3. An Unusual Letter Arrives

 

Last week I received a letter. That does not happen often in the life of Arie. We have few remaining family members and acquaintances in our homeland, and the handful of blood relatives still residing in Holland write at most once a year, typically for Katrien’s birthday.

Since our relocation to Canada, we have received a mere five correspondences from our family in the Netherlands. One of these was a sombre notification of Uncle Arie’s passing in Meppel at the ripe age of 94, a man whose name I bear.

Occasionally, a letter from Holland arrives for our eldest daughter, penned by a young man who alleges she stole his heart. However, she refutes this claim, asserting that the vast ocean’s salty waters have extinguished her affection for him, a common occurrence when lovers are separated by emigration.

Aside from these, our mailbox remains largely empty, save for church papers, a few Canadian magazines, that I find to be so-so but which the children enjoy, and a plethora of ads for gramophone records, houses, soap, and cars. These offers, delivered door-to-door, are cleverly crafted by companies to make the recipient feel part of an exclusive club privileged to enjoy their products. 

The letter in question arrived on a Saturday, during our midday meal. The children, upon hearing the mailbox flap, raced to retrieve the mail. Mother Katrien, who had just happened to be in the hallway, managed to outpace her offspring and collect the contents, which included an offer for a free pair of nylon stockings upon the purchase of a full tank of gasoline, a magazine, and a letter.

Holding the letter by its corner as if it were a well-used handkerchief, Katrien entered the room and asked me in a stern voice, “What’s this?” The children, anticipating a spectacle, held their breath in anticipation. Their silence erupted into cheers when their mother announced, “A letter for you, Arie, from a lady!” She emphasized the word “lady” to dispel any notion that the letter might have come from a gentleman.

Though unaware of any wrongdoing, I felt my cheeks flush under the scrutinizing gaze of my wife and the teasing eyes of our children, which only fueled their amusement.

I examined the letter and discovered it was from a married woman residing in the distant province of Ontario, a woman unknown to me. To maintain my composure, I pocketed the letter, stating bravely, “We’ll look at this later.”

This response, however, was ill-received and only heightened the tension. Katrien ate her potatoes with a disdainful expression and a questioning look in her eyes. The children continued to giggle, occasionally making nonsensical predictions, which I either ignored or responded to with a sour smile.

To avoid diminishing the interest in our Scripture reading, I decided to read the letter aloud immediately after dessert. It was a complimentary letter, praising an article I had written about our neighbor, Jan Mol. This article had been published in the only Christian weekly that our community in Canada receives from the old country. The praise was a delightful dessert of its own. However, the lady also expressed her admiration for Mr. Mol, the organization man who is always on the go in his Volkswagen, attending five or six meetings a week. She considered Jan Mol a commendable figure, as he never shied away from responsibilities and even accepted various board positions that others declined. She suggested that other men, including myself, should emulate the industrious Jan Mol.

Upon reading this letter, the tension at the table deflated like a punctured balloon. Katrien, my faithful and watchful wife, even looked somewhat proud of her husband, who not only writes articles but also receives letters about them.

Then came her feminine commentary: “That was a thoughtful note, Arie. May you remain humble in its wake. That lady is correct in saying that many men could contribute more to community life. There are far too many lazy guys who spend their evenings lounging in chairs, sipping coffee, munching on cookies, and puffing on expensive cigars. However, the lady from Ontario must also have read about how Jan Mol neglects his wife and children due to his incessant meetings, which was the crux of your article. I always feel a pang of sympathy when I see that neglected home next door. That poor, good woman!”

As usual, I found myself in complete agreement with my wife. Despite his diligence and outstanding abilities, Jan Mol is not a shining example for other men. Rather, Mol is a cautionary tale, a red light, a walking and Volkswagen-driving sermon on the perils of over-organization. Or rather, that was Jan Mol. He is no longer the same man. The situation in the Mol family has improved significantly. My dear neighbour received his third ticket for speeding, resulting in the loss of his driver’s license.

Now, the Volkswagen stands parked, and Jan Mol spends most evenings at home with his family. He has already resigned from several board positions. He told me last night that the board of the credit union had debated for an hour whether to accept his resignation or not. However, when faced with the dilemma of either hiring a private driver for him and his Volkswagen or having a board without Mol, they chose the latter as it was more cost-effective.

We need more men like Jan Mol—that is, like the new Jan Mol. As he now is at home: first husband and father, and then a meeting man. Yes, a man of community and organization, but not an errand boy of over-organization.

***

“Mol’s Muisje Heeft een Staartje,” pp 14-17, Arie en Katrien in Canada, Guardian: Hamilton, Ontario, 1958; Originally published in Calvinist Contact (www.christiancourier.ca); tr. George van Popta, 2024.