13 Little Blue Envelopes(47)

An hour later, they were waiting in the plaza in front of the Rijksmuseum—apparently, the biggest, baddest museum in

Amsterdam—just before it opened. Ginny tried to take in the grandness of the building and ignore the fact that a number from 42nd Street was being discussed and there was a very real chance that the Knapps were going to start dancing. Fortunately, the museum opened before this nightmare could become a reality.

The Knapps had a very clear idea of how they planned to

tackle the Netherlands’ most comprehensive collection of art and history—they were going to make a series of well-planned strikes. This was an operation.

As soon as they got inside, they asked the person at the

information desk to circle the really important things that they had to see. Then they tore off, guide in hand. They speed walked through a display of four hundred years of Dutch history, pointed at some blue-and-white Dutch pottery. Once they got to the art wing, it became a game of speed tag. The mission was simply to find the paintings on their guide, stare at them, then run as quickly as they could to the next one.

Luckily, the third stop was Rembrandt’s The Night Watch.

There was no problem finding it because signs everywhere

pointed to it (and unlike in the Louvre, the signs seemed to be 212

telling the truth). Plus, the painting was massive. It took up a good chunk of a wall, stretching almost to the ceiling. Amazing, the people in the painting looked life-sized, though it wasn’t really clear to Ginny what they were doing. It seemed to be a gathering of noblemen with big hats and ruffles around their necks, plus some soldiers with huge flags, and a few musicians for good measure. Most of the painting was dark, the figures in shadow. But a sharp wedge of light cut through the middle, illuminating a figure in the center, dividing the canvas into three triangular sections.

(“When in doubt,” Aunt Peg had always said, “look for the triangles in the paintings.” Ginny had no idea why this was important, but sure enough. Triangles everywhere.) “Pretty neat,” Mr. Knapp said. “Okay. Next is something

called Dead Peacocks. . . .”

“Can I stay here, then meet you?” Ginny asked.

“But there are so many paintings to see,” Mrs. Knapp said.

“I know, but . . . I’d really like to look at this one.”

The Knapps weren’t getting this at all. Mr. Knapp looked down at his guide with its many circles.

“Okay . . .” he said. “Meet you at the entrance in an hour.”

One hour. That seemed like enough time to find Piet. What was a Piet? Piet was probably a person, since she had to ask the Piet something. Okay. Who was a Piet?

She examined all of the title plates of the paintings first. No Piets. She sat on the bench in the middle of the room and looked around at the crowd shuffling past The Night Watch. Obviously, no one knew when she would be here, so Piet wasn’t coming here specifically to meet her. She walked through all of the adjoining 213

exhibition rooms, read all of the title plates. She poked her head around corners, checked in the bathrooms. No Piets anywhere.

She had no choice but to give up and rejoin the Knapps,

who had absorbed the massive museum to their satisfaction.

They headed to the Van Gogh Museum. Mrs. Knapp had

scheduled only an hour for this, but even this was too much for them. They looked weary in the face of such swirling, hallu-cinogenic paintings. Mr. Knapp also felt these were “something” and mumbled, “What was he on?”

They had to take a tram to get to their next museum, the

Rembrandt House Museum, which was (as the name suggested) Rembrandt’s house, and kind of dark and creaky. The Maritime Museum came next (2:30–3:30; boats, anchors). They had from four until five to see the Anne Frank house. This got a serious “something” from Mr. Knapp, but it didn’t slow down their furious pace, since they had to get back to the hotel for “Knapptime” (5:30–6:30). Once they got back, Olivia dropped onto her bed, rubbed at her legs furiously, stuck her earphones in her ears, and fell asleep. Ginny stretched out as well, and even though she was exhausted, she couldn’t rest. Just as she felt herself drifting off, the door flew open, and they were on their way again.

They had dinner at the Hard Rock Café, almost all of

which was occupied with a discussion of Phil’s fabulous girlfriend. They’d never been separated before, so Phil had to take a break at the end of dinner to call her. When he was gone, Mr.

and Mrs. Knapp switched topics to talk about Olivia’s running.

Running was Olivia’s thing. She ran in high school, and she had just finished her freshman year of college. She was a nursing 214

major, but mainly, she ran. While they were away, Olivia was looking forward to doing some running. Olivia didn’t say any of this herself. She just ate her grilled chicken salad and scanned the room in steady right-to-left movements.

After that, they had to hurry to catch a glass-topped sightseeing boat for a night cruise, during which the Knapps did a few highlights from Phantom of the Opera. (Specifically, they explained, the boat scene.) They weren’t as loud as they had been in the morning; they were sort of singing to themselves.

And then, mercifully, the day ended.

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Contact of Various Kinds

For the next three days, Ginny followed the Knapps’ grueling schedule. Every morning, at the crack of dawn, there was a knock, a shake, some unwelcome cheer, and a printed page on her pillow. Every bit of Amsterdam was broken into carefully scheduled increments. The museums. The palace.