by Jan Terlouw
“Aren’t you going to fetch Erica?” his mother asked. “She doesn’t have the torch.” Michiel looked at his watch. Two minutes to eight. Just enough time.
Furiously pumping away at the torch as if that might help, he raced out of the door.
14
Ten days went by. The 1st of April came. No one could think of any good jokes. The 2nd of April. The 3rd of April. The rumours about the advancing armies of the Allied Forces became increasingly optimistic. When would Hitler surrender? The war was coming to an end—that much was certain.
For Michiel and Erica, this was a good reason to try to talk Jack out of attempting to return to his squadron. Jack was getting restless. He felt healthy again. Spring was coursing through his veins. It’s no easy matter spending an entire winter in a hole under the ground.
“I have to go back and do my bit for the war effort,” he said. “They’ll never manage without me.”
“Why would you take that risk?” Michiel objected. “The war’s nearly over—everyone says so.”
“Oh, just stay here with us. It’ll be fun,” said Erica. “We have to celebrate liberation together, don’t we? Besides, I want to introduce you to Mother.”
But Jack wanted to leave. He was getting increasingly irritable. He was also becoming reckless. One day, Michiel found him waiting for him under a bush outside the spruce plantation. Michiel almost had a heart attack when he heard the words: “Hands up!” and saw a pistol aimed at him from the undergrowth.
Jack just laughed.
Michiel was furious.
“This isn’t a joke, Jack,” he said. “We’re not playing boy scouts on some military training ground in England. Yesterday another twelve people were executed by firing squad in Harderwijk. The war isn’t over yet. Quite the opposite, in fact. The Krauts seem to be having more and more fun shooting prisoners and hostages as time goes on.”
“Sorry,” said Jack guiltily.
That incident made Michiel realize that it really would be better if Jack left. He spoke to Erica about it. At first she didn’t want to listen, but when he insisted and said Jack might end up doing something foolish, just because being in the hideout was driving him so crazy, she changed her mind.
“But how?” she asked. “How are we going to get him safely across the rivers? How are we even going to get him safely to the rivers in the first place?”
“Uncle Ben,” said Michiel.
“Uncle Ben?”
“He’s in the resistance. He told me once that he’s involved with escape routes for British pilots. And American and Canadian ones, of course. That’s what he used to do, at least, when they had to go via Spain or across the North Sea in a boat. I’m pretty sure he’ll know of a way to get Jack out.”
“Have you already told him about Jack?”
“No, there was no need before. But that’s changed now. I’ll tell him as soon as he gets here.”
Erica sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to,” she said. “I really wanted Jack to stay until liberation, but fine.”
A week later, when Uncle Ben turned up, it was the first thing Michiel asked him. Uncle Ben frowned.
“So, my young friend, you’re telling me you’ve been hiding a British pilot?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“For how long?”
“Over six months now.”
“And how exactly did you end up with that responsibility?”
“I don’t think you need to know that,” said Michiel.
Uncle Ben’s frown grew deeper.
“Michiel, do you know what you’re saying? You want my help to smuggle a pilot out of the country. If they catch me, I’ll be up against the wall, no questions asked. That gives me the right to find out first if the man really is a pilot and not, say, a German in disguise, don’t you think? It gives me the right to know where he came from, where his plane went down, how he’s been looked after so far, who he knows, and so on.”
“Well, um, I suppose so…” said Michiel hesitantly.
His old habit of keeping silent, of not saying anything unless it was absolutely necessary, was hard to resist, but he knew Uncle Ben’s request was reasonable. Reluctantly, he told Jack and Dirk’s story, not revealing that Dirk had killed the German with a billhook. He told him that Dirk had hidden the pilot and looked after him, and he told him about the letter and about Dirk’s arrest. Then he explained his own role in the events, and Erica’s too.
Uncle Ben placed his hand on Michiel’s shoulder.
“You did a man’s job,” he said. “I’m proud of you.”
Michiel blushed. Up until now, he’d focused mainly on the mistakes he’d made. It had never occurred to him that he deserved some praise too.
“So where exactly is this hiding place?” asked Uncle Ben.
“Don’t you think it would be better if I tell you at the very last minute, after you’ve organized his escape? You could get caught. The less you know, the better.”
Uncle Ben gave him an approving smile.
“You’re remarkably mature for your age, young man,” he said. “Most people are blabbermouths. They can’t wait to tell everyone all of their business. It’s some kind of need to prove themselves, I think. Confident people, strong characters—they don’t need that. Their own approval is enough. They don’t care about other people’s praise or disapproval. I’ll get to work right away. But you’ll have to help me. What’s this pilot of yours wearing?”
“What’s left of his uniform and an ancient jacket. Rags, basically.”
