In opstand

by Marieke Veringa

  Defiant

  marieke veringa, jen minkman, lis lucassen

  Defiant

  © 2014 Mara Li, Jen Minkman, Lis Lucassen

  Cover and interior design: Natasja Storm & Jen Minkman

  Dutch and English-language rights belong to Storm Publishers

  www.stormpublishers.com

  All rights reserved. Apart from fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without the prior permission of the publisher.

  Contents

  The Red Messenger

  Mara Li

  The Island

  Jen Minkman

  The Tribunal

  Lis Lucassen

  Mara Li

  The Red Messenger

  1

  Sophia’s coat

  Emma

  FOR three days, the wind had been howling around the upper floors of the manor. Emma Petrova was standing at the bedroom window all by herself, shivering from the sharp cold penetrating the glass. The flames burning in the fireplace had died down to a hesitant glow. Another brisk gust of wind would extinguish the fire completely, and darkness would swallow up the room.

  Emma rested her forehead against the window covered in raindrops sliding down the other side of the windowpane. Exactly one month ago, she’d been standing here just like this – at the window, hugging her own waist to protect herself from the bitter cold. At that time, she’d toyed with the idea to open the window and just take the plunge. Fall to her death, following in Sophia’s footsteps.

  But not today. One month after her twin sister’s funeral, the stabbing pain inside had dulled to a grievous emptiness.

  Her Uncle Peter Petrova’s state residence was in an area just outside the town center. He’d become her and Sophia’s custodian after their parents had both succumbed to the symptoms of severe influenza – first their mother, then their father. Emma knew they could have pulled through if only the Northern Netherprovince hadn’t been stirred up by insurgence in the Ghettos, putting the entire area on lockdown. Since all roads were closed, they hadn’t been able to reach the hospital on Yssel Island on time – and they weren’t important enough to be an exception to the strict military policy that had been in effect for weeks on end. Their last name might have something to do with it, Sophia had whispered into her ear once. Though their family had lived in the same area for generations and both she and her sister were fair-haired, the name Petrova still didn’t sound Aryan enough. Uncle Peter was good to them and Lorelei was a sweetheart. They weren’t rich enough to be able to afford a private mansion like the officers and commanders who filled their days by throwing endless parties. Sometimes, Uncle Peter received an invitation to one of them, which he then grudgingly accepted – most likely in the hopes of marrying off his daughter Lorelei to some well-to-do hotshot.

  Emma’s gaze swerved to the other side of town. To her right, she could make out the stubby towers of the Fence. Each tower blinked with a bright light that looked like a red eye. If she stared at it too long it made her woozy. Unlike the rich neighborhoods, which were protected by electric barriers day and night, this place was only shielded from intruders from the Ghettos at nighttime, at which point the electricity powering the Fence was activated.

  Before the Fence was built, this residential area had regularly fallen prey to murderers and looters, right up until the time when the Realm decided to reinstate the curfew in all provinces of Nethergermany after a decennium of going without it.

  The fire sputtered out with an almost audible sigh, and Emma forced herself to stoke it again. Central heating only worked in the living room downstairs. It had been different once – Emma remembered a warmer house, with the walls freshly painted and the floors polished to a shine. Uncle Peter said it was because energy had been cheap in those days. Then again, Uncle Peter might just have been better off back then. Emma pushed away her worries.

  Today, she hadn’t come up here to cry. Moreover, she’d have to get used to the new situation eventually – the silence in this room, which was never going away again. Sophia’s bed had been stripped of its blankets two weeks ago, the sheets and pillowcases washed and put away. Emma suspected Lorelei had done all the cleaning, because all she’d managed to do was to lie numbly on the sofa for days on end.

  Lorelei was in mourning too, Emma reminded herself, feeling a small stab of guilt. But somehow her cousin had mustered up the strength to keep doing her daily chores.

  She’d asked Lorelei to leave Sophia’s clothes alone, though. Lili had kept that promise, but in all this time, Emma hadn’t dared opening the closet, afraid her carefully constructed shield would crumble on the spot if she did. She couldn’t put her finger on what had changed, but this morning, she’d woken up with the sound of the storm roaring in her ears and the insistent urge to scrub the bedroom clean. By now, the dark oak floor was gleaming like never before and the windows and shelves were probably the cleanest ones in the entire house.

  Emma stood in front of Sophia’s closet, reaching out to touch the wood with hesitant fingers before yanking the door open. The flowery scent of Sophia’s favorite perfume wafted into her nose.

  “You always wore such pretty clothes,” Emma mumbled, running the fabric of the garments through her hands. She didn’t know what to do with them. Lorelei wouldn’t fit into most of these, and Emma would feel awkward wearing the silk blouses and pleated skirts herself. She took the clothes hangers from the rail and dumped everything haphazardly on the bed.

  Now what? Should she stuff these things away in a dark corner, out of sight? What would Sophia have done if the roles were reversed – if Emma had been the one hit by a car? Emma shook her head. She’d never find out.

