Madonna On the Bridge

by Bert C. Wouters

  “I must tell you something, young man,” she continued in her raspy voice. “You walk through the Red Light District of the city and think of us in only one way. The Chief of the Fire Department is a friend of ours. If a fire broke out in the Cathedral of Our Lady, we would be the only ones awake at night and ready to help put out the fire. As an art student, you know about the cathedral paintings by Rubens, Teniers, and Jordaens. They are our national heritage, and we are just as proud of them as any other citizen is. If a fire broke out during the night, we would be the only ones awake to save the paintings. We agreed to risk our lives to preserve the heritage of this city.” By the time she had finished speaking, Manus wanted to believe her story.

  After classes, Manus made it a practice to walk to the River Scheldt, which flows a mile wide to the North Sea. Antwerp is a major international port city, and Manus often walked the banks of the river, leaning on the railing to gaze at the slow-moving ocean freighters. Intrigued by the strange names on their bows, he took out his notepad, jotting down the ships’ names: “Luceria,” Cadiz, Spain; “Hurricane Wharf,” South Carolina, USA; “Julio Miranda,” Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; “Brunwulf,” Kiel, Germany. Someday he planned to visit these faraway places.

  The sun was setting in the west, but there was just enough daylight to sketch the rippled waves stirring in the river by a mild breeze. Overhead the sky was purple with strands of pale yellow, signaling the last rays of the sinking sun. A low-hanging mist formed over the river and started to obscure the contours of the left bank. It was almost dark, and he heard a girl singing a lullaby. The lovely voice came through an open window in one of the stately homes lining the river walk on the east bank. He turned the page and set out to draw a young mother seated in a rocking chair; her head turned toward her infant in a tender embrace. “Hush, baby, hush” the music trailed off and became muffled by the sound of the rippling river. The baby had fallen asleep. This sketch became one of his favorites ever, and he placed it in his portfolio: Sketches of Mary and Jesus.

  It was Saturday afternoon, and there were no classes at the Academy today. The sun grew steadily stronger by the hour, heating up the city until it was stiflingly hot. Manus had made a few friends at the Academy, and on this sweltering hot day, they needed a beer. They stopped at Café Sinjoorke. Someone had left the daily paper on one of the tables. Its headline left no doubt about the sad feelings of the people: “Despite Economic Recovery, Flemish People Remain Oppressed by Brussels.”

  Always fascinated by politics, Manus listened to the students’ debate. During the past several months, unlawful conduct during street demonstrations had landed numerous students in jail. The Flemish people stood by their students, and Manus found himself in the crosshair of the political opinions of the students: those who favored the NSB (National Socialist Bond) with its Nazi ties against those who sympathized with the plight of the Jews in Germany.

  Yesterday, Manus had met a new friend, Jacob Schwarz. Jacob’s parents had recently come from Germany, escaping the roundup of Jews in Koln. They had fled from the Gestapo during Krystal Nacht, the “Night of the Broken Glass.” A week earlier Gestapo agents in Germany had ransacked hundreds of synagogues. Gestapo troopers had sacked thousands of Jewish shops and rounded up tens of thousands of Jews whom they deported to the concentration camps. Schwarz’s parents had managed to escape just in time, thanks to friends in Antwerp’s diamond district. Manus listened to his story of the harrowing escape from Koln.

  After spending several months at the Academy, Manus moved from entertaining a fantasy in which he featured himself as a sculptor, to finding the reality of being a sculptor with his peculiar art style. At the Academy, his hands were at home working with plaster forms, similar to the work he had performed shaping death masks. His ultimate goal was to create a statue of the Virgin Mary from a block of granite, the most challenging stone to carve. He familiarized himself with the tools of the trade, such as chisels and scrapers, and learned how difficult it was to carve granite.

