"Get a babysitter for Jack," Femke told her. "You've got a few friends in the red-light district, haven't you?"
"Thank you for your time," Alice said; only then did she take Jack's hand.
Walking from the Bergstraat, they reentered the red-light district on the Oudekerksplein. It was early evening, just growing dark. The organ in the Oude Kerk wasn't playing, but the women were all in their doorways--as if they knew Jack and Alice were coming. Anja was one of the older ones; she was on and off in the friendliness department. It must have been one of Anja's off nights, because she was humming the tune to "Breathe on Me, Breath of God," which seemed a little cruel.
It's not much of a tune. As a communion prayer, sung instead of spoken, the words matter more than the tune. Like many simple things, Jack thought it was beautiful; it was one of his mom's favorites.
They next passed Margriet, one of the younger girls, who always called Jack "Jackie"; this time she said nothing. Then came Annelies, Naughty Nanda, Katja, Angry Anouk, Mistress Mies, and Roos the Redhead; they were humming the tune of the hymn, which Alice ignored. Only Old Jolanda knew the words.
"Breathe on me, breath of God . . ." she was singing.
"You're not going to do it, are you?" Jack asked his mother. "I don't care if I ever see him," the boy lied.
Maybe Alice said, "I'm the one who wants to see him, Jack." Or she might have said, "He's the one who wants to see you, Jackie."
When Alice told Tattoo Peter about Femke's idea, the one-legged man tried to talk her out of it. Peter had Woody the Woodpecker tattooed on his right biceps. Jack got the impression that even the woodpecker was opposed to the idea of his mom singing a hymn in a prostitute's window or doorway.
Years later, he would ask his mother what ever happened to the picture she took of him with Tattoo Peter's Woody the Woodpecker. "Maybe the photograph didn't turn out," was all she said.
After posing with the woodpecker, Jack and his mom walked down to The Red Dragon, where Robbie de Wit rolled Alice some joints, which she put in her purse. Perhaps Robbie took their picture with Tattoo Theo. (Jack used to think: Maybe that photo didn't turn out, either.)
They bought a ham-and-cheese croissant for Saskia, who was busy with a customer on the Bloedstraat, so Jack ate the sandwich while they walked over to the corner of the Stoofsteeg, where Jack drifted in and out of his mom's conversation with Els. "I don't recommend it," Els was saying to Alice. "But of course you can use my room, and I'll look after Jack."
From the doorway of Els's room, Jack and his mom couldn't see Saskia's window or doorway on the Bloedstraat; they had to cross the canal in order to see if Saskia was still busy with her client. She was. By the time they walked back to Els's room, Els was with a customer of her own. Jack and Alice went back to the Bloedstraat and chatted with Janneke, the prostitute who was Saskia's nearest neighbor.
"What's with the hymn?" Janneke asked Alice. "Or is it some kind of prayer?" Alice just shook her head. The three of them stood out on the street, waiting for Saskia's client to slink out the door, which he did a few minutes later. "If he had a tail like a dog, it would be between his legs," Janneke observed.
"I suppose so," Alice said.
Finally Saskia opened her curtains and saw them on the street. She waved, smiling with her mouth open, which was never the way she would smile at a potential customer. Saskia told Alice she could use her room, too, and that--between her and Els--Jack would be properly looked after.
"I really appreciate it," Alice told the burned and beaten girl. "If you ever want a tattoo . . ." Her voice trailed away. Saskia couldn't look at her.
"It's not the worst thing," Saskia said, to no one in particular. Alice shook her head again. "You know what, Jack?" Saskia asked; she seemed eager to change the subject. "You look like a kid who just ate a ham-and-cheese croissant, you lucky bugger!"
In Amsterdam, all the prostitutes were registered with the police. The women were photographed, and the police kept a record of their most personal details; some of these were probably irrelevant. But if the prostitute had a boyfriend, that was relevant, because if she was murdered or beaten up, it was often the boyfriend who did it--usually not a customer. There were no minors among the prostitutes in those days, and the police were on the friendliest possible terms with the women in the red-light district; the police knew almost everything that went on there.
One morning, which felt almost like spring, Jack and Alice went to the Warmoesstraat police station with Els and Saskia. A nice policeman named Nico Oudejans interviewed Alice. Saskia had requested Nico; both when she'd been burned and when she'd been beaten up, he had been the first street cop to arrive at the scene on the Bloedstraat. Jack may have been disappointed that Nico was wearing plainclothes, not a uniform, but Nico was the red-light district's favorite officer--not just a familiar cop on the beat but the policeman the prostitutes most trusted. He was in his late twenties or early thirties.
To the boyfriend question, Alice said no--she didn't have one--but Nico was suspicious of her answer. "Then who's the guy you're singing for, Alice?"
"He's a former boyfriend," Alice said; she put her hand on the back of Jack's neck. "He's Jack's father."
"We would consider him a boyfriend," the policeman politely told her.
Possibly it was Els who said: "It's just for an afternoon and part of one night, Nico."
"I'm not going to admit any customers," Alice might have told the nice cop. "I'm just going to sit in the window or stand in the doorway, and sing."
"If you turn everyone down, you're going to make some men angry at you, Alice," Nico said.
It must have been Saskia who said: "One of us will always be nearby. When she's using my room, I'll be watching out for her; when she's using Els's room, Els will be hanging around."
"And where will you be, Jack?" Nico asked.
"He's going to be with me or Els!" Saskia replied.
Nico Oudejans shook his head. "I don't like the sound of it, Alice--this isn't your job."