Today I am with my brother and sister-on-law. It’s his birthday today, so I arrived yesterday to have the chance to catch up with them before friends and family arrive.

I’m the eldest, three years between us. I’ve been protective of him from the start.

For many years now, my brother has worn a metal brace on his leg. A few years ago he managed to get a second-hand ‘loopfiets’ – a walking bicycle. I’d never seen one before, but it’s small enough to go through a standard door so one can go into shops, and it’s light enough to put in a car.

It was my father’s birthday on Sunday 2 September that year and my parents’ friends commented on how my brother limped, encouraged my mother to get it checked out. GP on Monday, neurologist on Tuesday. I can still see my parents’ car disappear round the corner on the Wednesday morning.

1962

Alexander Eduard (coppersmith
in the bible and van Beinum,
the famous conductor).
Our Irish setter had been given
the names of an unborn child.

A ward of six, our parents’ daily
drive, forty minutes each way.
Neurologist, paralysis,
lumbar puncture, nausea.

Grandfather owned an electrical shop
(double-fronted on the main street);
gave my brother a beige-brown radio.

The specialist allowed our red
Irish setter to visit my brother,
celebrating his fourteenth birthday
in the academic hospital in Leiden.

Three months later he arrived home,
just in time for St. Nicolaas.
My brother still limped and his crown
was marked by two scars at right angles,
the space between dipped and dented.
A few days later grandfather came
to take his radio back.

Published in Another life, Oversteps Books, 2016.