No one asked where I got those papers from, thought Osewoudt as he floated down the corridor on the stretcher. Why didn’t Ebernuss ask about that? Why beat me to a pulp to find out what I know about Elkan, someone I’ve never met in my life? Why wheel out that Roorda fellow to say he knew me? What do they hope to achieve with that? And not a word about my forged papers!
The policemen rested the stretcher on a bench in the vestibule. One of them stepped outside, leaving the door ajar so that Osewoudt could see him look about in the gathering light, as if expecting a car to arrive any moment.
All at once Ebernuss was standing over him again.
‘Osewoudt …’ Ebernuss said in a low voice, almost whispering. He bent down low, his face no more than a hand’s breadth away from Osewoudt’s. The scent of violets was unmistakable.
‘Osewoudt … don’t you worry about a thing. You’re going to hospital now, you can have a nice rest. It’s a scandal the way they’ve manhandled you. I shall report the matter to Berlin at once, you can count on that. I am ashamed of my colleagues, please accept my sincere apologies. And while you’re in hospital I advise you to think about the questions we’ve been asking. Consider how much easier things would be if you made a clean breast of everything. What have you got to lose? The game’s up, you know, it’s all kaput. Why not be sensible so you don’t go kaput yourself? Come, shake my hand, and the best of luck to you.’
Osewoudt kept his arms quite still, but Ebernuss reached for his hand, drew it out horizontally by the fingers and patted it amicably with his free hand before turning to go. Just then a car pulled up.
No sooner had Ebernuss left than the two policemen hoisted the stretcher and went outside, dumped it on the pavement, and bundled Osewoudt into the back of the car. This was more painful than anything he had endured yet. Nevertheless, he took care to notice the view from the window as the car moved off. He could tell they were at Binnenhof, by the Parliament buildings, although he didn’t recall actually having seen them before. To think he had posed as an agent working for the German police headquarters in this very place!
Where was the First Chamber? And where the Second? He thought: if only the old codgers from before the war were still here, deliberating for the public good. That would have saved me a lot of grief. Grief? Pain, rather. Gingerly, he flexed each limb in turn. All he longed for at that moment was for someone to wash the crusts of dried blood from his face. Cold, wet air blew into the car, and his teeth began to chatter. What had become of Marianne? Had she stayed in the cinema until the end of the film? He couldn’t remember where he had said he was going. In any case, by now she would have gathered what had happened. She would have simply gone back to Leiden, to her room over the hairdresser’s. She would have stayed up late, hoping to hear from him, but she hadn’t. What would her reaction have been like?
Osewoudt pictured her lying fully dressed on the bed, her heart pounding, the bedside lamp switched on. She would have waited for it to strike eleven and then thought: eleven o’clock, everyone has to be off the streets now.
The car stopped. They had arrived at Zuidwal hospital.
Two male nurses took him to the first aid room; one of the German policemen accompanied them.
A young doctor came in and examined Osewoudt at once. The German sat on a chair in a corner.
‘Doctor,’ whispered Osewoudt, ‘could you do me a favour? Could you telephone 22575, in Leiden? Ask for Marianne Sondaar. Tell her that Filip has been caught by the Germans, and that he’s in hospital.’
‘Of course I’ll tell her. Leave it to me, I’ll phone.’ He smiled: ‘You’re lucky to be here. There are no serious injuries.’
‘No. But Doctor, I feel very ill. You may not be able to find anything serious, but I’m in a terrible state.’
Osewoudt screwed up his eyes and thought: now he’ll go and tell the Germans there’s nothing wrong with me!
He felt much better now that the blood had been washed off his face.
The gash in his eyebrow was stitched.
He was bathed and put in a clean bed in a small room all to himself. The curtains were drawn but the light came in nonetheless. He was served ersatz tea and toast. The nurse told him there was a German guard in the corridor, and that the room he was in was on the second floor, so it was no good trying to jump from the window.
‘You must be joking,’ he retorted. ‘I’m too ill, you can’t imagine the pain I’m in. Please give me a sleeping pill. I didn’t sleep all night and I’m still wide awake.’
