by Neil Maresca
As their friendship grew, Lucas put aside any thoughts that he may have entertained about Peter and Strickland conspiring together about God knows what, until one evening, during one of their late-night discussions of everything from the meaning of life to the latest episode of “I Love Lucy,” Peter said something about how difficult it must have been for Lucas and Sasha after his father’s death.
“I really admire your mother,” he said. “after what happened to your father, getting you out of Hungary must have been difficult.”
Lucas examined Peter closely. He was studying his glass of scotch, apparently unaware that he had revealed something about Lucas’ life that was supposed to be unknown to him—or, for that matter, to anyone.
“I admire my mother too,” he replied evenly, keeping to the story that he and Sasha had told for the past fifteen years. “She was very strong after my father was killed in the war, but I was born in France, not Hungary. It was France we had to escape from.”
“Oh, of course,” Peter responded, hesitating as he did so, and revealing, for the first time since Lucas had met him, a level of uncertainty completely out character. “I just thought—I just took it for granted—you speak Hungarian…”
“I speak French, and Spanish too—and English for that matter.”
“Stupid of me. Sorry. I thought I remembered something Washburn said about your being Hungarian.”
“My mother was born in Hungary. I was born in France.”
“That must have been it. I was just confused. Maybe it’s the scotch.”
Possibly, Lucas thought. But he had seen Peter drink a lot more scotch than he had this evening without losing his poise. It worried him, either Washburn, or Peter, or Strickland, or all three were digging around in his past, and he didn’t like it. His paranoia kicked in, and he began to wonder if the assignment of roommates wasn’t as random as he had been told, and—what it all meant.
If he hadn’t been so busy, he might have given the conversation more thought, but he had little time for conspiracy theories; besides, it was only one small part of one conversation, and when Lucas did give it some thought, it didn’t seem so remarkable. Gradually, he forgot about it, until, for some reason, it resurfaced while he and Peter stood patiently waiting for Professor De Groot to notice them.
“Ahem,” It was Peter, taking the initiative as usual. Lucas would have stood there silently waiting for however long it might have taken for the Professor to realize they were there.
De Groot looked up and silently studied the two young men standing before him. He looked at them for some time in silence, assessing their worth, and apparently—at least to Lucas’ mind—not caring very much for what he was looking at. However, when neither Peter nor Lucas wilted under his steady gaze, the Professor smiled, stood, and extended his hand first to one and then to the other.
“Ah, yes, the Americans. Here at last. Welcome to Leiden University. I am in charge of our Student Guest program, and as such, I am here to help you. You look like capable young men, and you come highly recommended, so I don’t think you will have any problems, but if you should, I hope you will consider me a friend.
“I would also like you to know how proud the University is to have been selected to welcome the first of President Eisenhower’s Student Ambassadors. Eisenhower is much beloved in the Netherlands, and it is a great honor to have you here.
“Now, if you will follow me. Every year, the Dean holds a reception for the new Student Guests and their host families, and I wouldn’t want to be late.”
Professor De Groot rose with great difficulty, supporting himself on two canes. Both Peter and Lucas moved to assist him, but he waved them off. “Nazis,” he said, by way of explanation. “The Americans arrived before they could finish the job, which perhaps explains why I am so pleased to welcome you to Leiden—although,” he added with a laugh, “I would have appreciated it more had they arrived a little sooner.”
De Groot’s office was in the Academic Building, one of the oldest on the rapidly-growing campus. “I was a history professor before they forced me to sit behind a desk’” he explained. “They offered me an office in one of the new buildings, but I like the old building better. I can feel presences here.”
He walked steadily, if not quickly, as they left the building and made their way across the campus to the Gravesteen Building, another of Leiden University’s venerable old buildings. He seemed not to be bothered by the cold January wind blowing off the Steenschur. With his long gray hair steaming behind him, he reminded Lucas of some avante-garde painter from another era, an impression reinforced by his lean frame and gaunt appearance.
