by Jan Terlouw
It was hard work and his arms and face were soon covered in scratches. From time to time, he stood up, looked around to make sure he was alone, and corrected his course. He was making progress, but it was slow. As far as he could tell, he was almost at the middle of the plot now. So where on earth was this hiding place? Warily, he crept onwards. But no matter how much care he took, the twigs still cracked underfoot.
“Don’t move!”
Michiel froze. The voice came from nearby. Quietly, he whispered, in English, “I’m a friend.”
He didn’t know why he’d said that. He must have read it somewhere, maybe in one of those books about cowboys and Indians.
“Who are you?” the man said.
Michiel knew what that meant. He’d studied English at school.
“Dirk’s friend,” he said.
“Where’s Dirk?”
“In prison.”
“Come closer,” the Englishman told him, and Michiel did as he was told, crawling towards the voice.
Before long, he noticed a tunnel sloping down into the ground. Against the wall leant a man in his early twenties. He was wearing uniform trousers, with one leg cut away to accommodate the plaster that encased his whole leg. His right arm was in a sling, and his jacket was draped around his shoulders. He had a wild beard, and he was holding a gun in his left hand. Waving the gun, he motioned for Michiel to go inside.
It was dark, but once Michiel’s eyes became used to it, there was enough light coming in through the entrance for him to see how the hideout had been built. Dirk had first dug a deep, wide hole, then placed beams of wood along the sides to prevent collapse. He’d laid a large wooden sheet across the top, probably a shed wall or something similar. On top of that, there was some soil with a few puny spruces growing in it. There didn’t seem to be enough earth for them to take root properly.
The cave was around seven feet by ten and just over six feet high. Dirk had done a good job, but the thought of spending all day and night in there, and with those injuries too… There was a heap of dry leaves and a couple of horse blankets along the more sheltered wall. Michiel saw a water bottle, a mug, an old woollen scarf, and that was all. My goodness, had the man really been living here for weeks?
With some difficulty, they began a conversation. The pilot realized he would have to speak slowly, and Michiel racked his brains to remember as much as possible of the English he had learnt at school. They muddled through. The pilot, whose name was Jack, was delighted finally to have a proper conversation with someone. Talking to Dirk, who hadn’t really opened a book since he’d left school, had been a challenge. When he heard that Dirk had been caught in a raid and might have given away his secrets, he became very concerned, though. About Dirk, and for his own safety. Had Dirk told them about the hideout?
Anxious or not, he wolfed down the ham. He didn’t have a drop of water left, and Michiel realized he should have brought him something to drink. It hadn’t even occurred to him.
Jack asked if Michiel could come back the next day with more food and something to drink.
“OK,” said Michiel. That’s assuming I’m not sharing a prison cell with Dirk tomorrow, he thought to himself, but he didn’t say anything, partly because it was too complicated in English.
The pilot showed him the “path”—well, the route that Dirk usually crawled along—which made leaving the plot of spruce trees a little easier.
“Be as cunning as a snake,” Michiel had learnt at Sunday school. So he carefully looked all around before fishing his bike out of the bushes. So he made sure no one saw him leaving the woods. And so he didn’t go straight home, but went first to visit the Knoppers. Mr and Mrs Knopper were still really upset, of course. He told them how sorry he was about Dirk.
Bringing the conversation around to house searches proved easy enough. In fact, they didn’t talk about anything else.
“Did the Germans search any other houses in the village today?” asked Michiel.
“Not that I know of,” said Mr Knopper.
“I’m always afraid they’ll come for my father,” said Michiel.
“Yes, I can imagine. Now that our Dirk…” He started talking about his own miserable situation again—which was only understandable, of course.
Michiel was fairly certain by now that the Germans hadn’t been to his house that day. The neighbours would definitely have known. Even so, he felt nervous when he put his bike in the shed and went into the kitchen through the back door. But his mother just said, “Hello, Michiel. What have you been up to all day, son?”
So everything was alright for now.
“Nothing special. A bit of this and that,” he said.
His mother was satisfied with his empty response.
The evening went by. Michiel felt an almost irresistible urge to confide in someone—his father, or his mother, or Uncle Ben—but he withstood the temptation. “A good resistance fighter is lonely,” he’d once heard his father say. “He’s alone with his task and his secrets.” Michiel was well aware that he was now involved in grown-up work; there were lives at stake. Well, he’d always hated being treated like a child—so he would act like a man. And so he said nothing. Even though he kept expecting his mother to notice the worried look on his face and, at any moment, to say, “Michiel, what on earth are you fretting about?” And even though he thought every sound he heard was a German military vehicle. And even though he wondered how on earth he would get hold of food for Jack in the coming weeks—he still said nothing.
5
It certainly wasn’t easy, though. Michiel went to see Jack the pilot every other day. He had to come up with countless excuses to get his hands on food. Not to mention all the reasons for his frequent absences. As the mayor’s son, it wasn’t too hard for him to buy food from the local farmers. He didn’t even mind that it made such a big dent in his savings, which he’d earned over the past year by doing various chores. After all, it was for a good cause, and everyone said money wouldn’t be worth much after the war anyway. The problem was that his parents mustn’t hear from someone else that he was buying food and not bringing it home. To be on the safe side, he sometimes managed to find a few extra bits and pieces and take them home. He also made sure he went to the more distant farms, buying from farmers who didn’t have much to do with the village.
