Nightwatching Page #7

who you must know lost his case.

- Ah! So who's making

a challenge now?

Huh-huh.

Well, you know,

Andries warned me

all about you, you know,

putting special meanings

in your paintings.

I mean, what he was asking for

was honesty.

You interpreted the honesty

for drunkenness.

Is that right? Hmm?

Rembrandt?

And since

he's my brother-in-law,

and very, very wealthy...

...I understand several of us

paid you already?

Isn't that right?

- The red sash, I think,

and the black suit.

Let's see? Good.

Um... and I think

we'll have a gesture,

a gesture like a Roman officer.

Not Greek.

Mm-hmm. There. There.

And the...

That's it.

Flat-soled shoes,

this, I think.

Oh, and "The Man in Black."

Ha-ha.

And you've...

you've picked up the glove,

so to speak,

for your brother-in-law?

- Yeah. Yeah, I think so.

I think so...

- Hmm.

- Yes.

Well, as long as you make

Willem look very grand, eh?

He'll be pleased.

As of course shall I.

We shall, I'm sure, Willem and I,

look very splendid together.

Very splendid.

- Look what we found for you.

She's a present.

A beauty. An exotic.

Her name is Ispidie,

from the Gold Coast,

and she hasn't caught pneumonia

or influenza yet,

but I'm certain

she surely will, eventually,

and then she'll die.

They just don't survive

very long.

- You can take her

and then draw her,

or whatever you do.

- What do you do?

- You're so wealthy now.

You could probably buy

her entire tribe.

Though if she's only got

six months to live,

it might not be a good idea.

- I'm sure painting alone

never made you so filthy rich.

- Tell us what you really do

to make all this cash.

- Are you a sort of pimp,

Rembrandt?

- I have known some pimps

here and there,

some of them

were quite well off,

but, uh, I would never say

they were rich.

Really rich.

See, the problem with pimps

is that they don't live

so long either.

They die of the pox

or the knife of a jealous lover,

or with their eyes scratched out.

- Are you a ship speculator?

For I am told

you are lousy with money.

- When people owe me money,

I'm ruthless.

I just can't stand debtors.

If you can't play the game

like the rest of us, then out.

- I understand

the money side of things

is more in your wife's line.

- We gave her 50 each.

I suppose that's half of it now.

Or has it gone up again?

I need a good position

in that painting.

No Holland corners,

and if I don't look like

I would like to look like...

then 50 is all you're getting.

(chuckling)

- I hear that Wormsmark...

- It's Wormsdyke.

...has included you...

in his deal with the Sunflower.

- And I understand...

that that is Egremont's ship.

Do you know where he is?

- Egremont?

- Mm.

- Good Lord, no!

He's finished.

He's disgraced himself.

He'll probably stay abroad.

Probably somewhere

where they speak French.

Madeira. Tunisia.

She speaks French.

Don't you, darling?

She may be black,

but she's very, very talented.

Remember, Rembrandt,

six months at the latest.

Then you have to pay

for the coffin.

And the Calvin crowd,

they don't really like blacks

in their cemeteries.

Do they, Ispidie?

- Look...

I paid 20 guilders for these.

I need to wear them!

My wife will complain if I don't

and my life

won't be worth living.

- Now...

- I wore this at the Queen's visit!

- If I put you in this stuff,

you're going to have to lose

the beard,

because they want clean-shaven.

I could give you a dog to carry.

- What the hell for?!

I don't like dogs,

and they don't like me!

They bite me.

I insist we wear these.

I'm paying, for God's sake!

- This - wrong colour.

Too dull and no shine.

- If they're good enough

for the Queen of France,

they're good enough for me,

and should be good enough

for you!

- Look, if you wear this stuff,

then I'm going to put you

in the shadows,

otherwise you'll look

like a catamite in a kardomah.

Next one?

- Well, what the hell is that?

- Well, the first's a bum-boy,

and the second I'm not sure.

I got it from Wormscheldt.

- It's Wormskerck!

- Ah. Mm-hmm.

There... Now, this...

Ahem-hem-hem.

How's Egremont doing?

- Pfft!

Disgraced.

- Oh?

- Why do you want to know?

He disappeared.

- Disappeared? What?

He was so loud a man,

I doubt he could disappear

so... easily.

- Disgraced,

drunk in charge of firing.

He drank too much.

- Oh?

- He's got relatives in Virginia.

- Oh.

- Maybe he's gone there.

He was the one

that ordered the shot

that killed Hasselburg.

- Now that, to me,

does not at all sound likely.

- Fire!

(gunshot)

Clear!

Ferdinand. Ready?

Fire!

(gunshot)

Clear.

Gerard. Ready?

Fire!

(gunshot)

Clear.

- You've forgotten the order to aim.

Who's doing the aiming?

- Well, surely the shooter

aims his own musket?

- You would've thought so.

- Not without a musket stand.

(Rembrandt sighing)

- All right.

Well, let's try it again.

Uh, now, Hendrickje!

And Liefe!

Mind the way, please,

we're going to try again.

Hameron, let's try another one.

Now, bear with me.

Aim...

...and fire.

(gunshot)

So you see, you see,

that without a musket-stand,

the aimer is in full control

of the trajectory of the bullet.

So, in order for this to work,

the aimer -

let's say Geyle or Jongkind -

has to be in close association

with the lieutenant

who shouts the orders to fire.

- Which is Egremont.

- Mm-hmm.

- Egremont is in this conspiracy?

- Well, Jongkind said

that Egremont was drunk

and waved his arm

indiscriminately.

- But Jongkind said

that Egremont

wasn't looking at any target.

- Has he been made a dupe?

Where the Hell is Egremont now?

I've asked around,

but get hazy answers.

- I've heard a rumour

that he may be in Genoa.

- Jongkind says Virginia.

- That is a long way to travel

in six weeks.

What's he doing there?

- Well, everyone says the same:

Shame, guilt, disgrace.

He's in hiding.

- He's on a ship

belonging to Engelen.

- Virginia? Tobacco!

Engelen is after a slice

of the Virginia tobacco market!

- But it was an accident.

"Dereliction of duty."

- Well, I'm absolutely certain

that Egremont

had nothing to do with it.

We must paint him

into the picture.

Now, now, is there a likeness

of him in Amsterdam?

- Yeah, well, he was supposed

to be painted by Pinkenoy,

so perhaps the Hague?

- Mm-hmm.

- The shot was fired

behind Engeland's head.

Matthias said the sound

made everyone jump,

so it could not have been expected.

- Fired by a 12-year-old boy.

Too young to be a soldier.

- It could be Horatio Eiken.

- Hmm?

- He's from the orphanage.

He was out that afternoon shooting,

the afternoon

it was pouring with rain?

Marita says he came back

wringing wet and shivering,

and wouldn't talk.

Then Dirk came in later

and told everyone

that Hasselburg was dead,

and Horatio told him to shut up,

and then locked himself

in the privy.

Dirk told me the details.

He said they'd caught him

and told him to keep his mouth shut

and not report what he had seen.

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