by Rob Currie
“Yeah, I pretty much was, but I didn’t do it all by myself. Dirk helped a little too,” Anna conceded.
“Whah, ha, ha!” Laughter erupted from deep inside Dirk. “Oh, Anna!” Sitting in the chair, he bent forward, his face contorted and his abdomen contracted in happy convulsions. Oma and Opa joined in the merriment.
“What’s so funny?” Anna asked.
“Oh,” Dirk said, as he gasped for air. “It feels so good to laugh again!” Then he succumbed to another round of laughter. After another thirty seconds of belly laughing, he subsided into a broad smile.
“Yes, it feels good to laugh, and it feels even better to have you here,” Opa said. After a brief silence, he checked his watch and said, “Oh! I have to go to a meeting about helping people whose homes got damaged by the war.”
For the next hour, Anna and Dirk told Oma about more of their adventures. During a pause in the conversation, Anna yawned.
“Somebody needs a nap,” Oma said as she patted Anna on the head.
“But I’m not tired,” she objected as she yawned again.
“Follow me. You can sleep in our bedroom.”
Anna pouted. “But I always sleep upstairs.”
“You can sleep there tonight, but it’s too cold now. We closed the heat register because we haven’t been using that room.”
A few minutes later, Oma returned to the living room after settling Anna in for her nap.
Dirk walked to a window and pointed outside. “Why do you have a rope hanging from your roof?”
“It’s to get a large dresser up to the second floor tomorrow,” Oma said. “It will be easier to do it with the rope and a pulley than to take it up the narrow stairway.”
Dirk nodded.
“I’m going to visit a friend who lives a few blocks away,” she told Dirk. “Her children are the same ages as you and Anna. I’ll ask them for spare clothes so you won’t have to wear these clothes that are hanging off you. And with the weather so cold, you need jackets that fit you too. The ones you got from the soldiers are too big. I won’t be gone long.” She left a few minutes later.
With the house quiet, Dirk had time to think. It felt good not having to worry about protecting Anna. But where are Papa and Els?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LUFTWAFFE BASE
ROTTERDAM
NOVEMBER 26
AS ELS WALKED into the office, instead of looking at the German officer who worked at his wood desk, she kept her steely stare half a meter above his head. Heart of stone. No one had found the little pebble she’d hid in her mouth, and now it lay tucked into a corner of her new cell.
A modest fire burned in a fireplace two meters to Els’s left. A chair sat near it. “Please take a seat,” the officer said. He moved his chair in front of her and sat as well. She pushed her chair back until it hit the wall behind her.
The officer’s hat, which sat on his desk, bore the insignia of an eagle clutching a Nazi swastika in its talons, the way an eagle might grasp a fish. Or the way the Nazis seized the Netherlands. She looked the officer over. He appeared to be in his mid-forties with light brown hair. He wore several medals on his uniform.
The officer turned back toward the desk and poured coffee from a silver pot into two cups. “I am Captain Schmidt.” He held a cup of coffee out to her. “Would you like cream or sugar?”
She hesitated. Why is he being nice?
“Sugar,” she replied in a flat tone of voice.
He passed the coffee to her. She wrapped both hands around the cup, and the warmth seeped into her chilly hands. For a moment she relaxed as she took a sip.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” he continued in a friendly tone. “You are no longer in the custody of the Gestapo. Our methods are very different from theirs. I will ask you questions, but I will treat you with respect, because that is how the Luftwaffe operates.”
Els’s mind flashed back to Captain Adler from the Gestapo, who had seemed nice at first too, and even offered her a glass of water before he slapped her face and knocked the drink away from her. She leaned forward and looked Captain Schmidt in the eye. “You’re going to try to get information out of me. But the Gestapo couldn’t, and you won’t either.” She pointed to a big bruise on her arm. “A man they call the Iron Fist said he always got people to talk. I didn’t.”
