[About the translation:

‘Strawberry Fields Forever’ is a story by Janneke Spoelstra from her Frisian collection of stories, In Jikse-libben (A Jiks’s life), published in 2008.
It was translated by Renée van Weringh, in collaboration with the author. Renée, who emigrated from Friesland as a child, lives in Canada. This English version will be published in four instalments in consecutive issues of ensafh. This is the second instalment]

Strawberry Fields Forever

2

Sunday night I was with Mario in the yard, batting a shuttlecock back and forth. It was a quiet evening. The shadows crept slowly up the hills. Those who came out of the dormitories toward the kitchen, or the other way round, stopped by us for a bit, but were soon bored. At last it was too dark, and Mario went to sit on the little stoop of the girls’ dormitory. I sat beside him.
‘Wait a moment,’ he said and ran to the other door. He came back with a chocolate bar and broke it in half.
He told me about his brothers. One wanted to be a sailor and the other wanted to emigrate to Canada. I told him about the team and about someone I often hung about with.
We sat there till people came out of the kitchen again. They stepped between us to go inside and came out again with toiletries, on the way to the washroom.
I stood up. ‘I’m going to bed, too,’ I said.
Mario got up slowly. ‘Today we’ve known each other a week,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Well, till tomorrow.’ And I went in.

‘Fuck,’ said the little boys from the village who came to pick strawberries, after every other word. ‘Fuck, you’re in my fucking row. Fuck off or I’ll fucking thump you in the fucking head.’
‘What is “fucking” in Dutch,’ Mike from England asked Sido. ‘I want to know it in every language.’
It was Monday and we were picking by the bucket for the jam factory.
‘Give me your bucket,’ said Mario when we’d both filled them.
‘Never mind,’ I said. ‘I can carry it myself.’
‘It’s easier to carry two than one,’ he said.
I held fast to my own bucket.
That evening a group of us walked to the village. As we were standing before a shop window, Mario said, ‘ If only my mother could see this window show.’
Surprised I looked at him.
‘We do not have them like this,’ he said.
On the way back up the hill Mario and I ran a ways. Halfway up I stopped to catch my breath. He kept on running till he’d rounded the bend, then turned back and came laughing toward me.

When we returned from the fields Tuesday afternoon, the dogs had pushed over the dustbin and torn out the menstrual stuff.
That evening we were in the kitchen and I made tea. A cup for Mario and one for myself. We leaned against the counter.
‘Soon I will travel through half of Europe in two weeks,’ said Mario. ‘London, Dublin, Paris, Amsterdam, Oslo.’
‘I don’t care for that,’ I said, ‘flying through every place so quickly. I would prefer to stay in each place for a year, to experience all the seasons everywhere once.’
Laura came in with a camera. She took a photo of us, too.

On Wednesday we had rows beside each other the whole time. Whenever my boxes were full, we walked together to the wagon whether Mario’s were full or not. We also competed to be the fastest picker and hummed tunes for each other to guess what song it was. Sometimes I would see someone looking at us curiously.
‘What do you know about Yugoslavia?’ asked Toni who had a row on the other side of Mario. ‘Does it belong with the East or with the West?’ Before I could say anything, he answered himself. ‘It does not belong with the East and also not with the West. It is sort of in between. We had Tito. And what we have now…’ He looked at Mario and they shrugged.
That evening I sat up in bed writing a letter. I heard talking outside. When I looked out from behind the curtain, I saw a whole group of them in the yard. Mario was sitting there, too, holding the racquets. There was laughter and he laughed, too, while at the same time staring absently in front of him.
I wrote, it’s very nice to meet all these people. They come from everywhere. Some you get along with better than others. You’ll hear all about it later. By the time I’d finished the letter, the group were relaxing in the boys’ dormitory. I hesitated, but did not join them.

It rained fiercely on the roof window Thursday morning and we were allowed a lie-in. I heard Liz telling Laura about the night before.
‘We talked about everything,’ she said, ‘about war, too. Toni is such a fanatic. If war comes, men must defend their country and family, he said. But it’s so bestial, war. We’re human beings. We’ve been given reason.’
‘Well, yes…,’ said Laura.
That afternoon we had to pick by the bucket again. The wind blew against us with a fine drizzle.
‘I do not feel happy,’ said Mario.
‘Well, it’s nasty weather,’ I said.
‘Maybe I am not happy because the day after tomorrow I leave you,’ he said.
The hood of my raincoat blew in front of my eyes. ‘But you’ll see Paris,’ I said, ‘and Amsterdam and Norway, a beautiful country!’
‘It is still just a country,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said, and walked to the wagon with my bucket. I stood with Hadi, talking. ‘You haven’t exactly been hurrying,’ I said when I returned.
That evening I went swimming with Ana and Sizuko. ‘Strange, isn’t it,’ I said to Ana, ‘you go about with each other for a few weeks and then each goes his own way. You don’t know whether you’ll ever see each other again.’
‘Well,’ said Ana, ‘we all live on the same old planet.’
‘Home seems so far away these days,’ I said. ‘Sometimes I wonder if it is all still there.’

