Margriet

She put on the pearl earrings her mother had given her on her 16^th birthday, earrings normally reserved for special occasions. She examined herself in the mirror. Her blonde hair was neatly bundled up in a bun. She had on a grey pullover with a hood, jeans and sneakers. Your average girl next door. A student perhaps. Gone was the promiscuous girl in a skimpy outfit gyrating at one of the numerous glass windows in Amsterdam's infamous De Wallen red light district, soliciting passers-by.

"So, ready for Amsterdam?" an older girl asked sleepily.

She nodded.

"Enjoy yourself in the city."

She had been here for two weeks but had not seen the city, having spent most of the time working or resting. She loves sex, and thought it was an easy way to make money, so she had found her way to Amsterdam through a friend who had done it before. At first, it seemed fun and exciting, but it didn't turn out to be as easy as she had thought. For one, most people just wanted to look; the red light district had become a tourist attraction. And those who did wanted more weren't exactly nice, so much so that she sometimes had to close her eyes and simply hope it would end sooner rather than later.

So, the day before she was to leave for home, she thought she would go see the city, so that at least she could say she had been here.

Her first stop was the Central Station. She had seen pictures of it when she was younger and loved the façade. She arrived to find it under reconstruction, denying her an unobstructed view of the façade. She entered, and wandered through the cavernous main hall, perhaps the only person amongst the crowd not in any hurry. She went to a platform, and a train from Brussels was just easing into the station.

Her father used to work at the Gara de Nord station in Bucharest, so she had spent a lot of time as a kid at the train station, watching the trains… and people parting and reuniting.

She decided she shouldn't be spending her one and only day in Amsterdam at the train station, much as she would have liked, so she left and found herself at the canals.

Concentric levels of hell. Some writer had described the canals of Amsterdam so. One of those old books her mother had. She tried hard to remember. Dante? No, Inferno was the name of the first part of his Divine Comedy.

"Alles kits?"

"Huh?" she turned around, and sitting on the steps leading up to one of the many picturesque townhouses that line the canal was a man with a newspaper spread out to one side, and a plate with a croissant and a cup of coffee presumably on the other side.

"Everything ok?" he repeated, this time in English.

"Yes…" she replied hesitantly.

"I thought you were Dutch. For some reason. That's why I spoke to you in Dutch."

She smiled awkwardly, not having understood everything he had said.

"First time in Amsterdam?"

She nodded.

"How long have you been here?"

"Two weeks."

"Where are you from?"

"Romania."

"Romania…Bucharest?"

She smiled, her eyes lighting up. "Yes."

"Are you here on holiday, or exchange?"

"Exchange?"

"You know, students go to another place for half a year or a year…"

"Oh… yes."

"Why don't you come up? It is easier to talk. Come," he beckoned.

She made her way up the stairs.

"Sit. Coffee? Croissant? Fresh from the bakery. Still warm."

And she realized she was hungry; she hadn't eaten all morning.

"Stay here," he said, and disappeared into the house. She instinctively peeked, as he disappeared into the house. She couldn't see much of the interior of the house, though she could tell he must be well-to-do.

He appeared again, with a pot of coffee, a cup, and a basket of freshly-baked croissants.

"Here you go, help yourself. Go on," he encouraged.

She hesitated, but finally took up his offer.

He smiled, leaning back and stretching his legs in front of him. "It's a good way to spend a Saturday morning isn't it? Just lazing around with breakfast and newspapers. With the sun in your face. It makes you feel alive."

She was sipping her coffee and hurriedly nodded.

"Sorry, I talk too much… So, what's your name?"

She hesitated. "Anna," she finally said.

"Anna. That's a nice name. Short and sweet. I am Marco," he offered his hand, which she shook. "So, Anna, what are you studying?"

"Study?"

"You say you are here on exchange…"

"Art."

"Art?"

"Art," she replied with more emphasis, as though she was trying to convince herself rather than him.

"Well, then I guess you are at the right place. Do you like the works of the Dutch Masters?"

"Yes…"

"Any favourites?"

"Erm…"

"Hard to choose, isn't it?"

She nodded.

"Have you been to any of the museums?"

She shook her head.

"Would you be interested in going later? Maybe the Rijksmuseum?"

She hesitated.

"I will take it as a 'yes'."

She smiled.

"Shall we go after this?"

"Yes."

After they were done, she helped him with the clearing up, and hence stepped into his house.

"You like art?" she asked, looking around, impressed by the paintings on display.

"Yeah. I used to draw," he said, taking the last plate from her and putting it into the dishwasher. "Ok, done. Let's go now."