“I do not need to press you for secrets,” Schmidt said. “I already know a great deal about you and your family, so I just need you to confirm a few basic facts so I can satisfy my superiors.”
Els scoffed. “You don’t fool me,” she said. “You’re only paying me with monkey coins.”
“Excuse me?” Schmidt asked.
“It’s a saying we Dutch have which means that someone is trying to deceive us with nice words.”
“What an interesting expression. But I assure you that what I have told you is quite true.”
Els set her coffee down unfinished. She crossed her arms and glared at Schmidt.
“You grew up on a farm outside Oosterbeek, near Arnhem, where you have one cow. You used to have a dog named Mees. Last summer you raised potatoes and sugar beets.”
How does he know so much?
“I’m not going to tell you anything about my family,” she said.
“I have news that will interest you.” He paused. “Your brother and sister are no longer at your farm. I hope they are safe.”
Els shifted in her chair.
“Your mother passed away two months ago. I extend my sympathy to you,” Schmidt said softly. “And your father is well known to us. He is a leader in the Dutch Resistance, and he left your farm three months ago.”
“He’s too clever for you to ever catch him,” she said.
“He puts sugar cubes in the gas tanks of our trucks to ruin the engines, and he teaches others how to sabotage train tracks.”
Els’s eyes widened briefly before she overrode her reaction.
“He mixed lime and water in a watering can and poured it on the pavement in front of a Gestapo headquarters. When he finished pouring, the cobblestones looked merely wet. But when they dried, the white lime showed a large V, a symbol of the Resistance.” He paused. “You must be very proud of him.”
“I love my father,” Els replied. “But I don’t know anything about these things.”
“Of course not,” Schmidt said. “He would never endanger your safety by telling you.”
Els folded her arms and stared at the fireplace.
“I know a great deal about you as well. Your favorite flower is the daffodil, and your best friend’s name is Janna.” Els’s jaw dropped a centimeter, though she managed to keep her lips closed. She quickly clenched her teeth again.
“Oh, where are my manners?” Schmidt said. “You must be hungry. I’ll order your favorite snack.” He stood. “Guard!” he called. “Bring us some stroopwafels.”
“Giving me food won’t make me talk,” Els said.
Schmidt looked at her with an unchanged expression.
He picked up the silver pot and refilled Els’s cup. “I told you I would treat you with respect, because that is how the Luftwaffe operates.” The guard returned with a plate of stroopwafels and handed it to Schmidt. The captain held the plate out to Els first. She hesitated, then lifted a thin wafer treat from the plate and placed the cookie atop her mug. The warmth from the coffee began to melt the layer of caramel syrup inside the stroopwafel.
Schmidt took a bite from his own stroopwafel, sipped his coffee, and then set the cup down. “As I said before, I know a great deal about you. You are an impressive young woman.”
Els visualized the small stone in the corner of her cell as she stared at him with a blank expression. “Flattery won’t work either,” she said.
“At social gatherings,” he continued, “you stole identity cards which your father used to help American pilots make it back to England after their planes were shot down. You dyed the hair of Jewish women blonde to help them escape.” He sipped his co
ffee again.
The stroopwafel’s warm now. She lifted the Dutch treat off her mug and took a bite. She closed her eyes and relished the sweet, sticky insides of the thin cookie.
“You delivered messages for the Resistance, but you had an excuse for every trip. You also carried milk or eggs in case someone asked why you were going there.”
He’s guessing. Don’t show any emotion.
“You carried false identity papers, letters, and messages. What were those messages about?”
Els turned her head to the right and fixed her gaze on the open door.
“Your father was involved with the failed Operation Market Garden. When he helped evacuate paratroopers, did you take messages regarding their whereabouts?”
She crossed her arms and stared into his eyes without blinking.
“Did you ever deliver money?”
She looked around his office as if she were sitting alone. She finished the last of her stroopwafel and coffee.
“The Gestapo is searching aggressively for your father, and when they find him, it will not go well for him,” Schmidt said.
