ugly, hairy and cranky with overwork. He would take us skating and we must obey or he would wake all of Amsterdam with his early-morning lamp. He would rattle Hanna’s and Ma’s doorknockers, come into their very bedrooms if he must, and break their dreamy slumber. Like a Kermis goblin, he’d shout and clap for our attention, command us all to shake the blood into our sleepy limbs and join him on the ice.

We did not take all that much convincing to make the most of the sudden freeze. We skated like gluttons after sunup and before sundown. Slapping sleep from my limbs, I rose from bed and pulled on my clothes, coaxed a reluctant Eliza Maria from the warm nest of her cot. Blanket dropped, I dressed her while half-asleep. Philip hung our blades over his shoulders and we traipsed out into the street. The deep winter dawn of the too brief ice-skating season was my favourite time of the season. Our breath came warm and foggy in the freezing air as we made our way to Prinsengracht.

Wind like a bristle scratched my cheeks. Ma and Hanna beckoned me, skating in slow circles as I caught them up. We fell into file, gliding along the outer edges of the canal. We passed couples holding hands; an elderly woman seated on a chair affixed with skis, husband propelling her from behind; children playing with a stick and puck; others piled on sleds and towed by friends, an orchestrated raucousness.

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