‘The doctor didn’t say anything about a sleeping pill. Try and relax, then you’ll fall asleep of your own accord. There’s nothing seriously wrong with you, some bruising and a bloody nose, that’s all. Those stitches will hurt for a bit, but they can come out in a couple of days. We won’t tell the Germans there’s nothing wrong with you, you needn’t worry!’
She smiled, stroked his cheek, then looked at him very earnestly while allowing her hand to linger on his face, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. Finally she made for the door.
‘I’m Sister Angela,’ she said as she left. The name almost sounded like an alias. Her name might not be Angela at all, any more than Marianne’s is Marianne Sondaar. How many people are still using their real names? Who can you trust? Perhaps the doctor is in league with Ebernuss, maybe the Germans are even now busy matching the telephone number I gave the doctor with the address, maybe Marianne will be arrested in the next half-hour. Maybe they only brought me here to see whether I’m witless enough to tell the doctor and the nurse everything they want to know.
Who can be trusted? Everyone’s deceiving everyone else.
He wondered what had happened to the boy. How long would young Walter have stood there watching the horses and carts? Perhaps he’d grown tired after an hour and had sat down on the pavement, still hoping that ‘Uncle’ would reappear and take him to the children’s home, and that he would get his knife with Meine Ehre heisst Treue! engraved on the blade. But he’d have become upset eventually, he’d have spoken to some grown-up, or some grown-up would have spoken to him: what’s your name, little boy? Where are you from? Lunteren? Where are you going? To a children’s home with Uncle? Did Uncle leave you all by yourself? What does Uncle look like? How did you get here? With Uncle and Auntie? By train? Where’s Auntie now? Went off with two men in leather coats, on the train? And Auntie wore a uniform? A black astrakhan cap with an orange top? Uncle not in uniform then? What sort of uncle can he be, leaving you stranded in the middle of Amsterdam?
They go to Lunteren to investigate. They call the German police. In the meantime Hey You has told them everything she knows, which isn’t much, but then maybe they’ve shown her my photo, which they’re bound to do if they’re showing it in the cinemas … The bodies of Lagendaal and his wife are identified, possibly in Walter’s presence. The bullets are extracted. Where is the pistol that fired the bullets?
I know where it is, thought Osewoudt, Marianne has it. I gave it to Marianne in the cinema. But I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve arrested her already. Everyone I have anything to do with gets into trouble. There’s no hope for me either.
No hope for me – the last thought of a drowning man as he sinks to the bottom. He could feel himself sinking.
But he did not sink to the bottom. He woke up to find the doctor standing by his hospital bed and the sun streaming into the room.
‘I made that phone call, as you asked. Miss Sondaar told me to give Filip her regards.’
‘Didn’t she say anything else?’
‘Yes! I know her family quite well, as it happens. They lived next door to us until I was about ten. She was a toddler when we moved away. They were very well-to-do. Her parents and her brother have been sent to Germany, because they’re Jews.’
‘That is very sad,’ said Osewoudt.
‘Look,’ said the doctor, ‘I didn’t like to mention any of this in the first-aid room with the German soldier there, but it’s a
n extraordinary coincidence.’
‘My turning to you for help is even more of a coincidence.’
‘Yes. It seemed a bit rash, especially for someone who’s just been beaten up by the Germans for refusing to talk. And then, suddenly, giving a doctor, a complete stranger, the telephone number of a girlfriend who urgently needs to be informed of his arrest!’
‘Who else is there for me to ask?’
The doctor smiled. ‘So you rely on the kindness of strangers.’
‘I don’t have much choice. All my contacts are ruined. My sick mother and my wife have been arrested by the Germans. My uncle’s been arrested. Two girls I know were arrested. There’s no one left. You must understand, Doctor, they have it in for me. Chances are I won’t get out of this alive.’
The doctor pulled out a chair from under the bed and sat down. He looked round at the closed door and said: ‘We’ll have to think of something. It’s always easier to escape from a hospital than from a police station or a prison. Patients have been known to abscond from hospitals, after all.
