Hunger Journeys

by Maggie De Vries

  By evening, most of the cow was gone. Lena’s work, however, was far from done.

  Wijman waited until the next morning to take her back out to the lean-to, Bennie once again in his mother’s unwilling arms. The man’s hand found her waist once again, this time in a well-lit room, for the space was extravagantly lit that morning, with half a dozen lanterns strategically placed. He turned Lena’s body with his hand, which meant that his whole arm curved around her, and she felt herself pulled into his side. She held herself straight, as far away from him as she could get, and tried to make her skin shrink away. But shrink though she might, his hand followed.

  “See the blood on that wall?” he said, his large palm flat on her back now. She leaned forward a little to see and his hand stroked upward, almost to her neck. He pushed her head down. “And on the floor?” She looked. What else could she do? “It must be clean. You must clean this space until the Gestapo could come here with magnifying glasses and find not one drop, not a speck.” He stepped away from her, swinging her around to face him, a hand on each bare elbow. “Do you understand?”

  Lena took a step back, out of reach of those hands. She rubbed at the places they had touched.

  “Yes, I understand. I will clean,” she said.

  He looked at her and smiled. “You are a good girl,” he said. “A very good girl.” He rubbed his hair back from his forehead and took a deep breath. “I’ll check in on you later.” And he was gone, out into the lane.

  Lena heard a rustle behind her, turned and started. Annie stood in the kitchen doorway, still, eyes wide. Could he not have seen her? Lena wondered.

  Then Annie’s face split open. Her grin was wide. Her cheeks pushed up almost to her eyebrows. “Bet you weren’t expecting great dead cows spattering blood,” she said. “And him. Bet you weren’t expecting him.” Her grin was a grimace, the words delivered from between her teeth, squashed eyes unblinking.

  “Go away,” Lena said. “Go away and leave me to it.” Annie stood for a moment, composing her face.

  “He won’t stop till he gets what he wants,” she said. “I’ve seen it before.”

  “I said, ‘Go away,’” Lena repeated, her teeth clenched.

  And Annie did, then. Lena crept to the middle of the room and vomited into the drain. She pumped a bucket of water from the corner, sloshed the vomit out of sight and turned her mind to her task.

  It was a miserable job, scrubbing dried blood off the wall and the floor, checking the space bit by bit for drops she might have missed. She thought of the cow clopping down the lane. She thought of the endless guts she had squeezed and rinsed, squeezed and rinsed. She thought of that man and his hands. And Sofie. How was Sofie?

  Then she thought of her family. All this meat and her family starving.

  On she scrubbed. On and on.

  That night at the dinner table, over the tender fried liver that melted on her tongue despite its source, Lena prepared to ask her question.

  “They have nothing like this in Amsterdam,” she said softly.

  “We have nothing like this here,” Vrouw Wijman said. “We could be shot for eating this.”

  Annie smacked her mouthful noisily and grinned around the table. Vrouw Wijman sighed.

  “Well, I was wondering,” Lena said. “Might I send a parcel? Might I send some butter and some beef?”

  Vrouw Wijman put down her fork.

  “It’s not enough that we feed you?” she said, her voice sharp. “Your family expects us to feed them as well?” It was half question, half shrill statement of injustice.

  “Oh, no,” Lena said. “They expect nothing. I just know how hungry they are. And with the new baby. In Amsterdam, there is no food. People are starving to death. And they can’t bury them all. They have to keep the bodies in the churches.”

  Wijman spoke then, around a mouthful. “Oh, Martha, be easy on the girl.” He winked at Lena, and Lena’s insides shrank. “She’s worked hard for us, haven’t you, dear?” he said, and the dear stuck to Lena’s skin like a sticky bit of offal from her day’s work. “Yes, you can send a parcel. Of course you can.” He turned back to his wife. “Put one together for her on Monday. Bosse is going to the city anyway. I’ve given him a good-sized cut of beef. You never know,” he said, thoughtful now. “One good turn deserves another. This war can’t go on forever. Who knows what these people might be able to do for us.”

