“My grandmother’s soup. Well, half of the recipe,” she added.
“I was talking about this,” he said jokingly, winking at her as he picked up the bottle of red wine and started filling their glasses.
Sitting down on one of her hand-painted blue stools he looked like a young boy with his dark hair swept untidily about his face. Taking the spoon, he carefully blew, then sampled her offering.
“Oh my God, it is delicious. How did you know lobster soup was my favorite?”
She giggled at his joke as she brushed a stray hair from her forehead and drew herself closer to her bowl. Suddenly she remembered something. “I forgot we have bread,” she said with wild enthusiasm. Jumping up, she went to a small cupboard painted red with blue handles and opened it, pulling out a dry-looking loaf. She placed it on a breadboard on the table along with a blunt-looking knife. “It’s a little crusty, three days old, and we have no butter. But it was free.”
Michael attempted several times to cut a slice, but to no avail. The blunt knife just slid around the rubbery crust, not even breaking the surface. Giving up on the knife, he ripped off a ragged chunk and handed it to Elke.
“For you, my lady.”
Elke bobbed her head. “Why thank you, kind sir,” she joked as she took the wedge of bread and attempted to soften it by dunking it in the soup.
“How were things out there today?” he asked, watching her spoon in a softened chunk and then catch drips of the thick soup with her fingers as the liquid ran down her chin.
“Fine,” she said, then lowered her eyes.
He stared at her for a long moment.
She sighed. Michael could always read her; she had been attempting to put this from her mind. “Mr. Meir the shoe repairer had his windows smashed again today, by Dutch people who support Hitler, and no one did anything. I think even the police are afraid to stand up to the injustice now. All because it was rumored that maybe his father was half-Jewish.”
Dropping another lump of the hard crust into her bowl, she picked up her spoon and attempted to smother it by scooping soup from around the edges. When she reached for her wine glass, tears blurred her eyes.
Michael reached forward and covered her hand with his own. “I am going to be okay. You have to stop worrying.”
As she stretched her hand toward him, he gently held it in his, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
Elke waited to regain control of her emotions before she spoke again.
“How do you know? Every day they are finding more and more Jewish people. I cannot believe that our friends and families, the people we have known all our lives and trusted, are telling the Germans where to find them. Then, once they arrest them… I have no idea where they are taking them, but the rumors are awful. I can’t sleep with the nightmares.” Her voice cracked as she finished her thought.
Michael moved to her side and crouched down beside her.
“People are scared. They hope by giving the Germans what they want, things will be easier for them here. You must stop worrying. It will destroy you. You need to stay positive and strong. Otherwise, you will go mad. I am going to be okay, I promise you. You have to believe me. I don’t know how I know, I just do.”
He reached up, gently taking her in his arms and releasing her hair from its messy bun so he could stroke it. Michael comforted her as she silently allowed the emotions of the day to sweep over her. He pulled her closer and rocked her gently until her sobbing slowly subsided.
He spoke again, and a defiant resilience underscored his tone. “I am not afraid. I am going to find a way to fight this. I don’t know how, but I will. So I can make your life safe again.” He gently drew her back in his arms so he could look into her eyes and wipe the last of the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. “Then one day I can marry you and give you two plump Jewish children. Though I suppose maybe you would need to convert, if you wanted them to be Jewish. But either way we will call them Hansel and Gretel!”
Elke buried her head deep in his shoulder, smothering her laughter before making a muffled response. “But we are Dutch. Those are German names.”
“Ah, good point,” said Michael, pulling away from her to reach for a handkerchief in his pocket. “We need good Dutch names. How about Ot and Sien then?” Making a reference to her favorite Dutch children’s story.
Elke continued to giggle as she blew her nose on the handkerchief he handed her.
“Sounds great,” she said sarcastically, relaxing a little. “The perfect names for twins.”
They returned to their dinner, devouring every bit of the warm soup as their conversation returned to other things, like the song he was working on and the terrible flu that was going around.