“He needs to be wearing an ordinary suit that won’t stand out. Can you get one to him? Take something from your father’s wardrobe.”
Michiel nodded.
“There’s a camera in my suitcase,” Uncle Ben continued. “Do you know how to take photographs? OK, I’ll show you. I’m going to need a passport photo for his fake identity card.”
Uncle Ben fetched the camera and carefully explained to Michiel how to take the photo. He made him repeat the instructions a few times until he was certain he wouldn’t make any mistakes.
“Can you make sure I get the camera back by tomorrow afternoon at the latest?”
“I think so.”
“Good. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that your pilot should be wearing civilian clothes when you take the photo, do I?”
“Hm,” said Michiel. “It’s just as well you mentioned it.”
“Photo on Wednesday,” mumbled Uncle Ben. “Developed on Thursday, fake ID at the weekend, organize the escape route. Let me see… Then I can probably take him to a safe house on Monday, and they’ll take him onwards from there.”
“Monday. That soon?” said Michiel, with a little pang in his heart.
“Yes, I think so.”
Michiel set straight to work. His father’s clothes were far too big for Jack, who had a slim build. But with a jacket that looked a little smaller than the others, and a pair of trousers held on with a belt, it should work. After all, so many people were thinner now, because of the war, that it was perfectly normal for your clothes to swamp your body.
As he was taking the things from the wardrobe, his mother caught him.
She stopped in the doorway. Looked at the clothes spread out on the bed. Opened her mouth and said: “What are you…” Then, thinking better of it, she turned and left the room. Quietly, she closed the door behind her.
Michiel realized that he was a lot like his mother. She could keep silent too. But his mother’s silence was about not asking questions—and that seemed even more difficult than not telling secrets.
Taking the photograph went smoothly enough. Jack was excited to hear that he’d be able to leave as soon as Monday. The prospect of danger made his heart beat a little faster. Dirk was actually a bit jealous. He was a lot stronger now and was eager to get back to action too. Unfortunately, though, he still couldn’t walk properly. If he reported to the underground, he’d be more of a hindrance than a help.
“It’s all he’s been doing for years,” said Michiel. “If anyone can pull this off, it’s him.”
Michiel had decided that Erica would take their uncle to the hiding place on Monday. His sister’s relationship with Jack was different from his own. It had been an effort to arrange it that way, but Erica’s sad face when she heard about Jack’s imminent departure had settled the matter for him.
On Sunday he’d gone to say his own farewells to Jack.
“After liberation, I’ll come back to see you all as soon as I can,” Jack had said. “And, Michiel, thank you for saving my life.”
“Oh, no, I—”
“Yes, you did. Without Dirk and you and Erica, I’d never have survived this war. That’s a nice thought, eh? Later, when I’m the prime minister, you’ll be able to say, ‘If it weren’t for us, Britain wouldn’t have such a fine leader now.’”
“So long, Jack. Do exactly as my uncle says.”
A quick handshake. A nod. Farewell.
Now it was Monday. Uncle Ben and Erica had just left. On foot. They were walking to the woods to fetch Jack. All Erica had to do was show him the way. Then she’d say goodbye and leave in a different direction. Uncle Ben and Jack would walk through the village, surrounded by all the people who were passing through. They’d deliberately chosen the middle of the day, so that they wouldn’t stand out. If they were stopped, Jack would show his fake ID and pretend to stutter. Uncle Ben would explain that he had a speech defect. Everything had to go according to plan.
Michiel went to chop wood, behind the shed. From time to time, he looked up at the church clock. The minutes crept by. Uncle Ben and Erica must be there by now. Oh no, not quite. The April sun shone down on the back of his neck. He laid the axe on the ground and sat down on the chopping block, leaning his back against the shed. The exhaustion of a winter full of tension and hard work flooded his body. But now he no longer had the responsibility of looking after Jack. That was a reassuring thought. But he was still going to miss him.
Michiel closed his eyes and turned his face to the sun. The warmth was so pleasant. Did he doze off for a moment? He was startled to hear Jochem’s voice, nearby, as if his little brother were bawling in his ear. It took him a moment to realize where the sound was coming from. The shed. The board he was leaning his head against had given way a little, making a gap. At a glance, you couldn’t see the crack, as the boards overlapped a little. Jochem was apparently talking to Mother—he could hear every word.
“But I’ve already looked,” whined Jochem. “It’s not here.”
“You were playing in here though, weren’t you?” Mother asked.
“Yes. For a bit.”
“And did you go to play with Joost next door?”
“Can’t remember. Oh, yes. Yesterday.”
“Well, then maybe that’s where you left your coat. Let’s go and ask.”
The voices died away.
Michiel was still a little dozy after his nap, but suddenly he froze. Only his eyes moved, opening wider and wider. That sound… The voices in the shed… The truth dawned on him, so clear, so certain, that not a trace of doubt remained.