‘The stitches may still be painful, you may think you can’t get up and walk, but believe me, there’s nothing wrong really, no internal injuries at all. I’ll lay it on a bit thick for the Germans so we can keep you here as long as possible, but it’ll be more like days than weeks. As I said, it’s a miracle they brought you here at all.’
Osewoudt remembered what Wülfing had said about Ebernuss’ proclivities. But he was ashamed to think that that was the reason Ebernuss had wanted to spare him. He choked with rage at the idea. His next thought was: this doctor must have noticed immediately that I have no beard. What will he think if I tell him that’s probably why the bloody Obersturmführer had them take me to hospital?
‘Look here, Doctor.’
‘Yes?’
‘I haven’t done anything, really. I’m innocent. I’d rather be a hero, but as it happens I’m innocent. Apparently there’s someone going around who looks like me, very much like me, in fact. It’s that person’s crimes they’re accusing me of. The Germans confronted me with another prisoner. He swore he knew me. I had never seen him before. That prisoner said he had spoken to me only a week ago, at the main entrance to Vondel Park in Amsterdam. I have never been there in my life. He insisted that we had talked about arms from England being dropped by parachute. He said I asked him about detonators. But I don’t even know what detonators are, and it was the first I ever heard of arms being parachuted in by the English. It was that kind of waffle the Germans beat me up for, Doctor! I’m not a hero, I’m a victim. They have me mixed up with someone else. Last night I was in a cinema. They projected a man’s photograph on the screen, along with my name. The photo looked like me. Wanted for robbery with assault, it said, 500 guilders reward. I was scared stiff, so I ran for it. As I left the cinema the doorman recognised me. He called the police, the swine. That’s how the Germans got hold of me. I didn’t do a thing, nothing at all. Tell me Doctor, is it true that it isn’t too difficult to escape from a hospital?’
‘Too difficult? That depends. You can’t jump out of the window. And there’s a German guard in the corridor.’
The doctor left and did not come back to see him all day. The nurse did look in at regular intervals to perform routine duties. Sister Angela. The last time was at half past eight in the evening. The sun had not yet set. The windows were open, letting in the moist heat, along with the smell of putrid canal water.
Sister Angela made to pull the door shut behind her and said, with her hand still on the doorknob: ‘Time for bed.’
But the door did not close fully. On the contrary, it was flung wide open and three masked men burst in. Sister Angela stumbled, but didn’t fall because she was seized by two of the men and dragged to a corner of the room.
The third man strode towards Osewoudt.
‘Get up! Where are your clothes? Put them on! Quick!’
It was a car powered by wood gas, and yet it was quite fast. Osewoudt kept looking back, but they were not being followed.
They were on the road to Leiden, which ran parallel to the blue tram line. Dusk was falling.
‘Shall we drop you at home?’
‘No, better near Leiden somewhere, if that’s all right with you.’
‘It’s all the same to us. Right, Cor? We’ll drop him near Leiden.’
‘Plenty of time. We’ll take him wherever he wants to go.’
‘Quite a turnaround for you in the last fifteen minutes, eh?’
Osewoudt made no reply. So the man at the wheel was called Cor. He hadn’t come into the hospital with the others, he’d been waiting in the getaway car. The man next to him hadn’t said a word, he was the one who had tied up the nurse with the help of the man to Osewoudt’s right. The man to Osewoudt’s left said he was Uncle Kees. It had been Uncle Kees doing all the talking; clearly he was the leader. He had the same type of square moustache as Hitler, his eyes were almost square too, his face was a crossword puzzle.
‘What did you mean, Uncle Kees, about dropping me off at home?’
‘I thought you lived in Voorschoten. Don’t you?’
‘How did you know?’
‘It’s been in all the newspapers. Your picture, too! Rotten of the Krauts to say “wanted for robbery with assault”. If they’d said “wanted for murdering a traitor”, no Dutchman would touch those 500 guilders.’
Osewoudt fixed his eyes ahead, without responding. My picture in all the papers, complete with my name and all the rest. I disguised myself with a hat and glasses, but I no longer have either. Free again, but for how long?
When they reached the outskirts of Voorschoten he repeated his thoughts aloud.