As they walked, the Professor provided some history of the university—history that both Peter and Lucas already knew, but were too polite to mention. In fact, it was Peter who spurred the Professor on to his favorite topic by asking about certain buildings as they walked. Peter was good at that—getting people to talk. Lucas was not; he was not a good conversationalist. He was reticent; ‘sardonic’ Peter said, and he chided him for it. But he noticed that once Peter got a person talking, he stopped. Lucas wasn’t even sure that Peter listened to anything the person said, but invariably, they parted as great friends. Lucas didn’t completely understand the dynamics, but it reinforced his opinion that Peter was going to be a great diplomat.
Leiden University was founded in 1576 by William of Orange in recognition of the city’s successful defense against Spain and the Catholic forces in the 80 Years War. It quickly became the leading Protestant university in northern Europe and the center of scientific research, for which it is still well-known today.
Lucas admired the citizens of Leiden, not only for their historical accomplishments, but also because in the 1940’s, during the Nazi occupation, the students and faculty of the university stood steadfast in opposition to Nazi anti-Jewish policies. Lucas couldn’t help but wonder if it was that opposition that led to the Professor’s use of canes.
But however much he admired the people, he disliked what he had seen of the city and the campus. It seemed cold; perhaps it was the effect of the weather, or the destruction of the war, but to Lucas, it was a dark and dreary place, devoid of any architectural elegance, devoted to science—as if the university’s emphasis on hard scientific fact had entered into the fabric of the city. He found it ironically fitting that Leiden was home to the first university low-temperature laboratory, an achievement that earned it the title of ‘coldest place on earth.’
For Lucas, whose childhood memories were of the grandeur and beauty of Budapest’s baroque architecture, and a brief, but glorious introduction to Paris, Leiden was a drab disappointment.
He had been thinking of this, and not listening to the Professor De Groot, so he was surprised when Peter poked him in the ribs and whispered, “Wake up. We’re here.”
Chapter 31
January 16, 1957
Exchange Students’ Reception
University of Leiden
Leiden, the Netherlands
“Here” turned out to be a non-descript rectangular structure devoid of architectural flourish, its clear, straight lines proudly proclaiming its place in the modern, 20th-century world. Lucas looked up at it from the base of the entrance steps and shuddered.
“Come on,” Peter said. “It won’t be that bad.”
Lucas wasn’t so sure, but he had no choice, so he reluctantly climbed the stairs and entered the reception hall.
At least it was warm. Lucas hadn’t realized it, but the cold north wind had cut through his light winter coat and frozen him half to death. Even though he was reluctant to become involved in a social setting, he was relieved to be warm.
He was still rubbing his hands together, trying to bring them back to life, when Strickland approached. “Lucas, Peter, I was beginning to get worried about you.” He moved in closer and whispered, “You are more or less the guests of honor. Everyone wants to meet the Eisenhower Ambassadors, so put your best smiles on.”
Peter moved off, with Strickland’s arm around his shoulder, and Professor De Groot was drawn away by some colleagues eager to get his impressions of the new Americans. So Lucas found himself, as he often did, standing alone in a crowd, wishing he were anywhere but where he was.
He surveyed the room, and was surprised to see Professor Washburn in a far corner of the room. Lucas watched for a minute, hoping to gain Washburn’s attention so he would have someone to talk to, but he was engaged in a seemingly serious conversation with Professor De Groot and two others.
Lucas shifted his gaze to the center of the room, where the only other people he knew, Strickland and Peter, were talking with a middle-aged, tall, angular, hard-looking man with close-cropped hair and a younger, attractive, dark-haired girl. Strickland and Peter had their backs to Lucas, partially blocking his view of the man and woman, but he could clearly see their faces. The man was serious, nodded and spoke often; the young woman said nothing; but she kept her eyes on Peter and smiled pleasantly.
