But what took his eye most of all was a floor-to-ceiling bank of books covering the wall between the front and the recess that contained the main stairs—about half the length of the whole room. He stared at it, stunned by this panorama of print among which, leaping out at him like the faces of friends among strangers, were a large number of books in English.
The whole apartment was such an attractive, odd mixture of old and new it made him reel with pleasure and envy. What a place to live! But how could Daan afford it?
After planting the sunflower in an empty wine bottle and standing it on the coffee table, Daan had disappeared upstairs. Now he reappeared bearing a red sweatshirt and a pair of jeans which he handed to Jacob saying, ‘There’s a bathroom on the landing to the left of the stairs. Would you like something to eat?’
‘Thanks. I am a bit wet. And a bit hungry as well, to be honest.’
‘Go and change. I’ll prepare something for us.’
They sat on high stools at either side of the work top that separated the kitchen from the main room and talked while they ate tinned vegetable soup zapped in the microwave, Dutch farmhouse cheese, ham, tomatoes dressed with garlic, fresh basil and olive oil, and a stick of French bread.
Daan wanted to know about the mugging. Jacob told the story, now after practice on Alma nicely honed and entertaining, but playing down the meeting with Ton and omitting the still too shying detail about Ton’s crotch so that he remained a she. Again he posed the question of Red Cap’s come-on behaviour.
Daan shrugged and said, ‘Fancied you, I expect.’
‘What,’ Jacob said, ‘you mean, she was making a pass?’
‘Sure.’
‘At me? Never! Just making a game of it. Having a bit of fun. Don’t you think?’
Daan smiled. ‘If you like.’
‘You remember when we visited you?’ Daan said. ‘You were about five, I think. I was twelve.’
‘No, I don’t remember.’
‘I played with you in a sandpit in your garden.’
‘It’s a fish pond now.’ Jacob grinned and shrugged. ‘Dad’s mid-life crisis. He redesigned the garden.’
‘You had a fight with your sister when she tried to join in. You threw sand in her face.’
‘Sounds likely.’
‘Your father told you off.’
‘He would.’
‘You shouted at him. Fuck you, you said.’
‘Never!’
‘Yes.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘There was a fuss.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘I hadn’t heard that word in English before. Couldn’t understand what all the upset was about. Your parents were embarrassed. Mine thought it was funny. They explained later, when they were laughing about it again.’
‘And what happened?’
‘You were sent to your room, screaming. But after a while your grandmother brought you down again. And you were grinning like—what is it you say?—the cat who drank the milk.’
‘And my father was furious.’
‘He didn’t say much.’
‘Not while you were there.’
‘Only that your grandmother should not have done it, that she was spoiling you. I remember what she said, it was such a funny word.’
‘Let me guess. Tosh.’
‘Right.’
‘Means nonsense. A favourite of hers.’
‘You live with your grandmother now.’
‘Yes.’
‘Geertrui told me. She and your grandmother exchange letters now and then.’
‘I know.’
‘You and your grandmother are very close?’
‘Very. Always have been.’
When they had finished eating and were tired of the stools, they migrated with their coffee, Daan to the sofa, Jacob to an armchair with his back to the window so that he could view the room while they talked.
‘The buildings in this street,’ Jacob said, ‘they look like they were old warehouses once.’
‘They were. In the old days, the ships came right up to here. They would dock and discharge their cargo. At one time this house stored tea and another time perfume from Cologne. You saw that building like a tower at the end of the street?’
‘The round one, with the little spiky spire on top?’
‘It’s called the Wailing Tower because the women used to wave their farewells from there when their men set sail.’
‘It’s a great apartment.’
‘Used to belong to a man who loved sailing ships. And also Spanish tiles. Geertrui bought it from him. I’ve lived here since she went to the verpleeghuis … What do you call it?’
‘I think you mean a nursing home. That explains it.’
‘What?’
‘The funny combination of furniture and stuff.’
‘Funny?’
