“I saw that the minute she wrote about it, Ies. Brr. Used American clothes, who knows who’s been in them?”
Father went on. “When a new shipment came in, and the people rushed over, all breathing in my face— everyone was always looking for black. I never wrote you that, I guess. They wanted to be properly dressed again in case of another funeral. I see what I’ve just said. Don’t worry, Father, I’ll be fine. And I didn’t get sick in the past two months either. I’ve had it for a long time, the doctor said. That’s why it’ll take a while to get better. Fortunately I’m used to waiting.”
When Father finished reading us the letter, he went to the telephone to call Rachel. In a few seconds he was back. He couldn’t talk to her. She was not allowed out of bed.
“How long will she have to be there?” I asked. Rachel had not really said.
Father took off his glasses. “A year or two, they think.”
“Well, that’s life,” Mother said.
“Why did she have to be hidden in that town?” he asked. His voice shook.
That, Mother did not know. “First she becomes religious there,” she said, “and now this.”
Father left, quietly closing the door behind him. The letter was still on the table, open.
“P.S.,” I read. “Please take Annie to a doctor. She’s so frail. What if I gave it to her?”
I could have it, too? Mother must also have read that part. She was already running to the telephone.
*
5 *
Just a few weeks later, judges from England, France, Russia, and the United States traveled to a city in Germany called Nuremberg. Twenty-one of Hitler’s closest friends and helpers were waiting there to be tried for having planned and started the war. Rachel’s war, Father’s, Mother’s, Sini’s, Johan and Dientje’s, so many other people’s. Practically the whole world’s. Mine.
It was the same city people had traveled to for nine hundred years, to look at the houses and churches, to eat in the inns, walk along the winding streets, sketchbooks in their hands. The same city, too, where in the thirties and early forties they had gotten together, those twenty-one, for their party’s annual meeting. Again many people came—tens of thousands at once this time. Just for that. And for Hitler’s speech. “Heil!” they screamed, with their right hands raised in the Nazi salute. And their eyes full of hate. Toward Jews, Slavs, gypsies, Communists, priests, and Germans who weren’t any of those, who just thought differently.“Heil!” Nazi voices had roared in the September sun. “We are with you, Hitler. You know what’s right. You know what we need. Heil! Heil! Heil!”
It was not the same Nuremberg any more, the papers said. The churches and inns were gone, and piles of rubble covered the little winding streets. Allied bombs. … But the jail was still standing, and so was the courthouse, untouched.
When the trial opened, the accused men were fidgety, bored. They hardly listened to the prosecutor as he recounted their crimes. One of Hitler’s friends fell asleep. That bored. But he woke up in time to grab the microphone and say what the other twenty had already said, “Nein.” Not guilty—of anything.
“Not guilty?” most people in Holland shouted. “What’s the matter with them?”
Don’t worry, the papers answered. The proof is there, in Nuremberg. Those men had carefully written everything down, all their plans, and forgotten to destroy the documents when the war ended.
When they were shown a movie of what had taken place in their camps, they covered their eyes, couldn’t watch.
At least the men are no longer bored, the papers announced.
“No longer bored!” the people of Holland shouted. “Hang them. They don’t even deserve a trial. A lot of talking and what for?”
Not everyone shouted. Some cried—those who had lost relatives and friends in the camps and read what had happened to them every day when the newspaper came. I would have liked to go over to Mother and comfort her. I was afraid to, even though the doctor had said I did not have tuberculosis. What if Mother was right and the incubation period could be longer for some people?
November went on. With school, going either alone or with Jannie and the others; the masseur afterward; coming back home fast, always. That’s what Mother liked. “How come you’re late, Annie?” she’d say at the door, even though I never was. Nice.
I didn’t mind too much, about Nel. The stories Mother told, the letters she read, the telephone calls she discussed. I hardly mentioned my sisters any more, or Johan or Dientje. Mother did not seem interested in hearing about them; she always interrupted when I began: “That has to do with the old, Annie.”
I sighed.
“Did you hear what I just said, Annie?”
“Where did Nel go now, Mother?”
“She went to two parties over the weekend. Now you can see how important it is for people to look good. Appearances make all the difference in the world.”
I smiled. I was working on that. My ears hurt from all the scrubbing. No, I didn’t mind about Nel, not much. Only sometimes. But then I’d forget, the minute Mother said, “And now, Annie,…” Anything could come. Not necessarily Nel!
More traveling was done at the beginning of that winter. The deadline in Walcheren had been met, except for one hole. Special buses went around Holland, to pick up the last of the island’s refugees.
A bus came to Winterswijk, too. It stopped in the marketplace. “Do you have any cats to give me?” the driver asked. “Good, all of you are carrying boxes, I see. Hand them to me, and I’ll put them on the back seats.” That’s what the people of Walcheren had asked for, since the island cats had drowned a long time ago when the water first came, and there were many rats now.
Knives, too, the refugees took home, sturdy ones, to scrape off the mussels that the North Sea had deposited on their floors and walls. They said good-bye. “Hope we did not stay too long, and that it wasn’t too much for you.”