Once they had cleared the table, he announced there would be a special bedroom concert in her honor. With dirty dishes stacked haphazardly in the sink, he took her by the hand to the bedroom, and she sat down at the head of the bed as he picked up the guitar. Elke grabbed two pillows to lie across as he strummed gently and recited one of his poems that he’d set to music. She listened, enthralled as his dark eyes danced in the flickering candlelight.
When he finished, she clapped her hands enthusiastically. “Wonderful, but unfortunately I have nothing to pay you with.”
Putting down the guitar, he prowled cat-like toward her on the bed. Then, in one swift move, grabbed her around the waist. It knocked her off balance, and she fell flat on her back, giggling.
His eyes shone as he brushed back stray wisps of hair from her brow and whispered, “I can think of something.” He paused then, looked at her intensely, without the usual mischievous glint that always danced in his eyes. “You are so beautiful.”
She dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Oh, Michael.”
“No, seriously. You are so incredibly lovely, a goddess. I have no idea how I got to be this lucky.”
Her heart softened. “I wish we had met in an easier time,” she whispered back. “I feel as if so much of our love has been corroded and corrupted by this awful war. Every time I see or hear anything about the Jewish people, my stomach knots and I can’t imagine what I would do if you were taken from me.”
“Shh,” he said to quell her fears again. “You can’t worry, my sweet Elke. I want you to be happy. Listen to me. If for some reason I have to leave, then you have to find your own path to peace and happiness. You cannot live with this fear. It will destroy your beauty from the inside out.” And then he added with a mischievous smirk, “And then what will I have to come back to? This crazy old woman with wild hair who lives on a houseboat talking to herself.”
Playfully, she punched him on the arm. “Don’t even joke about such things, you are not going anywhere. You have to stay here with me, forever.”
He pulled her close again, touching his warm lips against her cheek, the clean smell of his soap lingering on her skin. “Of course not. Just promise me, Elke, that you will not look back if for some reason we are separated? But that you’ll find a way to be happy. Promise me.”
She nodded slowly.
He became more intense. “No, say it. That’s the only way I can stand being away from you for even one day. I have to know.”
“I promise to find a way to be happy if… we have to part.”
“Okay,” he said, returning to a lighter tone. Rolling her gently on her back he kissed the palm of her hand. He caressed it, tracing tiny circles on it with his fingertips, before drifting up to her face. He took in every detail before kissing her lips then her cheek and starting to work his way gradually down the side of her neck.
“Now,” he said as he slowly unbuttoned her blouse, “let’s see about that payment for my song, shall we?”
Chapter 7
As they pulled up in front of the Nazi Lieutenant Colonel’s home, Ingrid couldn’t believe the grandeur on the other side of the gleaming black Mercedes window. Since the war had begun, the scarcity around her had disgusted her, but now she felt as if she were dreaming.
Once the car came to a stop, she noted the well-lit, majestic, white marble pillars. From their arches, a long line of bright red flags emblazoned with swastikas rippled gently in the cool night breeze.
A young officer saluted and opened the car door. Ingrid looked across at her companion. He was attired impeccably in his black dress uniform; his silver buttons shone, as did the high-topped boots. Every time she looked at him, her heart skipped a beat.
The young officer held out his hand and helped her out of the car. As she stepped into the night, she felt like a Hollywood movie star. All around her were officers dressed in the same smart uniforms. They stood talking and laughing in small groups, and more than one of them eyed her with delight. She loved the attention. She had worn an ankle-length black sequin dress with a tiny white fur stole that Heinrich had given her. He towered above her, and once again, pride swept over her.
A group of Nazis joined them, shaking hands and talking rapidly in German to Heinrich. They all laughed heartily and nodded respectfully to Ingrid as Heinrich introduced her.