Lucky dog, Lucas thought, Peter wins again. But as he watched the small drama being played out in front of him, something struck a discordant note. Having grown up in an environment rich in secrets, Lucas had, since early childhood, learned to watch, listen, and interpret human behavior—and the young woman’s behavior attracted his attention, partially because he found her attractive, but also because her smile did not seem sincere. It never changed. She smiled like a person playing a part. As he watched, she momentarily dropped her smile, and looked away from Peter, as if in need of a rest. She looked over Strickland’s shoulder, saw Lucas looking at her, and quickly turned away—but it was too late. The damage had been done. Lucas was smitten. His self-control had been shattered. The carefully guarded, elaborately-constructed, emotional detachment that he projected to the world had been swept away by one short glance from the most beautiful hazel eyes he had ever seen. His heart rate increased; his knees felt weak; he was light-headed.
“Are you alright?” a female voice asked. “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” Lucas answered sarcastically. “But the truth is I really don’t feel very well. I’m more than a little jet-lagged. I haven’t slept in almost 24 hours, and I can’t remember when I last had something to eat.”
“I thought that might be it. Strickland told me that you and Peter had a rough trip. Let me introduce myself, I’m….”
“Kaitlyn Porter.”
“Kate, please. But how did you know?”
“I remember you from the waiting room on interview day. You dropped your magazines.”
“Oh dear. How embarrassing.”
“Not at all. You were just nervous. Could have happened to anyone. But I didn’t realize that you were an Ambassador. I don’t recall seeing you at any of the training sessions.”
“Oh no. I wasn’t selected, but I did land a job as Strickland’s administrative assistant. Not as good as being a Student Ambassador, but it’s still a foot in the door for a career in State. But I won’t last long if I let you drop dead in the middle of the reception. Come on, follow me to the buffet, and after you’re refreshed, I’d like to introduce you to your host family.”
Lucas dutifully followed Kate to the buffet, where he devoured a large plateful of food, and drank several cups of coffee, after which, his equilibrium restored, he managed to convince himself that the physical effects he suffered earlier were the result of his fatigue, and had nothing to do with hazel eyes.
“Well, if you’re ready,” said Kate who had patiently waited while Lucas ate, “we can go meet the Janssons. I think you will like them. They’re a little older than most of the families who take in foreign students, but they lost their only son in the war and were so eager to participate in the program, they couldn’t be denied. He’s a civil engineer and a Leiden alum; she works in the university library.”
Kate led Lucas to a quiet corner of the room where the Janssons were talking with Mrs. Van der Berg, who must have left for the reception immediately after greeting him and Peter. Mr. Jansson was tall and thin, leading Lucas to wonder if all Dutch men were undernourished. Later, when he would try to squeeze his American body into the Jansson’s short, narrow, high-sided bathtub, he decided that they were thin by choice. He would either have to lose weight or forego baths. Mrs. Jansson was shorter and chubbier than her husband, and with her rosy cheeks and grey hair reminded Lucas of Christmas card images of Mrs. Santa Claus. Kate was right, he thought, I’m going to like these people.
Mrs. Van der Berg excused herself, but not before reminding Lucas that she would have tea and cakes available at any time he felt like stopping by for a chat.
The man introduced himself somewhat formally as “Josef Jansson, his wife, less formally, as “Maria.” They told Lucas a dozen times how happy they were to welcome him into their home, how they hoped he would be happy there, how they would do all they could to make his stay a pleasant one, how much they hoped he would like Leiden and the university, how grateful they were to the Americans, and on and on, until Kate stepped in and reminded them that Lucas had had a very long journey and was most likely anxious to get to their home and settle in.
The Janssons then apologized to Lucas as profusely as they had previously welcomed him, but eventually they stopped long enough to enable Kate to shepherd them all out of the hall. On the way, Kate took a short detour so she could check in with Strickland, and to give Lucas a chance to say hello to Peter’s host family, Pietr Roosa and his daughter, Anneka.
