As I walked through four large galleries of a recent, and most amazing, exhibition at the Boston MFA, “Class Distinctions: Dutch Painting in the Age of Rembrandt and Vermeer,” I couldn’t stop thinking about Pieter, the narrator of my new book. Much drama is caught in the 75 works by Dutch masters, reflecting the life in the prosperous, newly-coined independent Dutch society. Pieter, an affluent Dutch-born art dealer, lives in the heart of Old Amsterdam. When Karo visits him there, she practically inhales the food, anxious to see the house.
“As we ended the house tour on the top floor, one small door was still visible.
Karo ran up and opened it. “Where does that go?”
The last flight of stairs was barely wide enough to let people pass.
“It’s the attic! How did you get this stuff here? If you sold it, you could retire instantly.”
“Didn’t you see the large pulley under the roof? That’s how we get all big stuff in.”
“No. I was too excited for you to open the door. I missed you so terribly, Pieter!”
The floors creaked as she walked about lifting the sheets covering furniture and boxes.
She paused by a cradle filled with dusty toys. “Yours?”
I nodded, but couldn’t reply. I grabbed her hand and pulled her back to the stairs.
My kitchen seemed transformed as she walked about, checking all doors and drawers, and then settled next to me at the table. Soon, the curious dog followed us to the ground floor and settled against my leg.
I never had a dog, not even a goldfinch. Opa was too strict. I began stroking her head. Then I faced Karo. Unflinching, she met my gaze. Finally, I had to break the silence.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” With a few stingy words, I emoted what another man would have turned into poetry. She reached out across the table, and I grasped her hand with both of mine. Tara settled down over my feet. I realized it only when I got up.
But first, the words came rolling. “There is something very important I must tell you…”