Rain steam and speed, p.11
Rain, Steam and Speed, page 11
Back at Anton’s house, he met Kristina.
“What have you done today?”
“I went to the Van Gogh Museum and I ate some cake, in a café.”
He was not sure what the Russian for ‘cannabis’ was.
“You mean cannabis cake?” she replied.
Owen nodded and smiled. The word was the same.
“What did you think of the museum?”
“I really like Van Gogh’s paintings.”
“What else did you do?”
“I got lost and found myself walking through the red-light area.”
“You were tempted, of course?” laughed Anton.
“No,” replied Owen, going red.
“Don’t tease our guest, Anton. Are you hungry?”
“Is it mealtime?”
“If you would like it to be mealtime.”
“Then yes, thank you. Let me just use the bathroom.”
Kristina brought in a large plate of what looked like burgers.
“Have you eaten cutlets?” she asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Serve yourself, while I get the potato.”
As Kristina went back into the kitchen to fetch the mashed potato, Anton grabbed the serving spoon and piled three of the meaty burgers onto Owen’s plate. When the mashed potato arrived, he served his own. Anton opened some bottles of beer.
“You drink beer?”
“Thank you.”
Owen was glad to have some food in his stomach. He took a mouthful of beer, but did not drink again, until he had eaten most of his main course. For dessert, Kristina opened a packet of chocolate-covered apricots.
“I ate these in Russia.”
“When did you go to Russia?” asked Anton.
“When I was fifteen. On a school trip. To Leningrad and Moscow.”
“Kristina is from Moscow.”
“Really! How did you start living in Amsterdam?”
“How do most people start living in Amsterdam? The lifestyle is so free.”
“What jobs do you do?”
“I am a wood-turner, in a factory.”
“I am a hairdresser. What about you, Owen?” inquired Kristina.
“I am a student and I work in a pub.”
“Did you like it in Russia?” asked Anton.
“I was a tourist on a school trip. I don’t think I experienced the real Russia. I liked the museums and sight-seeing.”
“Perhaps you would not enjoy the real Russia, although we try not to talk about these things.”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Five years in Amsterdam and two years in this apartment.”
“Now, no more questions,” Anton interjected. “Let’s play chess.”
“I don’t play chess. I never learnt.”
“Oh dear. Then we must play Durak. I will show you how. Kristina will bring us the vodka and play as well, won’t you, my angel?”
The game, Durak, was not overly complicated, but Owen was tired, and a little woozy. After the third game, he made his excuses and went to bed.
Breakfast was a veritable feast of pancakes and coffee. Anton had already left for work when Owen got up. Kristina sat with him and drank a mug of coffee.
“What will you do today?”
“Maybe go to the Rijksmuseum. I like walking back and forth across the canals.”
“You can go on a boat trip.”
“Can you?”
“Yes. Will you go back for more cannabis cake?”
“I might,” laughed Owen.
He wondered how much Kristina knew about the reason for his visit.
“I know why you are here, Owen. Be careful,” she declared, to Owen’s surprise.
He nodded.
“Thank you for breakfast. Delicious.”
“You’re welcome. I’m serious, Owen. Get out, if you still can.”
Owen could see the fear in her eyes. The problem was, he could not see how to get out. They clearly knew where he lived. If he was useful to them, he would be alright. Surely?
Today, Owen visited the Rijksmuseum. He was not sure if he had ever seen quite so many religious paintings in one place before. He wished he had artistic talent, and had a momentary crisis of confidence, because he could not put his finger on just what his own talents were. He felt pretty average at most things and had no idea what he really wanted to do with his life. It was true, he picked up languages fairly easily, but what practical skills did he have?
Having left the museum, he went in search of a boat trip. It was not quite lunchtime yet. At least, Owen was still feeling stuffed from his pancakes. As he stood on one of the canal bridges, staring out along the water, a man, probably in his early thirties, approached Owen.
