Conversation · Klaasje (Miss Oranje Disco Dancer)

"Maybe he was wrong. Forget about it. Nothing miraculous is coming."

"Woob-woob-wob-wob." She performs the music of a descending tuba.

"Another fantastic moment," the lieutenant grudgingly admits. "What next?"

"From way out in the northwest. He told me."

"Cool." The woman nods.

There is a sound. Something in the reeds, when the wind combs through them. On the inlet, on the little islands there between castaway tyres.

"There is something we have all forgotten."

Her light brown eyes fix on yours, then disappear behind her bangs as she drops her chin.

She agrees.

Shake it off.

It's moving... The motes under your eyes stand still. Say something.

"Could it be love that did him in?"

"It very well could be, yes."

"What do you mean?"

"What do I mean?" She raises an eyebrow. "I have no idea. I don't even know what you mean. Love did him in? What does that mean?"

"He told me -- love did him in."

"That's not funny, officer."

Her voice is like a slash through the air. Her shoulders tense up.

There. She momentarily lost control over Straight-Back-Guy! It appears that she feels guilty.

"Do you feel guilty?"

"Of course I do. I'm hung over. I feel guilty about everything."

"Do you feel guilty about what happened to him?"

"Among many other things, yes. I could have done something. There's always something you can do, right?" She looks into her coffee. "Ask me something else."

What is this, an interrogation? You didn't tell her this was going to be an interrogation.

"Okay then. Another question."

"Of course," she says quickly.

"His eye colour?"

"Yes, light blue. They were like..." She stops, her eyes half closed, then continues: "Like little blue galaxies. It was strange, seeing those eyes in his fucked up face..."

"Pardon the swearing." She takes a drag. "I do him an injustice -- he wasn't ugly. And he had a beautiful, soft voice. Very surprising, what with all the scarring. It was quite something, watching him speak."

"He had a combat wound -- on his chin and mouth?"

"Yes. Severe." She seems to enjoy the word. "It made him look like half his face was cracking away in some strange smile. That and those eyes..."

It's clear she was very much attracted to him -- and still is.

Keep it to yourself.

She shivers slightly.

"Oh yes," the lieutenant suddenly remembers. "His hair -- if you can remember?"

"It was light brown, almost blond. He darkened it with brilliantine. Made it oily. Not nice to stroke. I couldn't convince him to leave it alone."

"Kim, I said to put the brilliantine on the form -- do I get a point?"

"No," he answers dryly.

"Okay."

She tries to light another cigarette. It's windy, but she gets it done.

"But I put it down, there..." (Point to the red autopsy slip.)

"I can see you've put quite a few things here -- they don't all give you a point."

There it is, in your rushed writing --right where the lieutenant is pointing: "FUCKY-FUCKY." You should really get this questioning back on track now.

There it is, in your rushed writing --right where the lieutenant is pointing: "PIGS gonna have SEX." You should really get this questioning back on track now.

"Okay. Sure. Here you go. What else are we missing, officer?" he asks, trying to get the questioning back on track.

"Let's get to the rest."

The young woman nods.

"Interesting -- I too have stroked his hair."

"Oily, isn't it..." She says, unfazed. She draws on her cigarette and lets the smoke linger for a moment in her mouth. "We have that in common now."

She understands what autopsies entail. It doesn't get her off-balance.

"You found him attractive?"

"Of course. He was the most strangely beautiful man I've ever been with. And I mean that..." She shivers slightly.

Then adds: "And now he's dead. A pity."

"And now he's..." Her gaze drifts toward the yard, but she catches herself and her eyes fix on her reflection in the window instead. "Yeah."

"Super dead."

"Yeah." She lights another cigarette. "Extremely dead."

"Dead."

"Yeah." She lights another cigarette.

Say nothing.

She tries to light another cigarette. It's windy, but she gets it done.