"Used to?" she asked as they stepped out of the house.

"I have a condition that makes it hard for me to hold, for example, a pencil properly. So I can't draw anymore. Let's walk, shall we?"

They followed the Prinsengracht and he pointed out the Anne Frank House and the Westerkerk to her, where Rembrandt was buried, he added. They finally came to the Rijksmuseum.

"Wow," she exclaimed softly, awed by the architecture of the museum.

"It gets even better inside," he promised, smiling.

He followed her quietly when they were inside, leaving her to choose how she wanted to spend her time in the museum. She stared keenly at the paintings, and seemed to lose herself in them. She did not once speak to him. It was like she was so engrossed that she had forgotten his presence. But he did not mind. Something about this girl had struck him. He was content to observe her metamorphosis from the hesitant girl at breakfast to the girl now who seemed to have rediscovered the spark that had gone missing in her life.

She spent the most time at the works of Vermeer: The Milkmaid, The Love Letter, Woman in blue reading a letter.

They finally adjourned to the museum café. As he returned with coffee, he found her sitting there, staring into space. She turned, facing him when he placed a cup in front of her. And he realized she had been crying.

She tried to smile, but her eyes were all red and watery.

"Everything all right?" he asked gently.

She nodded, but started sobbing uncontrollably. He pulled her towards him as the other people threw curious or concerned looks at them.

After a good ten minutes or so, she pushed herself away from him and murmured, "I am sorry."

She wiped her tears off her face with the back of her hand, and stood up. "Shall we go?"

They were now sitting on the Museumsplein.

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have brought you to the museum."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault. I just remembered some stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Who I was 4, 5 years ago. What I am now." She bit her lip.

"What is wrong with the Anna now?"

She shook her head, smiling sadly. "I can't tell you."

"Tell me. Maybe I can help."

She shook her head again.

"You have helped me."

"Huh?"

"I lied. I don't have any condition. I just couldn't accept the criticisms of my works, so I stopped. I gave up. But after meeting you today, after seeing how affected you are by the works in the museum, I am reminded of my love for painting. So, I want to try again."

She stared at him.

"Thank you. How do you say that in Romanian?"

"Multumesc."

"Multumesc."

"Multumesc," she corrected his pronunciation.

"Multumesc."

"Good," she smiled.

"You like Vermeer, don't you?"

"Who is Vermeer?"

"A great artist. You were looking a lot at his works just now."

"I don't know. I just looked at what I liked."

"Most of them were from Vermeer. Do you know his most famous work? The girl with the pearl earring. It is in a museum in Den Haag. We can go there and look at it. I am sure you will like it."

"I leave tomorrow."

"What?"

"I go back Bucharest tomorrow."

"I don't understand."

A little ball rolled over to where they were sitting. She picked it up. A little girl ran up to her but hesitated. Her smiling parents came up and said something to their daughter in Dutch.

She smiled and handed the ball over to the little girl, who took it. She patted her on the head, and the little girl smiled shyly and ran to her mother, hiding behind her leg. Her mother laughed and said something in Dutch.

The girl, from behind her mother, peeked out and said, "Dank U."

She smiled, and bade the family goodbye.

"Shall we go?" she asked.

He nodded. They walked in silence up to the canal.

"How do I go to the train station?"

"Straight here, all the way. I will take you there. Why do you want to go there?"

"It is ok. I want to go alone. And you need to go back. I have taken up enough of your time."

"It is ok. I like being with you."

She shook her head.

"You go back to Bucharest tomorrow?"

She nodded.

"I thought you would be here for a semester?"

"I lied. I have to go. Thank you, for the breakfast, and for showing me around. Goodbye," she held out a hand.

"You say you leave tomorrow. So we still have time today. Stay. Don't go. I like you."

"You can't like me," she put down her hand.

"Why not?"

"You don't know me at all. You only met me this morning."

"So what, Anna?"

"I am not Anna. It is not my real name."

"What?"

"You see? You don't know me at all."

He looked at her, at a loss for words.

"I am sorry I lied. You are very nice. That is why I lied. I go now. Bye bye."

She turned and started to walk away in the direction he had pointed out earlier.

"Wait."

She didn't turn back.

"What's your real name?"

She stopped.

"What's your real name?"

She turned. "Margareta."

"Margriet."

"Margareta."

"I know. In Dutch, it would be Margriet. Pearl."

She nodded, smiling.

"Multumesc," he said.

She smiled, and turned.

"Hey! I don't know your problem. Because you don't want to tell me. But you remembered the old Margareta today. I am sure you can find her again. When you get back to Bucharest, find her."

She started making her way back.