Читать книгу Ventoux - Bert Wagendorp - Страница 17

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VII

The day Hinke and I got married was also the day when my friendship with Joost and André was put on ice. In the preceding years the contact had already become much less intensive, and now came the separation.

During the dinner, Joost stood on his chair and started holding forth. When he dropped the name Laura in his slurred speech, I knew it was going to end in tears. He talked of ‘Bart’s great love,’ the woman ‘who should have been here this evening, perhaps at Bart’s side.’ Or, he added, ‘at mine.’ People looked up in surprise and couldn’t understand a word. The speech was meant for my ears only. It was as if he had waited for this moment to pay me back.

‘Get him to stop,’ hissed Hinke. ‘I’m so ashamed. I don’t want to hear all this, make him stop!’ She shook my shoulder. I made a few vague hand gestures to Joost, but he was unstoppable. It went embarrassingly quiet; I could see a disaster looming, but I wasn’t capable of taking appropriate measures.

Joost had just launched into a detailed description of Laura’s appearance when David got up, walked over to him, whispered something in his ear, grabbed him by the waist, and threw him over his shoulder. He set him on a stool at the bar, spoke forcefully to him, and came back to the table as if nothing had happened.

I spent my wedding night on an airbed in the living room. I could understand why—after all, Joost was my friend.

André turned up at the wedding in the brand-new Porsche. He had brought a blond girlfriend with him who seemed to come from a different universe. André didn’t say much, not even to his parents. There were scores of people he knew, but he moved through the company like a ghost. He wore a white suit and snakeskin shoes. When he left, he hugged me and said: ‘Sorry, Bart.’ For a long time those were the last words I heard from his mouth.