Ex Drummer Page #3

A collective "who'd have thought?" and

"last week he looked so well on the TV".

But you can't call that

collective sorrow, you horny b*tch.

It's not the sort of sorrow

you can write a whole thesis about.

Because, like I said

collective sorrow doesn't exist.

There's only personal sorrow.

The King of Siam was the last king to

almost provoke something collective.

Do you still want to take part or not?

- Yes, of course. Why not?

What did you think when you heard

that King Boudewijn had died?

At 3 o'clock that night

Lio went to bed to go to sleep

and there was plaintive,

almost unbearable music on the radio.

Then I realised

there'd either been a terrible disaster

or someone very important had died.

Whose trip across the Styx

was accompanied by strange music

that wasn't constantly interrupted by

the usual DJ bullshit.

It wasn't me. I was still alive.

Not Phoebe or Gloria, I could feel

their heartbeat in my arteries as usual.

Nor my mother,

she'd already passed on.

And suddenly I knew.

It was the king.

It had to be him.

Lio.

Lio.

The king has died.

Yes? What do you want?

I've come to get you for the rehearsal.

- Rehearsal?

We've got to rehearse. Come on.

- I'll get my jacket and I'll be down.

There he is. Verbeek.

You shaking, man?

- No, I'm not shaking.

Is something up?

- No.

No?

- No, nothing's up.

Hello.

- F***in' hell! We've had it!

Why? What's the problem?

- Harry Mulisch is going to Leffinge.

Who?

- Harry Mulisch. Hard rockers.

D'you know them?

- Yes.

What's the problem?

What does it matter if they're going?

I bumped into the singer yesterday.

- Yeah, Big Dick.

Big Dick?

They call him Big Dick.

Stop interrupting me!

It's almost weekend

I'd like to cut my grass!.

What?

- A play on words, a metaphor. Jesus!

Why do they call him Big Dick?

If they called him Big C*nt

he'd be a woman.

I was in a bar yesterday with Big Dick.

Which bar?

- Christ, I don't know what it's called.

Cary on, Van Dorpe.

It doesn't matter which bar it was.

I was sitting there with Big C*nt...

Big Dick, having a quiet chat.

Suddenly he says, "Harry Mulisch is

taking part in the rally in Leffinge."

I say, "So are The Feminists."

"Who?" he asks.

"The Feminists," I say.

He doesn't know what I'm on about.

I told him we've got a new band.

And that we... No.

And that we've got a new number,

a brand new number, Deep Fish.

To cut a long story short,

he's also got a number called Deep Fish.

He says one of us just has to

write a new number or change the name.

That'd be ridiculous, with two...

- What?

If there are two bands with...

What's the problem? Harry Mulisch

can write another number.

No, he said

we have to write another number.

And why did

the moronic arsehole say that?

He said that he'd written Deep Fish

five years ago.

Fantastic. To which you replied that

we'd written Deep Fish six years ago.

That we wrote Deep Fish six years ago.

I didn't say that.

I said we'd written it two weeks ago.

Fantastic. Brilliant, Van Dorpe. Thanks.

Thanks. He also said that

if we dare to play Deep Fish,

he'll climb on the stage

and smash us all in the kisser.

The kisser?

- Ever been thumped by him?

We're playing Deep Fish, not if Harry

Mulisch. I'll have a talk with Big Dick.

D'you know him?

- We were both students of Dutch.

What?

Students of Dutch?

- Is your chick as hot as she looks?

Want me to come?

Did you know my dad was the first

one round here to bring in darkies?

Your father?

- Yes, my father.

He was an eel seller. He sold eels.

Skinned eels and stuff.

Maybe that's why I've got a big dick.

- Could be.

He was fed up with employing Belgians,

he thought they didn't work hard.

He had the chance to import

an Indian guy, a dark guy.

A dark Indian, a real Indian.

So he imported the Indian.

He came to work for us.

A good guy, a decent guy.

But he kept talking about

'fickie fickie'.

"You have done fickie fickie?" he asked.

- What's that?

'Fickie fickie'.

- Oh!

All the darkies come here

to f*** our women.

We should send 'em all f***in' back!

He brought his wife over.

They bred like rabbits.

I think the whole of Ostend is

full of Indians. F***in' hell!

And we pay for them.

- Right, and we pay for them.

They receive benefits and we...

We mustn't say anything,

otherwise they say you're a racist.

F***in' hell!

Jesus, look who it is!

What do you want?

How are you?

- Fine. Take a seat. Want a drink?

Or are you on the wagon

like all the old drunks?

Water.

- Water! Erna, two beers and a water.

Jesus, just look at you.

Who'd have thought

you'd become famous?

Happened by accident.

- By accident? The luck of the devil!

How's your career going?

- My career?

Have you started that book yet?

- Yeah, I've already started my book.

I do f*** all! F*** all!

In the evening I rehearse with

Harry Mulisch. That's my rock band.

We're going to take part in

the first big rock rally of Leffinge.

I'll give it to you in black and white,

you ugly walnut, we're going to win.

'The first big rock competition

of Leffinge' is a stupid name.

And 'Give it to you in black and

white' is a stupid expression.

Anything else you want to know?

Big Dick. Why do they call you that?

Is it metaphorical?

- Metaphorical, my arse.

Erna! Come here, you whore.

Show our visitor

why they call me Big Dick.

Come on, b*tch. Come on.

Go on, show him.

It's something else, eh?

I made this. With my cock.

My creation.

Amazing, eh?

Jesus, it stinks in here!

I think she wants a piss.

Let's get out of here.

I get it, Erna.

Sorry.

- Sorry, my arse.

There's nothing she likes more than

showing her exploded rat to visitors.

Don't you think

'exploded rat' sounds stupid?

Yeah. Anything else?

- The Deep Fish matter.

It's very simple.

The Feminists axe their version

and we don't. As simple as Simon.

I've got one suggestion.

- Don't bother.

Give me a piece of paper and a pen.

- Erna, a piece of paper and a pen

for the writer here.

F***in' hell, you slow b*tch!

Come on!

Back in your cage!

What are you doing?

- Just a minute.

Tell me when you've finished.

- Here you are.

If you get rid of Deep Fish,

you can have these lyrics.

F***in' hell!

How do you do that?

This is a good number.

It's a good number.

This is a mega hit.

But how do you do that?

Let's have a drink to it.

Erna, four beers and a water.

- No, thanks. I'm off.

Five beers and no water.

- See you in Leffinge?

Make sure you come second.

- You too.

Hey.

Who are you?

- This is our roadie.

Roadie? Who are you?

He's coming to Leffinge

to help with things.

Who are you?

- I'm Dorian.

Roadie. He's coming...

- He asked me to...

To come so that...

- And take things down, etc.

D'you f*** him?

No, it's just to help.

- D'you f*** him?

Yes. But that's got nothing to do

with it, as long as the work is done.

What's all the row for?

- Will you go away, Ma Verbeek?

This is a meeting between The Feminists'

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