‘Not funny funny. Just meant unusual, interesting.’
‘How?’
He was beginning to wish he hadn’t started on this. ‘Well, the combination of old things and modern. The pictures on the wall, for instance.’ He gave a nervous laugh.
‘Most of it is Geertrui’s, some is mine. I couldn’t live here with only her stuff. But I don’t like to make big changes. It’s still her place, after all.’
‘The books?’
‘Geertrui’s of course. Mine are in my room. I’m not the reader she is.’
‘You’re at university, aren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘That was another reason I wondered about the apartment, to be honest.’
‘How could a poor student afford it?’
‘What are you studying?’
‘Molecular biology. And the history of art on the side.’
‘Wow!’
‘Why wow?’
‘Heavy stuff.’
‘Oh, come on! Don’t be such a snob.’
Jacob felt as if he had been slapped with a wet sock. Just when he thought he was getting on quite well. He always hated being wrong-footed, especially when he was only being sociable. And when it happened, he never knew what to say next. The right retort would only come later, too late, when he was on his own, inwardly squirming at the memory of being put down.
‘More coffee?’ Daan asked.
Jacob managed a nod and a subdued, ‘Thanks.’
When he came back from the kitchen, Daan said, ‘About Geertrui. What did Tessel—my mother—tell you?’
Jacob took a sip of coffee while he gathered himself. ‘That your grandmother is in a nursing home because she’s very ill. That your grandmother had invited Sarah to visit without consulting any of the family and that you didn’t know I was coming till a few days ago. She also said your grandmother is a very stubborn sort of person and that her illness makes her behave very oddly sometimes.’
‘That’s true.’
‘I was pretty embarrassed when she told me this yesterday. Felt I shouldn’t be here, to be honest.’
‘Mother’s upset and worried about you.’
‘I didn’t know what to do. Still don’t. Your father suggested I come to Amsterdam today and see Anne Frank’s house. I like her diary, you see. He said we’d sort everything out this evening. He gave me your address. But he said not to mention it to your mother.’
‘I know. He called me this morning from his office.’
‘He didn’t explain why. It all seems a bit weird, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ He hadn’t intended the note of complaint he heard in his voice. But the wet sock was still stinging.
Daan said with cold patience, ‘Geertrui has an incurable disease. She’s in a lot of pain most of the time. They give her drugs to help which do make her behave, let’s say strangely sometimes. But there’s more to it than that.’
‘I didn’t know. And Sarah doesn’t either. We knew your grandmother isn’t too well, but not that she’s that seriously ill. I wouldn’t have come otherwise. I mean, in her letter your grandmother said there was going to
be a party.’
‘There is, but not the kind of party you mean, I think.’
‘What kind then?’
Daan shifted in his seat and looked away.
‘I’ll tell you later. There’s some other things I should explain. But I must talk to Tessel before I tell you. She’s with Geertrui today.’
‘I know. That’s why your father suggested I come to Amsterdam.’
‘I can’t talk to her while she’s with Geertrui. She’ll be back home about five.’
Jacob couldn’t decide which he felt most, weary or angry. ‘Look, I’m sorry, but this is getting a bit much. I feel like I’m just a problem for everybody. Wouldn’t it be best if I went back home?’
With serious emphasis and looking Jacob square in the eyes, Daan said, ‘I really think you should wait till I can tell you everything. It’s very important. Believe me. There are things you should know. It isn’t just to do with us, with my family. It involves you too.’
Now anxiety ousted anger. ‘Me! What? How?’
Daan held up his hands, palms towards Jacob, like a man warding off a blow. ‘Later. When I’ve talked to Tessel. Trust me. Just for these few hours. After that, we’ll decide what to do next.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You can’t go home right now, can you? One more night won’t make any difference.’
‘I’m not sure.’
Daan stood up and collected the coffee mugs.
‘Listen, we’ll do something to pass the time. There’s something I’d like to show you. I think you’ll be interested. Okay?’
‘… All right.’
