They are both family portraits, the same family, mother and father and a boy and a girl, grouped together in a garden somewhere. The boy seems around twelve, the girl younger, perhaps seven or eight. The father appears to be a tall lean man in his forties, a smile forced against his stern and disapproving face. The mother is short, and slim with dark brown hair, very pretty with a clever, nimble expression and a smile that must be genuine. The boy is grinning clownishly. He has short blond hair. This could only be Carl, and the reticent, solemn little elf next to him with long brown hair could only be his sister Melissa.
We both just stand there at the table, staring stupidly at the photograph, both of us studying this family that has been suddenly thrust into our view. Aaron turns over first one photo then the other. Both have the same inscription written in a clear, fluid and rather loopy cursive, in dark blue ink.
Vondel Park, 1994
"where would that be?" I ask.
"Amsterdam. I was there three years earlier, visiting the same park. The place was notorious.
"For what"
"Why, for the same kinds of things that any big park in a big sophisticated city would be famous for. Loose sex, drugs and occasional gratuitous nudity."
"Sounds like quite the scene."
"To say the least. What are we going to do with our little find?"
"Hand them over to Carl and Melissa", say I.
"And that is exactly what we are going to do..."
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