Els glared at him.
“He risks his life for Jews, but we capture them anyway a few weeks later.”
“You’re lying!”
“Am I? I received a report from Berlin which says more Jews have been captured in the Netherlands than in any other European country. Your father’s plan isn’t working, and he will die for nothing.”
Els stuck out her chin. “The Gestapo will never catch Papa.”
“Do you really think that dozens of people will choose your father’s safety over their own families having enough food to eat? It only takes one person to tell on him.” He tapped his pen on the desk. “But,” Schmidt said, his face brightening, “if you help us find him, he will remain in Luftwaffe custody. We will not hand him over to the Gestapo. When the war ends, he will still be alive.”
Els smacked her hand on the armrest of her chair. “How stupid do you think I am? You don’t care about protecting my father. It’s your last desperate ploy to capture a man who is smarter than all of you. And if he is such a failure, why are you moving heaven and earth to find him?” She stabbed a finger toward Schmidt. “And now you have the gall to ask his own daughter to betray him!”
Schmidt sat in silence for a long while. “I can see that you won’t talk, but I had to try.” He shrugged, then handed her a document and a pen. “I just need you to look at this form,” he said. “Confirm your name and age, and that you are from Oosterbeek.” He smiled. “My interrogation will then be complete, and I can submit my paperwork.”
Els frowned as she studied the form. I guess I can sign this. He already knows it. She signed her name and returned the pen and paper to Schmidt.
He put her signed form in a file folder. “Thank you, Els. Is there anything else you would like to say?”
“Yes,” she replied. “After the Great War ended in 1918, the Dutch people fed and clothed orphans from Germany.” She stood and pointed a finger at Schmidt. “They’re grown now, and they are the generation who repays us for saving their lives by starving us!” She sat back down with such force that the chair banged against the wall behind her.
“I have recorded your comments, Els. Guard! Bring lunch for two to my office.”
“Yes, sir!”
“The food will be here soon,” Schmidt said. “Please relax while I finish some work.”
Ten minutes later, the guard returned with two dishes of beef and potato soup. As he served the steaming bowls to Els and the captain, Schmidt remarked, “I don’t mind admitting that I am looking forward to some polite conversation after a morning of paperwork.”
Els’s mouth watered. It’s the first hot food I’ve had since the Gestapo arrested me.
Schmidt picked up his spoon. “I’ve always admired the Dutch. The Dutch masters are some of the greatest painters of all time. Before the war, I really enjoyed my visit to the Rijksmuseum.” He swallowed a spoonful of soup. “Do you enjoy art?”
She nodded with her mouth full.
“I have children, and they aren’t always interested in the things I would like them to be interested in.” He chuckled. “My admiration for the Dutch reminds me of a question. Your people are wonderful ice skaters. Is it hard to learn?”
Before she could answer, the guard returned with two plates of food. He waited as they finished their soup, then handed a plate of food to each of them, along with a fork and knife. Els stared. I can’t believe I get this much food! The sauerbraten smells so good.
“It’s easier for children to learn to skate,” she answered as she stabbed her fork into the hot German pot roast. The aroma filled her nostrils. “Mama was French, and she tried to learn as an adult.” She smiled. “But she didn’t do very well. My little sister, Anna, who was only four years old at the time, did circles, while Mama struggled to avoid falling.”
Schmidt returned her smile. “Please enlighten me about something else,” he said. “Why do so many Dutch people ride bicycles? I have never seen anything like it. Was it that way before the war?”
Els said nothing for a few moments while she chewed a mouthful of food. “Yes, it was that way before the war. I don’t know why, but I think it’s always been that way.”
“It’s too bad many of you will have to quit riding since you can’t get rubber for your Resistance couriers’ bicycles.”