  It was late afternoon when Madame Giselle came upstairs to deliver a letter from Manus’ father. The message was clear: “You have been designated by the architect of the chapel on the Moerdijk Bridge to carve a life-size monument of Mary and Jesus from stone. The Catholic Church plans to inaugurate this statue in the roadside chapel within six months. Your return home is urgent so that you can meet the deadline for the inauguration of the chapel.” Manus immediately made plans to leave Antwerp and return to his hometown of Mill.

  Upon arriving, he learned what was behind this project. The Catholic Church in the Southern Provinces of Holland wanted to make a statement aimed at the Protestants in the Northern Provinces: “As you cross the Rhine River, we welcome you to Catholic Holland.” It did not take long for Manus to grasp the enormity of the task ahead.

  He wasted no time laying the groundwork for the monument by drawing a rendition on paper. However, he continued to worry about his lack of a live model for the Virgin Mary. He had to quickly find someone who could indeed represent the beauty of the Virgin Mary. He thought perhaps Rector Moller at the Academy could help him find a model. Moller asked Manus for a clear description of the model he required for his sketches.

  “She needs to be a young girl who brings together the art style I adore the most as we see in the paintings of Rafael and Parmigianino. May I show you my portfolio of the sketch I made of the Madonna figure I have in mind?” Manus asked him. Moller knew what he was after and was willing to lend him a hand. A newly registered student at the Academy might fit Manus’ requirements. He told Manus he would let him know whether the candidate he had in mind would agree to an interview.

  The sun warmed Manus as he headed to his usual gathering place at the local tavern. In the corner, he noticed three young girls having tea and cookies. He joined his friends, who were discussing Hitler’s politics. Suddenly, one of his friends broke off the conversation, nodding discreetly in the direction of the girls.

  “Look at that attractive and adorable girl with the dark olive-colored complexion … those exotic eyes,” he said. “I wonder who she is? Has she been here before?” Manus knew who she was, but he was too embarrassed to tell his friends she was the girl he had seen in his mind when his father had played “Juliska vom Budapest” on the violin. He looked towards her and as if by a miracle, he knew it was her. He had drawn her image so many times and now, here she was in the flesh. Had Moller come through for him and set up a meeting with her at the tavern? He could no longer contain his excitement.

  “It is her, the one I have sketched so many times,” he whispered to his friends. “She is the perfect model for my Madonna statue. Just look at her elegant figure, the long neck, like the figures in Parmigianino’s paintings.”

  Danya noticed the attention and looked at her friends as they started to giggle like teenage girls. Manus had to act now; gathering his courage, he got up from the table and approached Danya.

  “Are you a student at the Academy?” he asked gingerly, a little unsure of himself. Danya looked up at him shyly.

  “Yes, I am a student,” she responded. She boldly asked: “Are you the sculptor who is looking for a model?”

  “Yes, I am looking for a model for my Madonna statue, for the chapel on the Moerdijk Bridge,” Manus told her, feeling reassured. “Time is short. The statue needs to be ready in six months.” Danya remembered reading about this important project in the newspaper. She reminded herself that she was a mere sixteen-year-old girl attending the Academy to become a sculptor. How could this man think of her as a model for such important work? She summoned her courage by reminding herself that she was Circassian. She was unsure how her family would react if she took this assignment. She let her mind wander to an earlier time in her father’s studio with Queen Satanaya. Was this one of those moments that she had promised to stand by her side? She heard a voice from deep inside her: “Time is here to experience life through the Circass
ian spirit … the courage is already in you to take this role as a model for the Madonna, the Virgin Mary.”

  As her friends left the tavern, Danya hesitated to stay by herself with Manus. She was frightened, being young and inexperienced. However, here was an opportunity to learn the trade of becoming a sculptor from the inside by being a model. She had to rely on Satanaya to help her through this phase. Manus noticed the aristocratic look on her face, and it made him uncomfortable. He saw the tension in her face and wanted to put her at ease.

  “What is your name?” Manus started out correctly asking with a smile.

  “Danya Mandraskit.” Her last name fascinated him. First, he needed to explain what he had hoped to see in his model.

