Tommy Wieringa - Joe Speedboat

Its been a warm spring. At school theyre praying for me, because Ive been out of it for more than two hundred days. Ive got bedsores all over my body and a condom catheter taped to my flute. This, the doctor tells my parents, is the phase of the coma vigil: Ive regained limited receptivity to my surroundings. He says Ive started reacting to stimuli, pain and noise, and thats good news. Reacting to pain is a definite sign that youre alive.

They hang around my bed the whole time, Pa, Ma, Dirk and Sam. I can hear them as soon as they get out of the lift a swarm of starlings darkening the sky. They smell of oil and stale tobacco; theyve barely bothered to change out of their overalls. HERMANS & SONS, FOR ALL YOUR DEMOLITION NEEDS. Scrap is our middle name.

We demolish wrecked cars, industrial equipment and the occasional caf interior, if my brother Dirk happens to be feeling pumped up. Dirk has been barred from almost every bar, shop and inn in Lomark, but not in Westerveld, not yet. Hes got a girl over there. He comes home smelling of chemical violets. All you can do is feel sorry for her.

What the Hermanses talk about mostly is the weather, the same old song and dance; business is slow and the weathers to blame, no matter what the weathers like. They swear and shake their heads, first Pa, then Dirk, then Sam. Dirk clears his sinuses loudly, now he has a gob of snot in his mouth. He doesnt know where to go with it, the only thing left to do is swallow and, bloop, there it goes.

Lately, though, theres been more to talk about in Lomark than just the weather. While I was out cold, a runaway moving van wrecked the Maandags step-gabled house, and huge explosions off in the distance are causing the whole town to shit itself with a certain regularity. This all has to do, it seems, with someone by the name of Joe Speedboat. Hes new in Lomark; Ive never met him.

Whenever they start talking about Joe Speedboat, though, I prick up my ears he sounds like a good guy if you ask me, but then no one asks me. Theyre sure Speedboat is the one making the bombs. Not that theyve ever caught him at it, but there were never any explosions before he came, and now suddenly there are. Case closed. Its got them pretty pissed off, let me tell you. Sometimes Ma says, Hush now, Frankie might hear you, but they dont pay her any mind.

Just pop out for smoke, Pa says.

Youre not allowed to do that in here.

Is that really his name, Speedboat? asks Sam, my brother, two years my elder.

Sams never the one I have to worry about.

Nobodys name is really Speedboat, says Dirk. With that big mouth of his.

Dirk, the firstborn. A real bastard. I could tell you things about him.

Ach, the boys just lost his father, says Ma. Let him be.

Dirk sniffs loudly.

Speedboat, of all the stupid. .

It makes me itch, a nice kind of itch, the kind you cant help scratching. Joe Speedboat. Well Ill be damned.

Weeks later, the world and I are both still flat on our backs and breathless, the world because of the heat, me because of the accident. And Mas crying. From happiness this time, for a change.

Oh, hes back again. Sweetheart, there you are.

She burned a candle for me every day and actually thinks that helped. In class they think theyre the ones who did it, with their praying. Even that hypocrite Quincy Hansen joined in on it. . as though Id ever be caught dead in his prayers. Not that I can get out of bed or anything. I couldnt if I tried. Theyve still got to run tests on my spinal column; at the moment, all I can move is my right arm.

Just enough to choke the chicken, says Dirk.

I cant talk yet either.

Not a whole lot ever came out anyway, says Sam.

He looks over at Dirk to see if hes laughing, but Dirk laughs only at his own jokes. He doesnt have much choice: no one else will.

Boys! my mother warns.

So this is how things stand: I, Frankie Hermans, one good arm attached to forty kilos of dead meat. Ive been in better situations. But Mas tickled pink; shed have been thankful for one good ear as long as it listened to her, of course.

I have to get out of this place. Theyre driving me nuts, hanging around my bed, grousing about business and the weather. Did I ask for this? Im telling you.

I grew a year older in my sleep, they celebrated my birthday in the hospital. Ma tells me about the cake with fourteen candles that they scoffed around my bed. My sleep lasted about 220 days and, counting the first few weeks of rehab, Im going home now for the first time in ten months.

Its the middle of June. The miracle of my resurrection as Ma insists on calling it puts a lot of pressure on life at home. I have to be fed, cleaned and pushed around. Thank you all very much, but the words just wont cross my lips.

One day my brothers take me to the fair, because Ma makes them. Sam pushes the wheelchair cart; the fresh air hugs me like an old friend. While I was gone the world seems to have changed. It looks scrubbed, as though the Pope were coming to visit or something. Sam pushes me down the street in a hurry, he doesnt want people stopping him to ask questions about me. I can hear the noise of the summer fair. The shrieks, the fast patter of the carnies, the ringing of the alarm bells when you hit the mark the noise says it all. It says hooray for the fair.

Dirks walking out in front of us. His back is ashamed to be here. He turns into Zonstraat and passes the Sun Caf, with Sam and me bringing up the rear. The fair is fading. All I can hear now are the peaks and valleys of sound. Looks like were not going to the fair. I turn my head to look at Sam, whos ramming me down the street at racetrack speed. At the edge of the village we get to the old Hoving place. Thats where we stop. Dirk is already opening the garden gate. I havent been out here for a long time.

Gimme a hand, wouldya?! Sam shouts.

The cart wont roll through the high grass full of burdock and poppies. Dirk comes back, the two of them wring the cart through Rinus Hovings garden, the garden of the late Rinus Hoving. His farm is deserted, and as long as the heirs keep fighting about what to do with it thats the way it will stay. They pick me up, cart and all, and carry me in through the pantry door. The red floor tiles are covered in a carpet of dust. I can see footprints in it. They roll me through the kitchen and down the hall, then park me in front of the sliding glass doors to the sitting room.

Put him over by the window, Dirk says. So hes got something to look at.

Put him over by the window yourself.

Sam is having his doubts. Dirks not. Dirk doesnt have doubts; hes too dumb for that.

We cant really do this, Sam says.

Its his own damn fault. If she thinks Im taking him on the Tilt-a-Whirl, she can think again.

She, thats Ma. Not that Dirk has any respect for her, but she has a powerful instrument at her disposal: Pas right hand. Sams head moves into view.

Well be right back, Frankie. In an hour or so.

Then theyre gone.

This is just great, dropped in some dump like a bundle of dry twigs. At least you know what you can expect from them. Id figured something like this, I was just waiting for the facts. Facts arent nearly as bad as suspicions. The fact of the matter is that I find myself in a darkened house thats breathing down the back of my neck. And that my view consists of a windowsill covered in dead flies, spider webs and dust balls. My fears all have one eye open now, you cant fool them, theyre wide awake. And there they are, shouting to beat the band. Critters! Child molesters! Things! In a word: panic. But how long can a person stay scared if nothing happens? It starts feeling kind of weird, and when nothing keeps on happening all you can do is laugh at yourself. But wait a minute, there, that really