“Hi. Are you English?”
“Yes. You’re the second person in Amsterdam who has asked me that, in two days, even before I’ve opened my mouth.”
“I’m Floyd,” the man introduced himself.
“I’m Owen.”
“How long are you here for?”
“Just until this evening. I am catching the overnight ferry from Hook of Holland.”
“My wife and I have a house-boat, just behind the train station. Would you like to come and have a cup of tea, or something? I’m afraid we can’t offer you any cake like they might offer you in some of the cafés here, but Sally, my wife, does a mean carrot cake.”
“Sounds good,” replied Owen, wondering why he was so polite and amiable.
“Great. Come this way.”
Owen walked alongside Floyd.
“What do you do in England?”
“I am a student, for a while, anyway. I’m not really enjoying the course, and I work some shifts in a pub.”
“What are you studying?”
“Russian.”
“Wow. That’s amazing. I bet there are comparatively few people who speak Russian in England. Most people study French or German, possibly even Spanish.”
“That may well be true. It’s just not what I thought. I’m not sure what I did think, but I really don’t enjoy half the literature.”
“What do you enjoy?”
“The so-called ‘Silver Age’ of writers, who interpreted the Revolution.”
“Ah. You are a dreamer who wants to change the world.”
“I’ve never really looked at it like that before.”
They arrived at the houseboat.
The windows were steamed up, and Owen could smell coffee and baking. A student aged woman came out and ran up the gangplank, just as Floyd was about to descend.
“Hi, Esme.”
“Hi Floyd. See you later.”
“She’s one of our volunteers, here. Follow me. Welcome to our houseboat.”
Owen followed Floyd down the gangplank. Floyd walked over to a woman and kissed her on the cheek.
“I’d like to introduce you to my gorgeous wife, Sally. Sally, this is Owen.”
“Hello, Owen. Would you like tea or coffee? Maybe a cold drink?”
“Coffee would be great. Thank you.”
“Have a seat, Owen,” Floyd ushered him to a bench. “We see a lot of students here, in Amsterdam. Many are searching for themselves. Many are just lost. We like to offer a listening ear and a hot drink.”
“Would you like some carrot cake, Owen?” Sally interrupted them.
“Please,” replied Owen, and turning back to Floyd, “How long have you been in Amsterdam?”
“Since about 1973, I think. I lose track of time. Before that, we were in Afghanistan.”
“Really! I have an Afghan Hound, called Kochai.”
“Nomad.”
“You speak Pashto?”
“Yes.”
“What do you think about the Russian intervention?”
“The Russian invasion? I try not to be political, although I am pretty sure that they shouldn’t be there. I understand, the UN has told them to withdraw their troops. As you can tell, we’re American, and I think President Carter needs to find non-military ways of addressing the issue.”
“Such as?”
“Who knows. Perhaps boycotting the Olympics, later this year.”
Sally cut the carrot cake and handed Owen a plate and a coffee.
“What brings you to Amsterdam?”
“Honestly? I got involved with some people doing some stuff I probably shouldn’t have done, and now they have asked me to come to Amsterdam to fetch something and take it back to the United Kingdom for them.
“I think I understand, Owen. Just be careful. And if you need a place to come and relax, or you want someone to talk to, we’re here.”
“Thanks.”
Owen was struck by the way they welcomed him without any hint of judging him for what he had done or was doing now. They genuinely seemed interested in his wellbeing. Another student came through the door.
“Excuse me, Owen. I need to turn my back on you for a moment.”
“It’s OK.”
Owen finished his coffee and cake, whilst Sally was making a coffee for the newcomer and Floyd was chatting to him. When he finished, Owen quietly put his jacket back on and left, acknowledging Sally and Floyd with a silently mouthed, “Thank you.”
That was not how Owen had thought he would spend a couple of hours in Amsterdam, but it was actually quite enjoyable. Sally and Floyd seemed like genuine people.