  “We’ve done enough for them already,” Vrouw Wijman said. Her hands were on the table, unmoving, her food growing cold on her plate. She looked at Lena briefly, and then turned her gaze back on her husband. The rage of two days ago was gone, but Lena could not tell what this new look meant, except that it held a great deal of pain.

  No more was said then. Vrouw Wijman ate her cold food. Dinner was finished. Lena cleared the table and washed up while Bennie played on the floor with a pot and an enormous wooden spoon. Wijman sat at the table, reading by what little daylight was left. Vrouw Wijman sat opposite him, her eyes on her lap. Annie was gone out the door, who knew where, one hour left before curfew.

  Lena wanted them all to go away so she could pull out the big washtub and fill it with water hot past bearing. She was desperate to cleanse away all the blood, along with the man’s unwelcome touch and the pain that came off Vrouw Wijman in waves. She longed to strip down and crouch in the tub and scrub and scrub. At least she could plunge her hands into the steaming dishwater, washing herself up past the elbows he had grasped. She concentrated on the heat and on the thought of Mother and Margriet and Piet and Bep oohing and ahhing over the parcel of meat and butter, maybe a bit of cheese too. Some flour? She had noticed that they had some flour in the pantry. Would they spare a bit?

  She settled a large platter into the dish rack. What had happened at the dinner table? What had made Wijman order his wife’s compliance? She remembered his wink and the feeling it provoked, as if he had dashed dirty water onto her. It was all tied up with the hands, with the strange, hungry gesture he had made just before he left her to her day’s scrubbing. And everything about it was nasty. It was all nasty and dangerous, but because of it, her family would have a bit of nourishing food to eat.

  Maybe she would concentrate on that, she thought, as she let the dirty dishwater run down the drain.

  The next day was a Saturday. And that afternoon, Lena went all on her own to see Sofie. She hadn’t planned it, but in the afternoon, Bennie went down for a nap, and Vrouw Wijman lay down as well, something she had not done before. The other two members of the household were out.

  And Lena’s feet led her into the lean-to. She took the bicycle that leaned there and wheeled it out the door. Annie had taken the other one, but strangely, Wijman seemed to prefer his own two feet, despite the worn state of his wooden shoes.

  It took only minutes to get to the Klaassens’ on two wheels, and Sofie flew out the back door and into her arms when Lena knocked. The two huddled on a bench in the back garden, oblivious to the cold. Mevrouw Klaassen brought mugs of warm milk and several cookies on a small tray. Lena looked at the food in wonder as Mevrouw Klaassen smiled and gave them their privacy. Partway back to the house, she turned, the smile gone.

  “If you convince our girl here not to be slipping out after dark,” she said, “it will be safer for her. We think she’s met a boy—though where she’d find one nowadays, I don’t know—and we’re worried about her. Do have a word!” And she turned back on her way.

  Before the woman was done speaking, Lena knew. “You’ve seen Uli,” she said.

  Sofie’s smile was soft, filled with guileless joy. And Lena’s heart clenched at itself, as if all the blood had drained away. She straightened her shoulders. Now was no time for jealousy. Now was a time for strength of character.

  “You can’t, Sofie. You just can’t. You’ll be caught. It’s just a matter of time; you know it is.”

  “I don’t know anything, Lena, except that I love him.” Then her face lit up even more, and she pulled a small bundle of pa
per from her pocket. “And someone loves you too! I saw Albert, you know, the very next day after we got here, before the train left. He wanted to come find you, but I knew you didn’t want that, and with you in the centre of town, it would be dangerous.”

  “You never told me.”

  “There was nothing to tell. Truly,” Sofie said. “Only a day had passed since our night in the bar. And I never saw you. If you’d visited, I would have told you …”

  Lena settled back on the bench, dissatisfied. “Well, I’m here now,” she said. “What have you got?”

  “It’s not much, Lena,” Sofie said, and she handed her the merest scrap of paper.

  On it a heart was drawn. In the heart, words were written. Think of me often, the words said, as I think of you. Yours forever, Albert.

  Lena had to force herself to look up. She hated it that Sofie had seen what was on the paper. It wasn’t in an envelope. She had had it for weeks. “Why didn’t you bring it to me?” Lena asked.