All told, it was quite a job. But Michiel was delighted that the Germans hadn’t come for him. So it seemed Dirk hadn’t given his name away. Michiel was grateful to him for that. Maybe, he thought, Dirk had given them Bertus’s name because he had nothing to hide, so they wouldn’t find anything at his place. That meant he would eventually be released. So Dirk must be counting on me to keep Jack alive, he thought proudly. Oh no, that wasn’t right. As far as Dirk knew, Michiel had taken the letter straight to Bertus. Had Dirk caved in so quickly because he thought that then they’d come for Bertus before Michiel had delivered the letter? Deep down, Michiel thought it was cowardly of Dirk to give in that soon, but he tried to push that thought away. What would he have done himself if they’d knocked out his teeth—or worse?
Jack wasn’t the easiest of patients either. He was bored and he was also worried that the wound in his shoulder wasn’t healing more quickly. The circumstances were far from ideal, of course. That cold, draughty hideout, with a heap of leaves for a bed—no government inspector would have given this hospital a glowing report.
Michiel did what he could to help. To start with, he took a few English books from his father’s bookshelf, ones that wouldn’t be missed too soon. He didn’t pay much attention to the subjects. So Jack was puzzled at first to receive a book about natural remedies in the previous century, with beautiful illustrations of various types of medical baths, and even a sealed envelope inside for students over the age of eighteen (containing anatomically correct illustrations of the parts of the body that help you to work out if your new baby is a boy or a girl—oh well, it had been published back in 1860), along with a book about steam-driven pump
ing stations, and—thank goodness!—a detective story by Agatha Christie, plus an essay about the internal combustion engine, and a few other odds and ends. Jack came to the conclusion that Mayor Van Beusekom must have a wide range of interests, and he read the books so often that he learnt them practically by heart, as he was thrilled finally to be able to read something in his own language again.
Michiel also tried to make life a little more comfortable for his “guest”. There was no way he could carry a mattress to the hideout without being noticed, but he brought some more old blankets and even managed to take along a folding chair for Jack. As time went by, he also provided planks, nails and a hammer, and on a day when there were some woodcutters nearby and no one would notice a bit of extra noise, he cobbled together a door to close off the chilly entrance to the hideout. It was a shame Jack couldn’t do this work himself as a distraction, but his wounded shoulder would not permit it.
In spite of all Michiel’s efforts, though, Jack became depressed. His shoulder injury was getting worse rather than better. Just once, Michiel had been able to rustle up a roll of clean bandages from somewhere, and he and Jack, both equally incompetent, had patched up the wound. Michiel had been rather shocked at the sight of it. When it refused to heal and the dressing got dirtier and dirtier, he realized that the shoulder needed professional medical treatment. But how? He didn’t entirely trust any of the doctors in De Vlank or the nearby villages. The district nurse? He didn’t know her that well. Ah, nurse…! Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? His own dear, exasperating sister, Erica, had been a trainee nurse in Zwolle last year. That was all over now, of course, but she certainly knew more about nursing than Michiel did.
Could he trust Erica?
Of course he could trust her—what was he thinking? He was becoming so suspicious that he’d soon start wondering if his own mother was a German spy.
Would Erica want to help?
Would Jack want her to?
Was it a good idea to give away the location to Erica?
Was there some way he could take Jack from the hiding place for a short while?
Hey, but how had Jack actually got to the hideout in the first place, with his leg in plaster and his bashed-up arm? He asked the pilot.
“Don’t remind me,” he said with a wince. He told Michiel how Dirk had dragged him through the trees on his side, pulling him by his good leg, and said he’d rather be tortured by the Gestapo than go through that hell again.
That was just a bad joke, but the journey clearly hadn’t been pleasant.
“The war will be over soon,” said Michiel. “It’s been going on in the Netherlands for exactly four and a half years and one day.”
“Oh,” said Jack. “And how many minutes?”
His Dutch was coming along nicely. Michiel had recently brought him a book by Philip Oppenheimer to add to his collection of reading material. They had an English copy of the book at home and also one that had been translated into Dutch, so he’d borrowed both books for Jack. In his fight against boredom, Jack was studying the books eagerly, although he’d given up on finding any useful natural remedies in the book about the healing powers of bathing.
“We need to bring in someone to look at your shoulder,” said Michiel.
“We can’t,” said Jack firmly.
“We have to,” stated Michiel even more firmly.
Jack shrugged, which was so painful that he blurted out a few words that were anything but firm.
“You see what I mean?” said Michiel.
Jack glowered at the grubby dressing.
“How do we do that? Bring doctor from… um… Deutsch army hospital?”
“My sister,” said Michiel.
“Your sister?” said Jack, clearly thinking he’d misunderstood.
“Yes, my sister. She’s a nurse.”
He didn’t add that Erica’s medical experience didn’t extend far beyond emptying chamber pots and inserting thermometers.