Taking her by the arm, he then escorted her up the white stone steps and into the mansion. The inside was even more dazzling than the outside. A capacious, ornate white marble staircase dominated the entrance hall, and between each elegant crystal chandelier hung more banners of swastikas, swaying, ruffled by the heat rising from the room. As she fluttered about by Heinrich’s side meeting people, she took in the affluence of the home. Heinrich would always introduce her as, “Ingrid, one of the good Dutch.” This announcement would undoubtedly bring smiles and remarks such as, “Good for you” or, “Wonderful.” She liked the idea of being popular, being one of the “good Dutch.”
At one point Heinrich excused himself, letting her know he would be back with her shortly and he moved away to talk in a hushed tone to another officer.
While he was gone, she wandered about the room, looking at all the beauty, imagining a life with Heinrich and everything that would be hers. Because of him, she knew some of the wealth the German Army was acquiring, including the lovely fur stole she was wearing, and it excited her to think a life of struggle was behind her. She had been made for a life like this.
As she scanned the room, a young woman in a black uniform with a white apron moved toward her. The maid held a large silver tray in her hand, its crystal glasses filled to the brim with a sparkling, golden liquid. As she approached, Ingrid felt uneasy. The girl peered intensely at Ingrid in an odd manner before offering the tray while speaking in perfect Dutch. Ingrid vaguely recognized her from a school she had attended.
“Would you like champagne?”
As she spoke, Ingrid’s hackles rose, not by the words but by how they had been said, with severe disdain.
Ingrid straightened to her full height. She had met jealousy before, and she was pretty sure this was what this was. Ingrid responded back in her own cold, condescending, tone. “Yes, I would.” She swept a glass from the tray and gave the girl a small smile, hoping that would be the end of it.
As Ingrid turned her back, the girl continued. “I heard it is very good,” she spat. “I hope it is worth it.”
Ingrid turned again to face her, but the girl just stared back at her with hate, and then she was gone.
What had she meant by saying she hoped it was worth it? Ingrid was livid. How rude. She had heard that many were unhappy about being forced to work for the Germans, but why was she so hostile? Surely she saw the honor it was? As she sipped at her champagne, she decided she would make sure to vet all the girls that would attend to her and Heinrich at their own dinner parties.
Heinrich re-joined her, and they continued to make the social rounds. The thin, spidery Lieutenant Colonel with a hooked nose and hair slicked in a side parting sidled up to her and introduced himself as the host of the party. Taking her hand in his, he kissed it, lingering far longer than was necessary, flirting openly.
“So, Ingrid, how are you enjoying the new Holland, and my new home?” he asked casually, sweeping his hand about the room.
Ingrid smiled. “Very much,” she answered. “I think this occupation is the best thing to happen to this country.”
He ran his eyes up and down her slowly. “You look very beautiful tonight; I am honored to meet such a lovely young lady.” Ingrid beamed. She didn’t find him desirable in the least but it was still lovely to be flattered. Then, firmly taking hold of her arm, he whispered close to her ear, “Are you exclusive to Heinrich?”
The insinuation of his comment shocked her, and she laughed nervously, believing it to be aggressive flirting. Pulling away, she changed the subject. “I do love your home,” she stated merrily. “I would love to see more of it.”
The Lieutenant Colonel’s eyes lit up, and he asked something of Heinrich in German too softly for Ingrid to quite follow. Heinrich, who was engrossed in an intense conversation by her side, nodded his consent.
The officer took her arm and tucked it under his own. “Let me give you the grand tour then.”
Uneasiness gripped her, but she put it down to the fact she was new to all this, men escorting her around mansions. He led her up the wide marble staircase, slowly taking her room by room. She tried tactfully to move away, but at every chance, he pawed at her or rubbed the hollow of her back. Now that she was alone in such an intimate setting, she wished she had asked Heinrich to join them. She tried to pull away from his advances and move about the rooms instead. The sheer beauty was staggering. High arched windows with a magnificent view of the Herengracht canal. Upholstered gold-fringed bedroom chairs. Rich mahogany desks. Walls adorned by many exquisite tapestries or magnificent murals.