  “I am looking for someone who looks like the Virgin Mary, as she was depicted in the paintings by the Italian masters. I have studied the different styles, and you fit the image of the ideal Mary figure.”

  “I feel honored, but I’m not convinced I should be the model for the mother of Jesus,” Danya began. Wanting to put her at ease, Manus asked about her life and short-term goals.

  “Did you move from Antwerp to Mill last year?”

  “Yes, I am staying with my aunt.”

  “Tell me about your parents …”

  “Well, my parents live outside of Antwerp in the suburb of Brasschaat. I was going to private school there until I decided I wanted to learn the art of sculpting. The academy in Mill is the only school in Europe where they accept female students in their sculpting program. I am planning to return home after my studies.”

  “I’d like to ask you a question about your last name … Do you know where your family originally came from?”

  “Hundreds of years ago, our family came from the Northern Caucasus Mountains; they were called Circassians … my parents told me our ancestors go back to the Hittites of Egypt.”

  “This explains your unusual last name,” Manus commented before he went further with the connection with Mary’s ancestry. “In the Gospel of Matthew, I read that Mary, Mother of Jesus, was also a Hittite. What an incredible coincidence!” Danya stayed quiet as she tried to absorb what he had said. “With you as my model, the monument in the chapel on the Moerdijk Bridge will be the most beautiful figure of Mary ever to be carved in stone. The Protestants will know that they entered Catholic territory.”

  Chapter 9

  Intel Arie

  A new position in the Armed Forces posted on the bulletin board at police headquarters stirred a lot of interest amongst the younger officers. When Arie noticed the letters “IB” in the posting, he learned from his colleagues that it stood for “Intelligence Bureau.” The wording “intelligence” caught his attention and he decided to find out more about the opportunity.

  To compete for the position, Arie resolved to learn all he could about the craft of intelligence. He found a book about the origins of intelligence gathering in the library and was astounded at how long the knowledge of intelligence gathering has been part of warfare. He read about the Romans and their secret spies.

  Several months ago, the chief of police had promoted Arie to Investigative Police Officer, seeing that Arie was capable of doing more than patrolling the streets as an ordinary officer. Shortly after Arie’s promotion, the chief gave him his first chance to prove himself with the murder investigation of Mrs. Van Sluister. In record time, Arie concluded the investigation quite adroitly, leading to the indictment of Mr. Van Sluister for murdering his wife and filing a fraudulent insurance claim.

  During the investigation, Arie had worked closely with Willem van Lansfoort to solve the case. The managing director of the company V.L. Insurance and Surety in Amsterdam, Van Lansfoort had been appointed to a critical position in the Dutch Intelligence organization by Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands.

  As a police officer, Arie had impressed van Lansfoort to such an extent that he received a call about a position in intelligence. Van Lansfoort arranged for Arie to meet with Colonel Harry Ternouw at the Intelligence Bureau in Amsterdam. For an opportunity like this, Arie wanted to prepare diligently by studying military intelligence and its history. As Arie leafed through the Origins of Intelligence Gathering in the library, he came upon an interesting footnote about the Roman legions and their intelligence unit. Arie learned about the encryption system used by Julius Caesar. He wondered how it was possible that Caesar created a system to send coded messages to his generals on the battlefield more than two thousand years ago. The book explained how to encrypt text using a simple algorithm known as “Caesar Cipher.” The code substitutes a letter with another letter of the alphabet by using a constant. For example, when the constant is 3, shifting three positions down in the alphabet, the letter “A” becomes the letter “C.” Arie was excited about this game and caught on quickly. In anticipation of his meeting, he experimented with the code by creating a brief message in Caesar Cipher. He added the cipher experience to his resume, which added to his accomplishments in the best light.

  The next day, Arie left the house wearing his police uniform. He wanted to make a “military” impression on the interviewers. Riding his bicycle, he loved to whistle, and this morning was no exception. He could not put out of his mind the tune his father had played on his violin the night before: “Song of the Volga,” based on the story of a soldier sitting on the banks of the Volga River, dreaming of his girl back home.