“Think nothing of it,” their Winterswijk hosts assured them. “We did it with pleasure.”
“Come and see us,” the islanders shouted from the bus. The ornaments on the old-fashioned lace caps trembled as the women moved their heads. “But give us a while to clean the place up first, get the salt out of the soil, plant some things. Then you come.”
I would; I would. Mother had never been there, either. We could all go, when the island looked pretty again, as it had in the picture book I had once seen. “Good-bye.”
And Sini, she traveled, too. She might even be on the train right now while I was walking away from the marketplace. She had a new job, taking care of small children whose parents couldn’t. What had Mother said about that after dinner? I laughed. For someone not interested in my “old people,” she certainly spent enough time talking about them. Every time a letter came. Last night had been Sini’s turn.
“She’s a very flighty girl. Anyone can see that. She’s no Nel. And mark my words, she won’t last more than a month at this job, either. She doesn’t have what it takes.” Mother had stopped filing her nails and looked over at Father. He was sitting near the stove, his legs stuck out, once in a while contentedly wriggling his toes in the direction of the flames that shone red and blue behind the mica door.
“I shouldn’t have gone to the library for him,” Mother complained. “Once you give that man a book he’s lost. My first husband was also a cattle dealer, but not like this. He loved to dance, tell jokes. He made me laugh. I’m not used to all this reading. What does your father see in it night after night?”
He’d stop soon; he did not have that many more pages to go.
“I hate to think of the next few months,” Mother continued, “sitting here by myself. Nel was right—this might just as well be Siberia for all the people I see out here. And evenings will get a lot longer before they get shorter.”
I knew. They were long. Especially now that I no longer had time to read. Father’s toes again, wriggling. Would Mother like me to teach her some English? That would make a b
ig difference, she’d see. She could listen to the songs on the radio, know what they were about. And I was good at English. “Would you like me to, Mother?”
A pity. Mother didn’t think she needed any. It would have been nice. “Go fix the drapes, Annie. You still don’t draw them right. I sometimes wonder whether you ever will.”
It was my own fault that Mother was annoyed. I should not have told her I was good at English. Maybe Nel was doing badly in school, and Mother was worried. But I was not good at everything—not at math or physics or gym. I was very bad at gym. “I have trouble jumping across the rope unless it is practically lying on the floor.” That had been the right thing to say. She was smiling again.
After a while, Father closed his book. “Come, Magda, let’s go for a walk,” he said. “I’ve been sitting all evening.”
That made Mother laugh. “Now? At this hour? We’ll break our necks.” But she went anyway, with him and the flashlight as usual. After the book. And our talks before that. Father—all dressed up these days. “A new wife, new rules, Annie,” he said every morning, happily as he went to work, a tie sticking up from his old vest. … I stopped walking, squinted. Was that Mother standing in front of the house? Yes. Quickly I patted my hair down.
“Come here, Annie,” she beckoned.
Yes, yes. How wonderful that she had come all the way to the road. And I had stopped in the marketplace for only ten minutes.
The letter to Nel had been mailed, the potatoes peeled, the vegetables washed, my homework done. It was almost dark.
Quietly I was setting the table, making sure everything was in the right place. Father had come home. I’d heard the back door. He wouldn’t come all the way in yet, not until he’d taken his shoes and jacket off and brushed his pants. Then “Here I am, wife,” he’d say, “and I think not even you can tell that I have been with the cows all day.”
There, just as I thought. He must be giving her a kiss now. She’d smile, fix his tie, ask him whether he had had a good day.
“Guess how much I got for that skinny cow this morning, the one I kept in the meadow across the road,” he’d say.
“It was worth at least four hundred guilders, Ies. If you let it go for less, you’re a fool.”
“That’s exactly how much I got for it, Magda,” he exclaimed. “Four hundred.”
“I told you it was worth that much,” she said laughing. “Didn’t I? I haven’t been wrong yet, Ies.”
“No, you haven’t.” Father would rub his hands and comment on the cooking smells. “Even they’re a miracle, Magda.”
They’d be in any minute now. I made a last check of the table. Yes, yes, no—a nasty spot on the serving spoon. Quick, polish it on my dress. I’d like meals if I could serve myself, but I never took enough food, Mother said, when she had let me. My clothes had begun to pinch though, and it wasn’t my imagination as Mother kept telling me. I had red lines across my stomach when I took off my skirt at night.
The kitchen door opened. Dinner did smell good. She was a wonderful cook. Only I wish she’d listen to me when I said, “No more, please.”
Carefully I put the serving spoon back on the table, handle toward Mother’s plate.
*
6 *
Christmas vacations everywhere were going to be very short this year. We had already missed so much school that we shouldn’t have any vacation at all, the principal stated. That made everyone laugh, a little suspiciously though. What if he meant it?
He didn’t. “Enjoy your few days,” he said. That really made us laugh.