  “I’ve been meaning to,” Sofie said, “but they keep me busy here.”

  “Not so busy that you haven’t seen Uli again,” Lena said. And she added, “Were they together?” She could not bring herself to speak Albert’s name. Jealousy and anger poisoned her.

  “No,” Sofie said shortly. She drew breath. “Oh, don’t be angry with me, Lena. Uli came back on a train headed west this time, but he was alone. He said that Albert had been sent somewhere else; he didn’t know where. Anyway, the train’s been gone now for two days. And Uli didn’t know when he would be back.”

  Lena stood up stiffly. “Thank you for telling me,” she said, sarcasm hardening her words, belying them. She smoothed the folded bit of paper in her pocket. “You’re welcome to visit anytime.” And she walked away to her bicycle leaning by the gate.

  The house was quiet when she arrived, mother and son still sleeping, father and daughter still away.

  Vrouw Wijman, Annie and Bennie went to church the day after that. Annie complained that it would be cold, but the neighbour’s baby was going to be baptized, and Vrouw Wijman was determined. Wijman was off with his brother and the few cows that were left.

  “No need for you to come,” Vrouw Wijman said to Lena at the breakfast table. “You can stay here and clean up the breakfast things. And wash this floor.”

  Lena thought about mentioning not working on the Sabbath, but she would rather stay home anyway. She would be alone, blissfully alone.

  As soon as the front door had clicked shut behind them, Lena got to work. Moments later, the clock struck nine thirty. She suspected that church would run until eleven, in the huge, frigid stone building a few blocks away. Then they would have to walk back, plus allow for any visiting they might do. She probably had two hours. If she could only be sure that Wijman would stay away, she could bathe. She still felt tainted by that cow’s blood.

  By ten, the kitchen floor was spotless, or close enough, and the breakfast dishes were clean, dry and back in their places. She looked at the big metal tub on the floor in the corner, but she didn’t dare. She would have to settle for a sponge bath. She could do that with little risk of embarrassment. A mixing bowl half-filled with soapy hot water and another with clear water, a washcloth and a towel and she began, starting with her face. She held the hot washcloth against her skin and let the heat soak right in. Then her neck. It was an awkward process, since she stayed fully dressed throughout, but by wringing the cloth out thoroughly and following it up with the towel right away so as not to get her blouse or her skirt too wet, she managed. She did take off her stockings, though, so she was standing at the kitchen sink barefoot, damp hair sticking to her cheeks and her neck, when the door from the lean-to opened.

  She turned in time to see Wijman’s eyes rake her body and settle on those bare calves. “What are you up to, girl, all alone in my house?” he asked.

  “I … I’m just cleaning up,” Lena said, trying to make her voice strong.

  He crossed the kitchen in three strides, and this time there was no gentle laying-on of hands. He grabbed her and thrust her up against the sink. “No more games,” he grunted into her ear.

  For once, Lena didn’t freeze. She pulled all her strength together and shoved, making him stumble back. “No!” she shouted. “You mustn’t.”

  He stood facing her from halfway across the room. He walked back, and this time he took her shoulders. His face was fierce and eager at the same time.

  “What about your wife?” Lena said. “I’ll tell.” Even as she said it, she knew that it wouldn’t matter. His wife already knew.

  He pulled a hand back to slap her then, but seemed to think better of it.

  “I said I’ll tell,” Lena said again, somehow emboldened by his anger. Could it be that telling mattered still? Yes, she thought. And she said again, “I’ll tell,” and then added, “and she’ll send me away.”

  Wijman stared at her, his hands in fists at his sides.

  Lena shook; her teeth chattered. She moved her head slowly from side to side. “Please, meneer.” He flinched at the title and lowered his eyes. “I can’t do that. It would be wrong. I … I can’t.” And she turned, walked to her alcove and pulled the curtain across the opening. For long moments, the kitchen was silent.

  Then a voice. “This is not over,” it said. “When a pretty young girl leaves home and places herself with strangers, she’d better expect to pay her way.” Silence again.