“You can trust her?”
Michiel looked offended. “Yes, of course,” he said.
“I mean,” Jack said, “can she carry the—what’s the word?—responsibility?”
Michiel had to think about that for a moment. Could Erica handle the responsibility? All she ever seemed to do was giggle with her friends, which often descended into fits of helpless laughter that sent Michiel running for refuge. When she wasn’t doing that, she was endlessly brushing her hair in front of the mirror. She did help their mother, though, he had to admit. And there was her work with the aid committee too. But real responsibility, like this? No, she wasn’t cut out for it.
“Well then,” said Jack, “it’s not possible.”
“Wait a moment,” said Michiel. “If you don’t wear that uniform jacket, but an ordinary overcoat that I’ll bring along for you, and if you keep your gob shut, she won’t work out that you’re a Brit. And if I blindfold her before we reach the woods and when we leave, then it should be safe enough to risk it.”
“My gob? What’s a gob?”
“Your trap.”
“What’s a trap?”
“The thing you have to keep shut.”
“Must be my ears,” Jack decided. “When you talk, I shut my ears?”
Michiel laughed.
“Hey,” said Jack, “your sister. She does exactly what you say? English sisters do not do what English brothers say.”
“Yes. I think so,” said Michiel, more casually than he felt.
*
Amazingly enough, Erica agreed to do it. Maybe just out of curiosity, but she said yes.
“A blindfold! Sounds like quite an adventure,” she said, “but don’t you think it’ll look a bit strange if anyone sees me walking down the street in a blindfold?”
“I won’t put it on until we’re in the woods.”
“But there’s no need. When we’re in the woods, I’ll keep my eyes shut and we can walk arm in arm, as if we’re a courting couple, and…”
“I’m not going out courting with my sister,” said Michiel.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been courting with anyone, have you?” said Erica. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s just pretending! Who’s this patient anyway?”
“You’re not allowed to know. I mean, there’s no need for you to know. The more you know, the more dangerous it is. And you have to promise me you won’t say a word to him.”
Michiel’s voice was serious.
He sounds so grown up, thought Erica. He seems almost like a man now.
“I promise,” she said.
“Do you promise you’ll keep your eyes closed in the woods too?”
“I swear on my honour.”
She held up her hand as if taking an oath, but Michiel wasn’t convinced. He’d seen Erica make promises so many times, with varying results. Well, he’d just have to risk it.
“Do you have any bandages?” he asked.
Erica nodded.
“Where from?”
“Oh, I have my sources.”
“OK, you don’t have to tell me everything—I don’t tell you everything either.”
The next morning, Michiel took a very old coat to the hideout, one that a hen had once hatched twelve chicks on. That afternoon, he and Erica set off for the woods. Michiel took the usual precautions, which had become a habit by now. They went the long way around, he paid close attention to who saw them, and he didn’t head into the woods until he’d taken a good look around and made sure no one else was nearby. Erica thought it was excessive. What did it matter if someone saw them go into the woods? But then Michiel had always been more of a fusspot than her, so she left it up to him. He’d only ignore her objections anyway.
In the woods, they hid their bicycles in the undergrowth and continued on foot. Awkwardly, Michiel held out his arm for his sister.
In some ways, he seems more like he’s forty, but in other ways he’s like a ten-year-old, thought Erica. Her brother kept looking to check that she had her eyes closed. She di
d her best.
After a while, Michiel whispered, “Now get down. That’s right, on your knees. You can open your eyes if you promise to look straight ahead, at me. I’ll lead the way.”
Crawling forward on their stomachs, the procession of two people plus two bags reached the hiding place. Michiel announced their approach with a poor imitation of a blackbird. The response was the song of a finch, which sounded just like the real thing.
When Jack saw Erica, he exclaimed in English, “Oh boy!” Which actually meant he was delighted to see a girl at long last.
Michiel gave Jack’s good leg a warning kick, after which the pilot kept his mouth firmly shut. With her skilful hands, Erica began to undo the bandage. When Michiel had done the same a week before, Jack had yelped and groaned, but this time he didn’t make a sound.
She must be really good, thought Michiel proudly. He didn’t realize that a man doesn’t like to complain in the presence of a pretty girl—and it had certainly never occurred to him that Erica might be a pretty girl.
Erica cleaned the wound with cotton wool, which she moistened with some transparent liquid from a bottle. Then she sprinkled a disinfectant powder on the raw wound and covered it with a piece of sterilized gauze. One clean bandage—and Jack looked great. Certainly much better than half an hour before. In fact, he seemed almost blissful and was clearly struggling to keep his mouth shut.
“How long has his leg been in that plaster?” asked Erica.
“Five weeks,” said Michiel. “It has to stay on for another three.”
Erica gave a professional nod.
“I’ll take it off for him when it’s time,” she said. “The dressing needs replacing at least once a week too. I’ll be back next week.”
Jack nodded enthusiastically.
“Right. Forward march,” said Michiel grumpily. He thought there was too much talking going on and he didn’t like the idea of a visiting schedule either. He’d have to have a word with Erica later.