Well, then, I could do a lot, make plans as some of the kids already were under their breath. I could ask someone to my house. Yes, that would be nice. I thought about it for a minute. Jannie? She was too old. But there was Selma. I could learn to like her. After all, we were in the same class. She might even be very pleased to get away from the boys. They were always teasing her, especially Kees. Even when there was hardly any snow, he’d wear himself out collecting some in his bare hands, just to put it down her back. She never knew what to do. Shrieking, waving her arms, didn’t stop him. I glanced out the window for a second. There was already enough snow on the ground for her to be buried in. She’d be happy to come to my house.
Early in the afternoon maybe, on the first day of vacation, she’d come. We’d make a snowman in our garden—a big round one, with arms. And I’d ask Mother to let us have things to dress him in. We’d have a little tea afterward, to warm up. Maybe Mother would make it, call us when it was ready. “Annie, come and bring your friend.” Yes. And offer us a cookie—homemade. Selma would love that, she’d probably want to come again a few days later. Another snowman? I’d see.
“Selma,” the teacher warned. “If you don’t stop fooling around, we’ll have to open the school just for you.”
Worried, I looked behind me. She was hurriedly nodding yes to a couple of kids, I saw. Had they already asked? So soon? It was not even three o’clock yet. Quickly I turned back. I must already be too late. It was all right though. I hardly knew her. I’d wait a little longer, till spring. I’d still have a good time. Nel was not coming home, and Mother had not even been sad. She smiled instead, and said Nel would definitely have made the long trip to our house and given up her parties if Mother had asked. But she had not wanted to. Contentedly I stared at the pencil jar.
“Let us stop for a minute,” churches all over Holland urged people, “and reflect. Last year, our cupboards were bare, our stores empty. Potato soup and a crust of bread were all we had. Whereas now there is an abundance again. Yet, some among us are, for whatever reason, still lacking. Let us be generous to them. Let us give; follow the example of the Americans who, more than any other nation, have shared with us. Go. Go. And let the light and joy of Christmas be with you.”
As the people came out, organ music did, too, solemnly following them as they strode past the stores where the windows were still covered with boards. But the pieces of glass in the middle were glowing—wherever a streetlamp was near. On this Sunday they were already lit, although it was not completely dark. Leather belts in De Wind’s Mode encircled a handbag. Next to them was a cotton dress, a winter coat, and the notice that still read, “For Display.” But they were smiling at the sign today, the people, as they stopped to look again, some of the men in real matching suits that had come all the way from America. New ones. Yes, too big, but not for much longer. “Not with all the food we’ll be getting.” Smiling happily.
The next day, the calm was gone. Early, early, into the streets, coupons in hands, bags on arms. Recklessly people turned corners—but politely. “Pardon me.” “Excuse me.” “Didn’t mean to.” So many special things to be bought, and the day was short.
One orange, one ounce of chocolate but six different shapes to choose from, two whole ounces of tobacco, one extra scoop of sugar, one bag of flour, one piece of chicken, and for every family, one jar of brown powder, which didn’t look like coffee but “was the new thing in America,” the grocer assured suspicious shoppers. Twice as many potatoes, a pound of red beets, scouring powder for afterward.
“I told you people months ago, didn’t I,” Maria shouted, running, too, without her goat. “Radios don’t lie.”
“Look ’ere, look ’ere. Buy one. Brighten up your door.” The people ran back to the marketplace. “Sure we want a wreath. So much, so much. Almost takes two to carry it all home.”
And the bakers—they gave space in their ovens to people who had none. “Bring us the ingredients. We will do your baking.”
They did even more. Each baker got on his bicycle to deliver a loaf of bread to Mrs. Menko. They knew her biggest wish was to have extra, so she wouldn’t run out of food. “Don’t worry about coupons either, Mrs. Menko. Just get well completely.”
And although we were Jewish and did not celebrate Christmas, we still shared. I went to her house, with a present, walking carefully all the way. “Don’t take your eyes off the box once,” Mother had warned. That
I had done … the traffic. But it was all right. I checked every now and then, peeking under the lid. Still in the middle, the cake—almost. Wait. I wiped my thumb and nudged the slice back to where it had come from—not a dent, not even a crumb. Dientje should see. Then deftly I shifted the box to one hand, and knocked on Mrs. Menko’s door.
“Everyone is taking such good care of me,” she cried when she saw me. “Thank you, Annie. You’re wonderful.”
I wished Mother would say so. It would come; it had to. I had hardly any of my old habits left, the “Johan-and-Dientje” ones as Mother called them. “They’ll do for caves, Annie, not for houses.”
Johan and Dientje … they wouldn’t recognize me. That neat. I’d better get going. Mother, she’d want me.
“Have a good day, Mrs. Menko,” I said. She looked so happy. Even with the tears. Softly I closed the door. On now, home. Empty, that box. There, under the arm with it. Not carefully either, not any longer. Plenty of time to carry it just so. When I came closer. …
*
7 *
From the moment I got up on New Year’s Day, the sky was gray, the air misty, dense. It stayed that way, through breakfast, lunch, dinner, afterward, and was that way now. I couldn’t see anything in my room. The clock downstairs chimed, eleven times. Otherwise, no sound. Father and Mother must be asleep.
The Journey Back Page 10