The meeting was short, courteous, and devastating to Lucas who had to hold Anneka’s hand in his, smile politely, say ‘Pleased to meet you,” while resisting the temptation to take her in his arms and carry her out of the hall. Lucas, a master of self-control, managed to get through it without anyone noticing, except, perhaps Anneka, who looked at him curiously and quietly said, “Call me Anke,” then rapidly added, “Everyone does.”
Chapter 32
January 17, 1957
Home of Josef and Marie Jansson
Leiden, the Netherlands
Even though he was exhausted, Lucas had trouble falling asleep. He was as excited as a small child on Christmas Eve, but instead of sugar plums, visions of Anke danced in his head. He wasn’t a newcomer to the world of romance. He had ‘gone steady’ in high school and had several brief affairs in college—but this was different. He couldn’t get Anke out of his mind. He remembered every nuance of the meeting, the touch of her hand, the slight color that came to her cheek when she said, “Call me Anke;” the look of surprise on her face when she first saw him—her eyes. And then he saw Peter, and he despaired. She would melt like butter on a hot knife when Peter smiled at her—he was certain of it. All the girls did, and Lucas was sure that Anke, living in her father’s house in Leiden, had never met anyone like Peter. It was a disturbing thought, and Lucas finally fell asleep cursing Peter.
He awoke the next morning to find the day as grey, dreary, and cold as the day before. It was as if time had stopped. That’s OK, Lucas thought, it matches my mood. He washed his face with cold water in the basin in his room, dressed, and went downstairs to the kitchen, where he found Mrs. Janssen and a table laden with food waiting for him.
Between Mrs. Jansson’s smile, good strong coffee, and an over-abundance of food, Lucas’ spirits revived, and he found himself looking forward to his first day at Leiden University. Mrs. Jansson, who insisted on being called Marie, chatted away happily while Lucas ate, picking up the thread of her previous day’s conversation about how happy she and Josef were to have him as a guest. She had just apologized for her husband’s absence, explaining that he had to go to work when she unexpectedly broke into tears.
Lucas immediately went to her side, concerned, and a little fearful that he had done so
mething terribly wrong.
“What is it?” he asked. “What’s the matter? Is it something I’ve done?”
“No, no, nothing like that, nothing like that at all,” the woman responded, dabbing at her eyes and getting herself back under control. “No, you’ve done nothing wrong. It’s just that sitting here with you, watching you eat so heartily—it’s been so long, I had forgotten.”
“Forgotten?”
“Yes. I used to make breakfast for Nicolaas—my son Nicolaas. I used to watch him eat. He could eat so much! Like you. I was watching you, and I remembered Nicolaas. I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I understand completely. You lost a son to the war. I lost a father. I think it must be harder to lose a son—someone so young.”
“He was only 21, about the same age as you, I think. This house has been so empty, so sad, since he is gone. But you are here now. I cannot tell you how happy that makes us. You remind me so much of him,” she said, rising from the table, and disappearing into another room.
She returned quickly, carrying an elaborately framed photograph of a young man standing casually in front of a vaguely familiar building. He was smiling.
“Is this Nicolaas? Lucas asked, even though he knew the answer.
“Yes. You remind me so much of him,” she repeated.
Lucas studied the picture. He couldn’t see any physical resemblance, but then he concluded that Mrs. Jansson wasn’t talking about appearances, she was talking about youth, about a life that had been lost. It made him think of his father, and of his own youth, lost also—not in the same way as Nicolaas had lost his, but lost just the same, stolen first by the Nazis and then by the communists, opposite sides of the same coin. Well, he thought, the Nazis had been defeated, the communists could be too.
“How did he die?”
“He was a member of the resistance. Someone turned him in to the Gestapo. One day, a car pulled up in front of the house, a black SS car. We all knew what it meant. Papa and I urged him to run out the back door, but he was too proud. ‘I will not hide from swine,’ he said. They took him, and we never saw him alive again.”