‘Look here, Uncle Kees, what with my picture all over the papers and in the cinemas too, I can’t show my face any more. I can’t go anywhere I’ve been before, or they’ll nab me again straightaway. I need to leave the country as soon as possible. Switzerland maybe, or Spain, and from there to England.’
The man at the wheel exploded with laughter: ‘Think we’re running a travel agency, do you?’
‘Rescuing you not enough, then?’ sneered Uncle Kees.
‘All right, so you can’t get me out of the country, but surely you can fix me up with an address where I can lie low for a while?’
He had a lump in his throat as he said this. Just then they drove past the tobacco shop. NORTH STATE CIGARETTES.
He saw that the blinds had been raised, both of them, the broken one over the window too. Who had done that? He was mystified, then thought: I don’t really give a damn, anyway.
‘He wants somewhere to hide, Cor!’ said Uncle Kees.
‘Good old Osewoudt!’ said Cor. ‘Wants it all handed to him on a plate! Listen, Osewoudt, kidnapping you from a hospital was risky enough, finding you a hideout doesn’t come with it. We don’t want anything to do with you, really, that’s best for us, and for you too.’
He stepped on the accelerator.
The man on Osewoudt’s right said nothing, nor did the man sitting beside the driver.
‘Best for me?’ said Osewoudt. ‘Best for me to get caught again straightaway?’
‘Leave off, Cor,’ said Uncle Kees. ‘Not everybody’s as hardened to the job as you are. It’s hardly surprising that he’s looking around for help.’
Osewoudt leaned forward, so that his face was up close to the driver’s shoulder.
‘There’s no danger in helping me. I’m not the man they’re looking for. They’ve got me mixed up with someone else. You must believe me, I saw the photo myself in the cinema, that’s what got me arrested in the first place. But it wasn’t a picture of me, the picture looks like me, but it’s not me. No such photo of me exists. But you may have met the man they’re looking for. I know he exists.’
‘How do you know?’
For the first time the driver looked over his shoulder.
Cor had dark hair with a heavy forelock, like a fire screen before the black embers of his eyes.
‘How do you know it was someone else?’ Cor persisted, keeping his eyes on the road now.
‘Don’t ask too many questions, Cor!’
‘It’s all right, Uncle Kees,’ said Osewoudt. ‘I have nothing to hide. The Germans confronted me with somebody who claimed to have met me at Vondel Park in Amsterdam. I’ve never been there, I’d never seen that man in my life.’
‘Didn’t they ask about that shooting in Haarlem, Kleine Houtstraat 32, back in the summer of ’40?’
‘I don’t know about any shooting,’ said Osewoudt and then, turning to Uncle Kees: ‘Cor knows more about it than I do.’
‘Oh, belt up, Cor,’ said Uncle Kees. ‘We ought to be raising a glass. He’s just escaped death by the skin of his teeth, and there you go, pestering him with questions.’
‘If he hasn’t done anything why should we find him a hideout? No need for that, is there? We risk rescuing him and it wasn’t even necessary, is that it? He’s as innocent as a lamb. No use to the cause then, I take it.’
‘I’m scared,’ said Osewoudt. ‘I don’t want to get caught again. You saved my life. Perhaps you’ll understand when the war’s over.’
‘Rubbish. Thousands of people who haven’t done a thing get beaten up by the Germans. Which is unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do about it. We can only do things for people who matter to us. A question of economics. Poor sods who haven’t done a thing aren’t worth taking risks for, which again is unfortunate, but that’s the way it is. Right then, where do you want us to drop you off?’
‘Don’t be angry. This isn’t my fault, it wasn’t me who ordered my rescue. It’s a miracle you succeeded. At least I hope you’re not planning to take me back there.’
Osewoudt gave a forced laugh.
‘For God’s sake, Cor, ease off,’ said Uncle Kees.
‘I had my doubts,’ said Cor. ‘I had my doubts the moment I saw him. I thought: is this really the big cheese we’re after? He looks like a girl! I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t even Osewoudt the tobacconist. He’s not a day over seventeen, I’d say.’
The Darkroom of Damocles Page 16