“Did you furnish this yourself?” she asked, running her hand along a smooth marble-top desk.
The officer looked a little irritated at her question. “The place came with many of the furnishings you see here, but I have added a few pieces myself, of course.”
“How wonderful,” observed Ingrid, taken by the beauty of red velvet curtains that hung in front of a group of floor-to-ceiling windows. “How considerate of the previous occupants to let the house with all this furniture for you to use.”
The officer bristled. “They were going away and no longer had need of it.” Then he quickly changed the subject. “Come, I want you to see the best room in the house,” and he took her stiffly by the arm again.
He walked her into an immense bedroom with a full marble ceiling, its circular center design an exquisite mural of plump cherubs playing gold harps. A magnificent ornately carved bed with an abundance of tasseled red-and-gold pillows dominated the room. Escorting her to the bed, he sat down. She managed to extract herself from his grip and tried to appear interested in the ceiling.
“My bed is very comfortable,” he purred, and smiled in such a way it peeled his lips back, showing his teeth and making his hooked nose appear even more prominent. He patted a spot beside him. “You should try it,” he whispered, looking her up and down, hungrily.
She ignored him and turned her head away. In one swift move, he reached out, yanking her arm and pulling her to the bed, jerking her down beside him. She bit her lip to stop herself from yelping in pain. She willed herself to retain an appearance of sophistication.
“You see?” he said, leering toward her so closely she could smell the alcohol on his breath.
As he released her arm to brush her thigh with his hand, she saw her opportunity. She jumped to her feet and hurried toward the bedroom door. “I really should get back to Heinrich. He will be wondering about me.”
She didn’t look back, but dashed out of the bedroom and down the hallway toward the stairs. On the way, she decided not to tell Heinrich about the incident since she didn’t want to spoil their perfect evening. Besides, she thought as she caught sight of herself in a large gilded mirror at the top of the stairs, it was hardly the officer’s fault. She was looking decidedly lovely tonight. She smiled to herself and darted down the marble staircase and back to Heinrich’s side.
He nodded to her, and she grabbed another glass of champagne from a passing tray and knocked it back in one gulp. Taking another one immediately after, she drank it a little slower as the bubbles started to do their work.
The rest of the evening she followed Heinrich around, meeting more guests until they found themselves in an elegant ballroom. Someone was playing traditional German drinking songs on the piano as inebriated soldiers drank and swayed, singing raucously around her, and she felt more relaxed. Heinrich lit them both a cigarette and pulled her down onto his lap. A small, adoring group had formed around them. As she took yet another glass of champagne, one of them asked her if she liked the house, and already forgetting the unfortunate incident in the bedroom, she gushed about the beauty of all the rooms she had seen. Then added what she planned to do in her own home when the new Amsterdam was completely established.
Enjoying the attention, she returned to her flirtatious self, crossing one leg seductively over the other, allowing her evening dress to creep up in a way she knew showed off her curvaceous legs to their best advantage. She held a glass of champagne high, saying, “And I will have red velvet curtains.”
They had all cheered at that, and Heinrich kissed her neck playfully. “And so you shall, mein liebling.”
Chapter 8
Just after midnight, Michael and Elke were violently awoken from their deep sleep by frantic knocking on the houseboat door. Michael’s eyes flashed open, aware the world around him was rocking. Elke uncoiled herself from him and sat upright. Shock penetrated her whole body. Someone must have jumped onto the boat.
As they leaped out of bed, angry shouting came from afar, repetitive German words that they couldn’t make out, echoing across the silent, inky darkness of the canal.
Michael grabbed his trousers and ran to the door to look out the window at a lone dark figure hunched by the houseboat door. He couldn’t make out who it was, but it certainly was not someone in any sort of uniform.
A View Across the Rooftops: An epic, heart-wrenching and gripping World War Two historical novel Page 5