Els’s nostrils flared. “You’re wrong!” She set her fork down with a loud clank. “We’ll never quit riding. Some of us make wheels out of wood, and others take flat tires and fasten the rubber to the wheel. But we still ride, and we always will. Riding our bikes reminds us that we’re still Dutch, no matter what your soldiers do to us.”
“Oh, the fire has gone down,” Schmidt said. He walked to the fireplace, added two logs, and returned to his seat.
For the remainder of the meal, the conversation meandered over a variety of topics, including the cold weather, favorite pieces of music, and Els’s career plans.
“You have been a most pleasant conversation partner,” Schmidt said after they finished eating. “Guard! Take Els back to her cell.”
He stood and extended his hand toward Els. She kept her hands by her side.
“I enjoyed our conversation even though I couldn’t pry anything out of you.”
“I told you I wouldn’t tell you anything,” Els said. The guard escorted her back to her cell.
Schmidt walked to his desk, opened a file, smiled, and wrote, “Break the Dutch spirit by taking away their bicycles. Depriving them of rubber is not enough. The bicycles must be eliminated altogether.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
OMA AND OPA’S HOME
NIJMEGEN
WITH THE HOUSE QUIET, Dirk looked around for something to do. A book of Dutch fairy tales lay on the coffee table in the living room. He picked it up and read “The Curly-Tailed Lion” and “The Farm That Ran Away and Came Back.”
Someone knocked on the front door. Dirk walked to it and peered through the window. A woman of perhaps sixty years of age stood on the porch. Dirk didn’t recognize her but opened the door. Maybe this was one of Oma’s friends. He’d just find out what the woman wanted and tell Oma when she returned. “Hello,” he said with a polite smile.
“Good morning. My name is Hendrika Vandermolen,” she began in a soft voice. “I work for the Dutch Defense Department.” She had a dark brown hat, which covered most of her hair, and a matching jacket with a pin on it. “So many children have been uprooted or lost their parents in the war, and we want to be sure all our wonderful Dutch children are cared for.”
She moved forward and extended her hand toward Dirk.
He took a step back.
“Are your parents living?”
Dirk froze. Mama had warned him not to say who he was or who Papa was.
“Did you hear what I asked you?” she asked with a tinge of impatience.
He stared at the silver pin on the woman
’s coat, and his eyes grew wide.
“Young man, I’m talking to you.” Her voice was a bit louder this time.
She’s wearing an eagle pin, with the wings turned up at the end just like in the dream when Fleischer attacked me!
“I asked you a simple question. Are your parents living?” the woman asked.
His blood ran cold.
“Where are your parents?” she was nearly shouting now.
“Uh, why do you ask?” Dirk managed to get out. Should he tell her he was staying with his grandparents? Something told him not to reveal that.
Vandermolen pushed her way into the house, and immediately behind her came a broad-shouldered man two meters tall. He bumped Dirk out of the way and said to the woman, “Never mind. I’ll have a look and find out.”
“What do you want?” Dirk asked the woman. His right hand shook.
“We only want to keep you safe,” she cooed. “We’re authorized to take you to a safe place where you will be cared for. Parents will be notified to search for their children at the safe houses. We have a truck waiting.”
That big ape was looking around, and Dirk couldn’t let him find Anna. He looked past the woman through the open door. No neighbors were outside for him to cry out to for help. What could he do? He bit his lip, turned away from the woman, and closed his eyes for a moment.
Then he turned back to the woman, smiled, and said, “Thank you for your kind offer. I need to go upstairs first.”
She nodded. He had to act calm and climb the stairs slowly, but it was difficult with his heart jackhammering. Her large companion turned toward the back hallway where Anna slept. Dirk hadn’t reached the top of the stairs, but he couldn’t wait any longer. Sometimes you have to take a chance because it’s the only chance you have.
“Hey!” Dirk shouted and glared at the man, anger fueling his courage. Dirk made a fist and shook it at him. “You stupid oaf! If you’re such a tough guy, come and get me!” Sorry, Mama, but I have to lead him away from Anna.