He still had not been on a boat trip along the canals, so looked for a mooring, with a board offering canal tours. They were not too expensive, so he waited in line. There was a choice between a one hour or a half hour trip. The hour trip went right out beyond the station, where he had just been, whilst the half hour tour kept to the canals closest to the centre. He opted for the half hour trip.
The difference in perspective surprised Owen. Not only was the view of the canals, from below street level, an interesting one, but the slow speed also gave the impression of being suspended in time. Owen told himself he would definitely return to Amsterdam, one day. The half hour passed, and the boat docked at its mooring again. Owen climbed back up to street level. There was one thing he had meant to ask, the day before, and had not taken the opportunity, so he went looking for the café where he had eaten cannabis cake. As he entered, the waiter recognised him.
“Back for some more cake?”
“Not today, thank you. Just a coffee. I have to be somewhere.”
When the waiter brought Owen his coffee, Owen plucked up the courage to ask his question.
“Can I ask you something?” he inquired in a low voice.
“Yes, you can,” replied the waiter, leaning closer, to hear Owen.
“I have noticed that Amsterdam is a free place to live. Cannabis cake is readily available, in cafés, for example. How easy is it to buy drugs here?”
“Very easy. Are you looking for some?”
“Not this time. However, I have decided I would very much like to come back again. That’s when I might be seriously interested.”
“Come here, when you are ready, and I will put you in contact with someone.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Owen drank his coffee and returned to Anton and Kristina’s apartment. They were both there.
“So, Owen, what did you do today?” inquired Kristina.
“I went to the Rijksmuseum. Interesting, but not as enjoyable as the Van Gogh Museum. I got invited to go and have some coffee and cake on a houseboat behind the train station and I went on a short boat trip along the canals. That was awesome.”
“I know about that houseboat. I think the owners are Christians. Some sort of mission to prostitutes and drug addicts.”
“And students,” added Anton.
“They seemed genuine.”
“We will feed you some soup and bread, and then you have a train to catch. This is the shipment. The Delft tea service. Be careful with it, Owen. We don’t want it smashing in front of the customs officers.”
Owen started to feel apprehensive, again. He forced his soup and bread down. The Delft tea service box fitted easily into his holdall. Owen put his suit back on and packed his jeans and T-shirt.
After double-checking that he had not left anything behind, he went to the toilet, picked up his holdall and stood by the door.
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
“Good luck,” responded Anton, holding out his hand.
Owen shook it.
“Nice to meet you, Owen,” added Kristina. “Remember, be careful!”
Anton looked across at her but said nothing. Owen left for the train station where he sat for ten minutes on the platform, waiting. As the train pulled out of Amsterdam Central Station, Owen reflected on how great his time in the city had been. He would return, definitely. In fact, he was already thinking about how he might be able to replenish his stash, once the block of cannabis he had found ran out.
At the ferry terminal, Owen tried hard to relax, and not drawer attention to himself. He handed over his passport, was not asked about his luggage, and was soon in his cabin on the ship. He did not bother with a drink from the bar, this time. After walking around the city for two days, he was tired. Removing his suit, shirt and tie, he lay down on his bunk and drifted off to sleep.
In the morning, after washing his face, he put his suit on again. This last leg of the journey required even sterner metal than leaving the Netherlands, because he now had to pass through the ‘Nothing to Declare’ line, in customs. Should he look the official in the eye or avoid eye contact? Was it obvious he was sweating? In his head, he tried to remember a line from The Cherry Orchard, from the school production he had taken part in. The focus, and mundane nature of his thoughts, enabled him to pass through customs without acting suspiciously. Twenty minutes later, Owen was sitting on a train, heading for Liverpool Street Station, via Manningtree. He did not put the holdall in a luggage rack but sat with it across his lap. Once past Manningtree, and a change of trains, he allowed himself to fall asleep, one arm through the handle of the holdall. Soon enough, the train slowed down into Liverpool Street Station and came to a standstill.
