The Tree and the Vine by Dola de Jong

Author:Dola de Jong
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Transit Books
Published: 2020-07-14T16:00:00+00:00

7

NOT LONG AFTER THAT, on a warm Sunday in October, we went for a walk in the dunes. The weather had turned cold already, and I took shelter behind a fisherman’s house while Erica stood out on the beach staring at the sea. A late blackbird, lost out there on the coast, captured my attention for a while. It occurred to me that Erica was like that bird, unable to decide where to land, under the roof of the house—where faces appear behind windows, where a voice, a laugh, a strange sound all pose a potential threat—in this tree or that tree, on the gutter of a shed or in the safety of the woods. She was constantly flying back and forth, anxiously flapping her wings, and then with a graceful swoop, she’d start all over again.

“You know,” Erica said when she returned, “we’re living all wrong. We should’ve rented a house by the sea. Let’s give up our apartment and commute.”

“Yes,” I said, “good idea.” It was easy enough to say in that moment because soon she’d forget all about it. There was no need to get into details. She always had some new proposal that would never be executed. All her plans, all her restlessness, always waiting for … for what?

But this time I’d miscalculated. I didn’t think anything of Erica’s behavior the following week. Of course, I’d noticed she was in a more cheerful mood, and I was happy to have a bit of peace and harmony in the house for a few days, happy to see her happy. On Saturday, she announced that she’d be gone all day on Sunday and that I shouldn’t wait up for her. As usual, I didn’t ask questions and when I woke up at ten o’clock the next day, she’d already left.

I spent the day alone, treated myself to breakfast in bed, wrote some letters, read, and enjoyed my solitude. In the afternoon, I decided to go to the Rijksmuseum, but when I found myself surrounded by couples and families shuffling past the paintings and suits of armor, I was overcome by a strange sense of loneliness. I thought of Erica, missed her even, though this feeling bothered me, and I tried to suppress it. I had forced myself to visit the museum—after all, you have to do something, you can’t just spend the whole day at home. There, under the high vaulted ceilings, among people enjoying the company of their family or beloved (at the time it all seemed so ideal to me), I wondered why I hadn’t just stayed in my room where I felt safe. Why had I forced myself to come here? Was the need to be constantly active starting to get to me as well? Or was I afraid that Erica would judge me for spending an entire Sunday at home by myself? Maybe I was afraid of her disdain, her contempt, which I’d been exposed to a lot in those days. I felt suffocated

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