  Will I become that soldier? He mused. He looked at the cloudy sky and wondered when it would start to rain. To stem his darkening mood, he continued whistling. Overhead, grey clouds rolled in from Germany. Arie saw these clouds as an omen for what was to come for his family in Holland. He had good reason to feel this way. Two months ago, without warning, German storm troopers had invaded Czechoslovakia and Austria. Emboldened by their success, Germany continued its military buildup of armaments and troops in direct violation of the Treaty of Versailles.

  Earlier, at the police post, rumors floated around about a Dutch spy who stole documents from the office of the Abwehr (the military intelligence service of the German Army) in Berlin. The captured documents revealed Hitler’s intention to attack Holland within the next eighteen months. In a footnote, initialed by Hitler, he declared that Holland would be quickly overrun, given the Germanic ethnicity of the Dutch people and the ties of the Dutch royal family to Germany’s imperial family. Because of these historical perspectives, Hitler predicted that the Dutch people would welcome the invading troops with open arms.

  Arie arrived at the Intelligence Bureau with his curriculum vitae and the encoded message he had written the night before hidden in an old World War I gas mask. He wanted to impress the interviewer with his ingenuity of hiding documents.

  Arie entered the unfamiliar building and peered around the corner in the hallway, seeing Colonel Ternouw’s nameplate. He cautiously turned the doorknob and found himself in a dim room. It took a while for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  Ternouw entered the room after him, and Arie handed over his curriculum vitae. Ternouw glanced at it briefly before speaking. “Willem van Lansfoort, whom you know from your police work, briefed me on your background,” he said curtly. “He provided your background information and spoke highly of your accomplishments as a police officer. Willem is a founder of the Dutch Intelligence Bureau. He works directly with Prince Bernhard, head of the bureau.” Ternouw went on to explain the importance of intelligence for the Dutch Armed Forces.

  “Remember that Holland is a small country. When war breaks out with Germany, intelligence gathering will make the difference between victory and defeat. It will fall upon our efforts in the bureau to collect vital information on troop movements and equipment before the invasion.”

  Just then, van Lansfoort entered the room, walking straight to Arie and greeting him warmly as an old acquaintance. Van Lansfoort also knew Arie’s father, whose paintings his company had insured. He regretted not being present
when Arie arrived to introduce him properly.

  “Yesterday, I attended an urgent meeting of the Intelligence Bureau, presided over by Prince Bernhard,” van Lansfoort began. “The German Armed Forces are amassing in huge numbers on the border with Holland. We must immediately send a spy to the border region in Germany to give us an accurate assessment of the military situation. We require an individual who can leave on short notice to spy on the Krupp Werke (Factories) in the Ruhr Region. Krupp is the manufacturer of heavy military equipment for the German Army. We are deeply concerned with the manufacturing of the Panzer Tanks, which are superior in speed and accuracy to any tank on the European Continent.”

  On the table, Ternouw studied the coded message Arie had written in Caesar Cipher. “You know Arie well enough from the police force that I recommend Arie as a candidate for the position of an intelligence officer,” he said, pointing at the message. “Take a look at Arie’s message, encrypted in Caesar Cipher. Pay attention to the content he chose.”

  “The life that I have is all that I have

  The love that I have for God, Queen, and Country

  Is yours eternally.”

  “This speaks volumes to his pledge of courage and commitment,” the colonel stated.

  Van Lansfoort nodded. “I agree with you,” he whispered. “He is our man. We must immediately start his training to go into Germany.”

  “In one week, you will be on your way,” Ternouw informed Arie. “Tomorrow you will start formal training on the essentials of intelligence-gathering operations. Never give away your cover. Intelligence gathering requires a high level of secrecy and resourcefulness to maintain your cover. We want the outside world to speak of you as a ‘man hard to place.’ You are no longer of use to us once your cover is blown.” Arie felt excited and worried at the same time. He knew he had placed himself at serious risk. Taking comfort from his coded message, he saluted as he departed.