  For a long time, Lena strained for the sound of footsteps, watched to see a hand on the curtain. Instead, after more moments than she could bear, she heard the door to the lean-to click closed.

  Lena sat on her bed, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped tight around her legs. What she had left behind in Amsterdam was bad, but this was worse, much worse. She might have been hungry, but she had never felt in danger in her own home. Here she could eat great slabs of liver and bowls of stew, but she wasn’t safe. She had lost her friend. The one girl in the house was silent and furious. Bennie. She thought of him, and then Bep wandered into her mind, smiling, holding out a small drawing for her comment, asking her to come skip in the courtyard, showing up by her bed to keep her company when Margriet was gone. Lena’s heart constricted. She had left Bep all alone.

  And Nynke. A tiny baby. Hungry. And Piet. He had left her first, really, but what if he needed her? She had always been there for him before.

  She shook her head, lay back down and stretched her legs out. The fear was gone for the moment, but Wijman could come back at any time. He did not want her to tell. Even though they both knew that his wife suspected his desire for her, he still did not want her to tell. That was what had stopped him. That was what would keep his hands off her. For how long, though? What did the words this is not over mean?

  Next thing she knew, the clock was striking noon, and Vrouw Wijman was rousing her from her bed, enraged by the sloppy kitchen, the stockings and damp towel on the table, and the dopy, bare-legged girl looking blankly at her from the unmade bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Wijman stayed away the rest of that day, and at breakfast the next morning, he was silent. He met Lena’s eyes once, and she looked right back, willing all her strength into her gaze, before returning to her bread and cheese.

  Vrouw Wijman seemed to be done with Lena’s sloth of the previous day. She was full of instructions for the morning.

  Lena worked hard, concentrating on the tasks at hand, on keeping Bennie quiet and on holding at bay the memory of Wijman’s eyes and hands. She worked hard and watched for the right moment to remind Vrouw Wijman that this was the day of the food packet. Possible conversations ran through her mind, all of them resulting in an angry snub. Vrouw Wijman had agreed to send food to Amsterdam only because of her husband, and Lena was desperate not to involve him.

  Eventually, she ran out of time. The morning was wearing down, the table already laid for the noon meal. Wijman could walk through that door at any moment. And Bennie was down for a rare snooze on Len
a’s bed in the alcove.

  If she did not ask now, the day might not present another opportunity. Vrouw Wijman was standing at the stove, tasting the soup, seeming just about as calm as she ever got.

  Lena positioned herself respectfully off to one side. “Ma’am?” she said.

  Vrouw Wijman’s head whipped around, alert, brows knit, soup spoon forgotten in midair.

  Lena swallowed.

  “What is it, girl? What are you ma’am-ing me about?”

  “I’m sorry”—Lena bit her tongue; she had almost said Ma’am again!—“ah, Vrouw Wijman. Today’s the day I’m to send a food packet to my mother in Amsterdam.”

  Vrouw Wijman lowered the spoon to the counter and frowned. “I thought you had forgotten about that foolishness,” she said.

  “It’s … it’s not foolishness. My family in Amsterdam is starving. The baby, Nynke. My little sister Bep …” she tailed off and watched Vrouw Wijman’s face, which she thought had softened slightly at the mention of the baby.

  They both heard the door from the alley to the lean-to open then, and Vrouw Wijman actually jumped. Her expression turned fierce again.

  “Fine,” she said. “You’ll get your food. We’ll send it today. But I don’t want you whining about it in front of him. Understand?”

  Lena was nodding her head when Wijman entered the kitchen. He looked from her to his wife and back, shrugged and pulled out his chair.

  As soon as the meal was over and the man had departed, Vrouw Wijman started piling food on the table. Lena cleaned up around her, flinching every time a packet hit the wood. The woman seemed to be expressing some sort of furious, self-sacrificing generosity. A jar of butter. A canvas sack of flour. A wedge of cheese. Half a dozen potatoes. And a piece of meat with lots of fat attached. Lena gave thanks for the cool temperatures of early March, which would keep the food fresh on what might be a long journey.