In the bathroom Jacob glowered at himself in the mirror. He hated it when people said they knew things they wouldn’t tell him. But what could he do? Leave? And go where? Back to Haarlem, where his passport and air tickets were? But what with? Borrow from Daan? ‘I’m pissed off and going back to your mother so can I have the price of the fare, please?’ How berkish can you get! And then what, as there’d be no one in? Sit on the doorstep and wait, like a stray dog? Again! What would be the point?
He definitely was not enjoying himself.
But neither, to judge by his looks, was Daan.
Who, Jacob thought while he used the lavatory and changed in to his dried clothes, he rather liked. His midnight looks for sure: eye-locking. His self-confidence: enviable. His in-the-face directness: even when it stings, at least you know where you are, no faking. And something else. Something that tickled the blood. He couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was. But he disliked him as well. For being so cock-sure, so knowing. Too clever by half, Sarah would say. He wanted you to submit to his superiority. To be the one in charge, the one on top. Well, let him, Jacob thought, why should I care? I only have to be with him for a few hours.
As he was leaving the bathroom he found Alma’s napkin in a pocket of his jeans and showed it to Daan, who smiled and said, ‘An old Dutch saying. It means something like, If you have the will there is a way.’
Jacob laughed and said, ‘We have one like that. But I prefer this one.’ And he wrote under Alma’s neat letters:
NOTHING VENTURED
NOTHING GAINED
GEERTRUI
LATE THAT AFTERNOON of the withdrawal my brother Henk and his friend Dirk came stumbling down the cellar steps. They were so dishevelled that in the dim light we hardly recognised them at first. Mother was greatly devoted to Henk. As soon as she realised who he was, she lost the composure she had so far maintained, and rushing to him, even in her haste treading on wounded men who lay in her path, she threw her arms around him saying, ‘Henk! Henk! What are you doing here? Don’t you know the British are leaving?’ She was kissing him again and again, and stroking his face, as if to make sure he was not a ghost. Father, while this went on, was greeting Dirk, whom he liked very much, sometimes calling him his second son. ‘What’s happening?’ he was saying. ‘Are you all right? Why are you here?’ Dirk was saying, ‘Everything is okay. We’re well. We’ve come to see that you are safe.’
As was always my instinct when such scenes were happening, I held back, waiting until the first excitement wore off. Then I could have my brother to myself. He looked at me over Mother’s shoulder as she was hugging and petting him, and winked, smiling broadly, so I knew there was no trouble and that when he was ready he would explain, for Henk always took his time over everything, being one of the most calm and self-possessed people I have ever known. I loved him so much that once, before I was old enough to know better about saying such things, I told him I wished he were not my brother so I could have him for my husband!
When Mother at last remembered herself, she let go of Henk and turning to the soldiers who were watching with unconcealed amusement and a little envy too, I think (most of them were no older, some younger than Henk), she announced with her eyes full of tears, ‘Mijn zoon, mijn zoon.’
Understanding this was a family reunion, the men made room for us in the corner where Jacob lay so that we could sit together and talk as privately as possible in our crowded cellar. One of the soldiers, a youth called Andrew who had a wounded arm strapped in a sling, came over and gave us a bar of English chocolate saying, ‘I was keeping this for something special. You’ve been special to us so I’d like you to have it.’ I know from my own experience as well as from all our friends and neighbours told me after the war that such acts of kindness were not unusual during those ugly days, but I remember this one particularly because it happened at such an emotional moment for me and my family. And also because of the sadness I saw in that young man’s eyes as he gave us his gift. It was not hard to guess he was thinking of his family at home in England and longing for the moment when he would be reunited with them, as Henk was with us. And I cannot help wondering if there was sadness in his eyes because some hint of intuition told him he would never see his home again. We learned later that he was killed that night, as he waited to be ferried across the river. I have many times paused at his grave in the soldiers’ cemetery at Oosterbeek, and thanked him again.