  Unexpected fury bubbled up in her chest, as though she were a volcano about to erupt. Emma grabbed a handful of sweaters and tossed them into the fire before she could reconsider her actions. She had to throw these out, out and away! So everything was gone, irreversibly, just like Sophia had left her for good. At once, the room was filled with the stench of burning wool. Emma gathered the dresses and threw those onto the fire as well, followed by Sophia’s silk blouses, her socks and her crocheted shawls.

  The door flew open. When Emma looked up, she saw Lorelei staring at her from the threshold. “What is that awful smell? What in God’s name are you doing?”

  “I’m burning everything!”

  “Burning it all? But they’re such nice clothes...” Lorelei stepped into the room.

  “I can’t bear seeing these things anymore!” Emma exploded. “I can’t sleep in here knowing it’s all still here – I can’t and I won’t!”

  “All right, Emma. Now shush.” Lorelei wrapped her arms around her and held her close as Emma dissolved into tears. “I miss her too.”

  “I know you miss her, Lili. I’m sorry. It’s just – this room – and the silence...”

  “You want to sleep in my room? I have plenty of space.”

  “No.” Emma shook her head, scrambled to her feet, and wiped her face clean with the hem of her sleeve. “I just have to deal with this, clear away her things – get used to her absence. Sophia wouldn’t want her clothes to make me sad, would she?”

  “I don’t think she’d want you to burn all of them in a fit of rage, either,” Lorelei replied gently.

  “But she’s gone! And I want to – I need to do this!”

  “Fine. How about I clean out the rest of her wardrobe and you decide which ones you want to burn? All the other ones can go to my room so you won�
�t have to look at them ever again if you don’t want to.”

  Emma nodded shakily.

  For the following fifteen minutes neither of them spoke. Lorelei got the remaining scarves and vests from Sophia’s closet and handed them to Emma, who cast them onto the fire one by one. Within minutes, every last thread of the fabric had been consumed by flames – as though the fire needed to satisfy a profound, relentless hunger.

  Emma’s hands moved robotically. The smoke seemed to penetrate her mind, shattering any clear thought before it could form. It was only when Lorelei handed her the last item of clothing that something brought her back to reality.

  Emma gazed at the coat. Red, like blood. No – she shouldn’t think that. It took her a minute to remember why this coat was still in the closet. Sophia had worn it on the day of her fatal accident. People had struggled to get her broken body out of this coat and into a white dress. The coat had been washed, steam-cleaned, and ironed before being delivered to their doorstep. Slowly, Emma sat down on the edge of the bed.

  “Not that one?” Lorelei inquired.

  “It was her favorite coat. She always wore it whenever she went out, remember?” She found that she couldn’t let go of the item. “I can’t get rid of this one.”

  “It’s okay to have a keepsake, Emma.”

  “Yes. I think I should keep this. Thanks, Lili.” With gentle hands, Emma unfolded the coat, spreading it out on the bed. She’d fit into this one with ease. She and her sister had shared the same fragile, bird-like build, the narrow hips and the round face on the two of them reminiscent of their mother’s appearance. When Emma looked into the mirror, she couldn’t avoid seeing Sophia’s face reflected in her own – the same golden blonde curls, light-blue eyes and the same scattering of freckles around the nose.

  Just as Emma was about to hang the coat back in the closet, she noticed something hard inside the left pocket. Slipping in her hand, she felt something metallic under her fingers. Sophia’s keys? And stuck underneath – what was that? It felt like a tiny wad of paper. Emma pulled out the key ring, swallowing down another lump in her throat. “I can’t believe the dry cleaners missed this…”

  Lorelei hummed disapprovingly, extending her hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll put them somewhere.”

  “Don’t put them in the little basket. It’ll be like she…”

  “Okay, Em. Not in the little basket,” Lorelei promised softly.

  While Lorelei tucked the keys into her own pocket, Emma took out the crumpled piece of paper. Probably a candy wrapper that had somehow survived the laundry cycle, she mused, but when she opened her hand, it was obviously something else – a scrap of writing paper. The familiar light-pink, lined paper that Sophia had used to write letters on since age ten. There was no doubt this belonged to her sister. Good Lord, she’d folded the note into one heck of a tight, minuscule parcel! Emma pried the edges apart and started to frown as she scanned the hastily scribbled-down words.

  Frieda Groonewald, ring three times

  An unfamiliar name, followed by an address in Amsterdam. Emma had heard rumors about even the likes of Diederich Hoffmann having a mansion in that city, which he visited sometimes accompanied by Nethergermany’s most loyal liege-men. Emma’s frown deepened. In even tinier script, as though Sophia had only reluctantly committed the words to paper, it said:

  The angel has arrived. We have prepared a table before him.

  Lorelei, who was still rummaging around in the closet, chose that exact moment to turn around to address Emma. “Will you be all right on your own? Dad’ll be home in an hour and I still have some errands to run.”

  “I don’t mind being alone. Ehm, Lorelei?”

  “Hm?”

  “Do you know what an angel is?”

  “An angel?” Lorelei’s eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “Radiant creatures with wings and burning eyes – the messengers of God.”

  “Oh, I know what angels are. Fairytale beings from Jewish folklore.” Lorelei’s piercing eyes bored into Emma’s. “You’re not supposed to talk about them, Emma. Why are you asking?”

