Making this world a bettter place

Of course, I have to help my fellow human beings. And especially when they live in your neighbourhood. But where is the limit to getting your fellow creatures out of the misery? When do you want to be of service to someone? When are you allowed to give in, to move along? Like a juniper bush in an autumn storm? When do you have to stand your ground? When do you have to say this is enough, sufficient? Like a dike against rough seawater?

I look at the shopping list in my hand. I stare at the trembling handwriting. Milk, potatoes, cookies, fruit. And 3 crates of beer.

“Is it easy to read?” she says. I don’t dare look up. And I keep glancing at the white note as if I didn’t hear the question. It is Saturday morning. Outside it is drizzling. Wet birds sit aimlessly and quietly on wet branches. Inside organ music sounds. ‘Aus der tiefe ruf’ich’ by ​​Johann Sebastian Bach. It could be worse.

“Would you like another cup of tea?” says my neighbour. She doesn’t wait for my answer and shuffles into the kitchen. Her husband is sitting next to the ochre-coloured wall cupboard. Dressed in a black suit that must have been fashionable for a while in the 1960s. He looks at me as if I’ve kicked him in the balls.

About five years ago, Derk had a brain haemorrhage. Since then, his wife has cared for him. She supports him, feeds him. With love and devotion. She can be found next to him day and night.

The stories are going around in the neighbourhood. The gossip is being told. Also fed by the time Derk was a German teacher at secondary school. How kind, how empathetic he is on the outside. How sarcastic he is, how poisonous, biting, mocking on the inside.

“Look, a fresh cup of tea,” she says. I thank her. She walks over to her husband, strokes his cheek, kisses his dark forehead.

What must it be like to live in the same house with a monster like Derk? How does Jeske deal with his cynicism, his hatefulness? Is it pure sacrifice? Is this what is called self-effacing love?

Where Derk is known as an inhuman, a devil's child, Jeske is generally regarded as a heroine, an angel. If someone in the street has a birthday, she provides a card. Or flowers. Is someone in big trouble? She comes forward and helps the person in need.

But now Jeske needs help herself. Derk coughed up blood last night and they are both waiting for the doctor to arrive. She cannot leave him alone. At least not this morning. She has made a request via the neighbourhood app who can do her weekly shopping for her.

The shopping list is stuck to my hands. After all, the intention is that I decline the tea and go to the supermarket. But three crates of beer? Could that be true? These rumours that are also going around. That Derk is an alcoholic. And that when he is drunk, he hits her. To make Jeske’s life an even darker hell as it in normal situations?

Should I go along with this? Am I supposed to facilitate this cruel behaviour? I take a sip of the Earl Grey tea to buy time. Jeske sits down on a Baroque chair. Her left-hand rests on Derk’s right arm. Jeske nods at me as if I were the prodigal son himself.

“Did you collect those tins yourself?” I ask. I point to a shelf on which they are displayed. Clover Valley evaporated milk. Faultless carrots. Palmers’ cocoa. Astor House coffee. Court House cloves.

While Jeske tells me that she collects tins and visits various flea markets every week to find them, my thoughts wander how I should plan and execute my next step. How do I confront the couple? How do I tell them that I do not wish to participate in maintaining Derk’s tyrannical and horrific behaviour?

The conversation falls silent. Derk and Jeske are looking at me. I peer at the note in my hand. I read it again. Three crates of beer.

Then Jeske stands up and trots to the kitchen. I've made my decision. I follow her. When I'm out of Dirk's sight I hiss at her: "Is that wise? Three crates of beer? Does Derk really need that?"

"Derk? Beer? Are you crazy," says Jeske. "He's been a teetotaller his whole life. But if you can't find Peroni, Stella Artois is also a good choice. Or Kronenbourg. I'm not that picky."