Friday afternoon the sun shone.
‘What time do you have to leave in the morning?’ I asked Mario.
‘Early,’ he said. ‘We must go on the half past six bus.’
‘Oh,’ I said, ‘then you should go to bed early tonight!’
‘A last night is not for sleeping,’ he answered.
We walked to the wagon and I let him give me new boxes.

That evening it was busy in the pub. I went to the toilet. There was a long queue. When I came back only Mario was still sitting there. ‘The others are across the way, and I was to wait for you,’ he said. ‘Should we have one more?’
‘Yes, fine,’ I said. He ordered, and after that I ordered another round. I told him about home, that my mother had tears in her eyes when she brought me to the train.
‘My mother had tears in her eyes once, too, standing on the train platform,’ said Mario. ‘I was called up for military service. I hung out the window and shouted: No, no, do not cry, mother.’ He laughed and I laughed, too.
Only Mohm and Abdul were in the pub on the other side of the road when we arrived. The others had moved on. Mohm waved from the dance floor. Mario said, ‘Come on, we should dance, too.’
We danced, and afterwards he got us some drinks. Against the wall a couple were just getting up. Pushing through the crowd, we set off in that direction. There wasn’t much room. We sat against each other. Mario put his arm around me. We sat that way for a while. Then he turned his head toward me and said, ‘From the very first day, I have loved you.’
I looked at him, just for a moment. Then I looked in front of me again. We sat there without speaking until the musicians started packing up. Abdul and Mohm walked by, winked. When the room was almost empty and they began to sweep the floor, we left. On the street in front of the pub he pulled me to him and we kissed.
I don’t know how long we were in getting back to Twinklehill. We took the road. It started to rain and we sheltered under an archway in a garden wall. When it was dry again we continued on. The trees dripped. A car overtook us. Under the trees, in the headlights, the road was like a green tunnel. Mario sang to me. A song about a boy who told his girl that he would never love anyone else, not even a princess.
We came to the bridge and heard the water foaming in the brook. Halfway up the hill we stood there for a while, heads touching.
‘I could cry now,’ I said.
And Mario said, ‘I am thinking, why did I not tell her on the second day that I love her?’
Against the sky we could see the silhouettes of the house and barn. We walked further. The bus stood in the laneway. We looked at each other. He let me go ahead. I stepped up to the running board, then immediately turned round and pushed him back.
‘There’s somebody in there already,’ I said.
We were still standing in the lane when we heard voices in the bus. A little later Pjotr and Mirka came out. We greeted each other. When they had disappeared in the darkness, we stepped up into the bus and flopped down beside each other on a bench.
‘I loved you from the moment that I saw your eyes,’ said Mario.
‘How can you say that,’ I said. ‘You hardly know me.’
‘Eyes say much about a person,’ he said. ‘When Toni and I came in, that first day, all the girls looked at us very curiously, ooh how exciting, new boys, but you just looked up quickly and continued writing your letter. I already know much about you. I have seen how quietly you go about in the busy kitchen and in the fields. You do not usually begin a conversation yourself. And when you are picking strawberries, you often pull on your nose. See, like this!’ He showed me.
‘You’ve certainly kept an eye on me,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘and I remember every word you say to me.’
‘I don’t say that much,’ I said.
He grinned. ‘And now you have to tell me what kind of boy you have seen,’ he said.
‘I saw a boy who already the very first evening played football with the other boys, who talked with everybody. And who in the field always looked for a row beside me and walked with me to the wagon even when his own boxes weren’t full yet.’
‘I make friends easily,’ he said, ‘but maybe I would like nothing better than to race you picking strawberries and running, to hum songs to you. Maybe I am more closed than people think, I do not know. It is easier to say something about somebody else than about oneself.’
We didn’t get up till it began to get light. With our arms around each other we walked through the yard.
‘Write to me soon,’ he said.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I will write to you.’
I went in. The door creaked. Someone talked in her sleep. Someone else turned over.

I lay in bed and didn’t sleep. I heard talking in the yard and thought about getting out of bed and waving goodbye. Then the door opened and Mario came round the corner. He smiled. I started to get up but he motioned me to lie still. He stroked my hair, kissed me and went out again. Down in the yard there was laughter.
That afternoon I went for a walk with Liz and Laura. I avoided their questions about the night before, but I thought about it the whole time. I also thought about home.

‘Now you’re walking by yourself again,’ said Hadi that Sunday out in the fields.
‘There are so many people here,’ I said, ‘so many I can talk to. I’m here to improve my English.’
‘Of course,’ Hadi said.
I walked to the porta-loo that stood at the top of the field. On the seat lay a big turd.

(to be continued)