As he walked across the concourse, for the first time since leaving London, Owen wondered if his motorcycle was still in one piece, where he had parked it. The Kawasaki and Yamaha had been replaced by a Honda Goldwing and a 500cc Suzuki, but to his relief, his Honda was still where he had left it. After attaching the holdall to the pillion seat with bungee cords, Owen fastened his helmet, and set off for Battersea. His intention was to dump the holdall in his flat, use the toilet, get changed into his jeans, and go straight round to Wendy’s to pick up Kochai. There would be time for a decent walk, and then he had to work, for which he felt slightly guilty, having to leave Kochai again, when he had only just picked him up. Kochai would understand, he was sure.
As he walked round to Wendy’s house, he really wanted to tell her about his trip to Amsterdam, but there was no easy way to do so and avoid further questions, so he would just have to keep it a secret. He would tell Kochai, his trusty confidant, all about it, instead. He rang the doorbell. Wendy opened wide the door, and Kochai practically knocked him off his feet.
“Good boy. I missed you. Have you had fun? Good Kochai.”
“Did you get sorted what you needed to get sorted?” asked Wendy.
“Yes. Thank you. And thank you again for looking after Kochai.”
“No problem. He’s had a ball.”
“I’m sure he has. Are you on tonight or is it Vince?”
“I think it’s Vince. I’ll see you tomorrow lunchtime.”
“Great. Bye. Thanks again.”
He attached Kochai’s lead, took the plastic bag with the food bowls, which Wendy had now fetched from the kitchen, and set off home, via the local park. He was relieved to be home safe, without any glitches, and even happier to be reunited with Kochai, but the trickier part of the road ahead was yet to be navigated.
At midday, on Sunday, Owen placed the Delft tea service in his top-box and rode into Central London, parking in his usual place outside Euston Station. It was hard to know what kind of reception to expect at the ‘banya’. Would Nikolai be happy, grateful even? Would Owen suddenly become surplus to requirements, in spite of the promise? The middle-aged woman at the reception desk greeted him in her usual way, and he carried his holdall through to the changing room and showers. Hardly had he put down the holdall, when Nikolai came in.
“How were the puppies, my friend?”
“I believe the puppies have made it to the UK,” responded Owen, glancing at the holdall.
“Well, what are you waiting for?”
“Ah, yes. Sorry,” stuttered Owen, unzipping the holdall and getting out the Delft tea service. “There you are. All in one piece, I hope.”
“I hope it has three pieces,” joked Nikolai. “Teapot, sugar bowl and jug. Have you not looked inside?”
“No. I haven’t opened the box at all.”
Nikolai took out a penknife, which made Owen feel nervous, and slit the tape holding the lid fast. He carefully opened the box, lifted out the teapot and removed the lid. The smile on his face turned into a broad grin, as he held the lidless teapot towards Owen.
“Take a look.”
Owen peered inside to see it was packed with what he assumed must be heroin.
“Welcome to the family, Owen. Join me in the smoke room when you are done here.”
“Yes.”
“And thank you, Owen.”
It dawned on Owen that he had just trafficked two to three kilos of heroin into the country. What did Nikolai mean by ‘Welcome to the family’? Was this a good sign. He showered and went into the steam room, where Vasily was waiting. He stood and gave Owen a bear hug.
“Welcome back, my friend.”
They sat in silence. Owen was beginning to feel more confident. His status seemed to have gone from guest to winning goal scorer over the last few days, although he was getting a niggling feeling that it was not the last trip he would have to make.
After their cold showers, Vasily and Owen went up to the smoke room where Nikolai was waiting. A metal dish was sitting in the stand over a candle, and the atmosphere smelt spicy. The syringes and rubber tubing were on the floor. At least the syringes were still individually wrapped. Vasily picked them up and handed one to Owen. As long as a went first, Owen knew the heroin would be alright.