As we ate our celebratory gift—and oh, my mouth still waters at the memory of the wonderful taste of it; no chocolate has ever tasted as delicious again, not even the best you can buy these days at Pompadour in Amsterdam—Henk told us his story. After I left them that Sunday afternoon, he and Dirk also saw the parachutes. They immediately made their way to where they were landing, and greeting the first English soldiers they met, offered their help. For the rest of the week, along with other Dutch volunteers, they acted as interpreters, guides, messengers, and gave whatever other assistance they could to the British officers. They asked for weapons so they could fight also, but this was not allowed. Since Wednesday they had been working at the British headquarters in the Hartenstein Hotel, where the museum of the battle now is.
There was much to tell us, Henk said, but it would have to wait. He and Dirk knew about the evacuation plan and had come to see that we were alive and safe while there was still time. But they could not stay. They would have to go back in to hiding at once.
‘You know what the Germans are like,’ he said. ‘When the British have gone, they’ll be ruthless with anyone who has helped them. And they’ll be more determined than ever to send young men to forced labour.’
‘He’s right,’ said Papa.
‘But not just the men,’ said Dirk. ‘Young women won’t be safe either, after this. There’ll be reprisals.’
‘We think Geertrui should come with us,’ said Henk.
I was not surprised that this made Father agitated. ‘Geertrui? No no, Henk. I don’t like the Germans any more than you do, but they’ve behaved properly with the girls so far, you must admit. Why should they change now?’
‘They won’t like what has happened,’ said Henk. ‘The British have lost here, but it’s only a matter of time before we’re liberated. A few weeks. Maybe a few days. Their army is not far away, and the Allies are pushing up from Belgium. The Germans must know all is over for them.
Who can say how they’ll behave when they’re desperate?’
‘Henk is right,’ said Dirk. ‘And besides, the village is ruined. There’s not a house fit to live in. How are you going to survive? Please let Geertrui come with us. She’ll be safer in the country. And there’s a better chance of food there.’
‘Perhaps you and Mother should come too, Papa,’ said Henk. ‘There’s nothing left for you here.’
Father took Mother’s hand and they looked anxiously at each other for a moment before Mother said, ‘There isn’t much left, I know. But we’ve lived here, your father and I, all our married life. You and Geertrui were born in our bedroom. This is our home. It’s where we belong. How can we abandon it? Why should we?’
Father said, ‘You and Dirk go. You’re right. It won’t be safe for young men. But your mother and I must stay. We’ll manage somehow. We always have till now. And Geertrui must stay with us. She’ll be safe enough. Why should they harm us? We’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘Nothing wrong!’ said Henk. ‘Father, you’ve harboured British soldiers. To the Germans that’s giving succour to the enemy.’
‘So have all our neighbours,’ said Mother.
‘But that will only make it worse,’ said Dirk. ‘Don’t you see? They’ll hate us for it.’
‘You know we’re right, Papa,’ said Henk. ‘If you won’t come, at least let us take Geertrui.’
‘Right or wrong, Henk,’ said Papa, ‘your mother and I are staying and so is Geertrui.’
I had listened to all this in silence. And with growing anger. One of our Dutch characteristics, so they say, is overleg, which means ‘consultation’. Yet here a decision was being taken about my life—and possibly my death—without any consultation with me. My parents, my brother, and Dirk, who only a few weeks before had told me how much he loved me and how he would like to marry me if I would have him: all of them deciding for me at this dangerous time, and not one of them asking what I thought, what I wanted. Still today I feel the anger I felt at my family’s denial of me at that moment.
With Father and Henk in disagreement there was an impasse in the conversation. Neither wanted to have a row. That would not be right! It would not be proper! We Dutch are embarrassed by such confrontations. I waited to see if, after all, anyone would refer to me. When they did not, I said, as self-righteous and pert as only a girl who is not yet a young woman can be, ‘Would anyone care to know what I think and to hear my decision about my own fate? Or is that too much to ask?’
Postcards from No Man's Land (The Dance Sequence) Page 7