  “Sophia, she…” Something in Lorelei’s voice stopped her from going on. Emma closed her fingers around the note. “No reason, really. Sophia told me she’d read about them, a few days before she – before it happened. I just suddenly remembered that. I don’t know why.”

  “Oh, Em. What good could it possibly do you to get involved with Jewish superstition?” Lorelei countered soothingly. “Hey, what’s in your hand?”

  “This? Oh, it’s nothing. An old grocery list, I guess. It’s all washed out after the dry cleaners.”

  Lorelei fixed her with a quizzical gaze, as though to make sure no more weird questions were about to follow. When Emma remained quiet, her cousin gave her an encouraging smile. “I understand you need time for yourself, Em. I’ll ask Daddy to leave you alone until dinnertime.” She walked over to the window and pushed it all the way open. “Let’s air this room properly so you won’t have to sleep in this horrible stench tonight. Take it easy, okay?”

  “Yes, Lili. See you tonight.”

  Lorelei kissed her cheek and left the room, lingering on the threshold for a second. “And be careful with your questions. Don’t ask the wrong people. I know you’re going through a rough patch, but – Emma, please be careful.”

  2

  Following clues

  Emma

  EMMA waited until the sound of footsteps receded in the distance and the front door downstairs slammed shut. Then, she walked over to the other window and opened it to a crack, breathing in the cold air seeping in.

  By the glow of a single streetlight she saw her cousin hurriedly marching down the sidewalk. Emma’s eyes followed her as she fumbled to open her umbrella, then rounded the corner. If Uncle Peter had been home, Lili would have been able to use the car and ask the driver to take her anywhere, but Uncle Peter needed his car for work every weekday, driving from Northern Netherprovince to the office. He never used any other mode of transport – the route he followed took him outside the Fence and past the Ghettos toward Yssel Island, where he worked as a registrar for the District Court. The windows of the state car were blinded, the doors armored, and the driver always carried a gun. It made Emma uncomfortable. Rutger, their driver, knew this and kept it out of sight whenever she needed his services. Lorelei had never understood her aversion to firearms.

  “What if they attack us?” she’d asked Emma once. “What if we’re on our way to a party on Yssel Island and some rats from the Ghetto attempt an armed robbery?” They were questions that Emma didn’t know the answer to, because to be fair, Lorelei was right – these things did happen. Nobody was really safe outside the Fence, blinded windows or not. And Sophia… Sophia had just kept quiet after Lili’s questions, a slight smile on her face. Emma was sure her sister would have been able to disarm any assailant by sheer charm, a character trait that Emma had never truly shared with her sister even though they looked alike enough to be able to trick their closest relatives if they just swapped clothes.

  I shouldn’t have lied to Lorelei, Emma thought, standing at the window and looking at the words on the piece of paper again. Who was Frieda Groonewald? As far as Emma knew, her sister didn’t know anybody in Amsterdam. Of course it was possible that she’d met someone at a social gathering – Sophia had always been more of a party girl than Emma. In that case, Lorelei might know this woman too. Emma could ask her once her cousin returned home. But she remembered the look in Lorelei’s eyes, as well as her warning: Be careful with your questions. What did it all mean? Was it some kind of secret? The cryptic message sure sounded like one: the angel has arrived, we have prepared a table before him.

  Emma shook her head in irritation. Sophia wouldn’t have kept secrets, not from her. Hadn’t they always been two branches of one tree? There was nothing that Sophia wouldn’t have shared with
her.

  The lingering smell of burnt clothes was giving her a headache. Emma left the other window open as well and descended the stairs to go to the parlor. Her laptop had been stowed away on a shelf for a full month by now. She’d felt too horrible to think about starting on her piled-up homework assignments, or even surfing her favorite sites. But now, she sat down on the sofa, crossed her legs, and opened her computer. At once, the ‘Realm’s Youth High School Northern Netherprovince’ website popped up on screen. Absently rather than enthusiastically, Emma typed in her username and password. Her inbox was bursting at the seams with unread messages blinking in angry red. One by one, Emma opened them, her eyes skimming the lines without really registering the words.

  Please come back to school. We miss you! xxx Saar and Lavinia.

  I emailed you this semester’s literature list – no idea if you received it. How are you holding up? Please email me back. Regards, Gerhardt.

  My ID stick expired so I was summoned at City Hall. Yours expired around the same time as mine, right? Let’s meet up. We’ll go for coffee and pastries afterward? We really need to talk, Em. This radio silence isn’t good for you. Xx Lavinia.

  Please answer your phone! - Saar

  Her friends’ names seemed like remnants of ancient history. They no longer belonged in the world as it was today – a world without Sophia. Emma clicked away the messages and the site automatically took her to the main page, where news items and announcements written by her school filled the screen. Before she could click away again, Emma was unexpectedly staring at her sister from up close.

  Sophia gazed straight into the camera. She didn’t have those weird red eyes that Emma usually got whenever someone took a picture of her. Her sumptuous blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders. Emma stared at the photo with revulsion, going cold from head to toe. She hadn’t considered there’d be an obituary on the main page, hadn’t been able to prepare herself for this…