He bit the inside of his cheek to break the spell. Then he leapt up and ran to his bike, throwing himself onto the saddle and pedalling like he’d never pedalled before. He had to make it in time. Please, please, if only he could make it in time.
Tyres rattling, he raced along the main road, narrowly missing an old lady who was pushing a doll’s pram, swerving past Mr Coenen’s dung cart and storming around the corner. No time now for caution, for making sure no one saw him. There was the wood. Would they still be there?
His mind was racing. He knew exactly what he had to do—as clearly as if he’d already seen it in a movie. At full tilt, he took the bend to the left, into the woods. Where he almost collided with Uncle Ben and Jack.
“Michiel, whatever’s wrong?” cried Uncle Ben.
Michiel jumped off the bike and grabbed Jack’s arm.
“Jack, do you have your pistol?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Quickly. Give it to me.”
Looking puzzled, Jack pulled out the gun from under his jacket. Michiel almost tore it from his hands. He flicked off the safety catch, which Jack had taught him how to do, and aimed the gun at Uncle Ben.
“Hands up,” he barked.
“What on earth’s going on?” said Uncle Ben.
Jack just gasped.
“That man. He’s the traitor,” panted Michiel. “He’s the one who betrayed Dirk and the baroness and Bertus, and he would have taken you straight to the German barracks, Jack.”
“You’re insane,” said Uncle Ben.
“No, I was insane,” said Michiel, “but I’m not any more.”
“Why don’t we go back to the hideout?” Jack suggested. “It doesn’t seem very safe to me here. Give me the gun. I was our squadron’s champion marksman during training.”
“As long as you promise to keep it pointed at him at all times.”
“I most certainly will.”
Jack gave Uncle Ben a push and nodded his head to indicate that he should walk back in the direction they’d just come from. Luckily, there was no sign of anyone else in the woods.
“This is ridiculous,” said Uncle Ben. “You can’t treat me this way. Michiel’s spouting a load of nonsense. I’ve been in the resistance for four years.”
“I’m sure you have,” scoffed Michiel. “Four years as a Judas in your own ranks. How many victims do you have on your conscience?”
“Don’t listen to him,” said Uncle Ben to Jack, who waved the gun to make him move faster.
“If there’s one person I trust in this world, it’s Michiel,” said Jack. “Go on, keep walking.”
Uncle Ben doubled his protests when he had to crawl through the trees on his stomach, but it didn’t do him any good. When they reached the hideout, Dirk was amazed to see them.
“It seems we have your traitor here,” said Jack. “Here you go, all in one piece, all yours.”
He handed Dirk the pistol.
“I’ve never seen that man before,” said Uncle Ben.
“That’s… true,” said Dirk hesitantly.
“Even so, he’s still the one who betrayed you to the Nazis,” growled Michiel.
“Rubbish,” said Uncle Ben.
“Why don’t we search his pockets?” suggested Michiel.
“Good idea.”
Uncle Ben protested vehemently, but the other three men ignored him. And then the evidence appeared. A card entitling the holder to ride in German military vehicles. A list of telephone numbers for the German authorities. A letter from a German girlfriend in Hannover. And the icing on the cake: a letter from the SS, inviting the esteemed Mr Van Hierden to deliver the British pilot to the barracks at De Vlank.
“Is that his name? Van Hierden?” asked Jack.
“Yes. Ben van Hierden. My so-called uncle. He’s been a close friend of my parents for many, many years. I’ll never call him ‘uncle’ again, as long as I live.”
“But I wonder,” Dirk whispered threateningly, “just how much longer his life will be?”
Ben van Hierden wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
“You… You can’t prove anything,” he stammered.
“Really?” said Dirk. “Isn’t this enough proof? Tell us, Michiel, how did you find out?”
Michiel found it hard to explain everything clearly. The wild bike ride, the fear, but above all his fury about his so-called uncle’s betrayal and his own frustration at the way he’d been fooled—it was all making his head spin.
“The sticks of last resort…” he began.
He tried to get his thoughts straight.
“I thought my Dutch was getting pretty good,” said Jack, “but ‘sticks of last resort’? That’s a new one on me.”
“Now let’s just go through exactly what Dirk told me. Firstly, he said there was going to be a raid on the rations office in Lagezande, and three men would be involved. Dirk and his friend walked into a trap and the Krauts knew there was supposed to be a third man. Secondly, Dirk mentioned Bertus van Gelder. I was supposed to give Bertus the letter if anything went wrong. Van Hierden heard his name. But he also wanted to get his hands on the letter. He didn’t know that I’d hidden the letter in the shed. Or to be more precise—in the chicken coop.”
Ben van Hierden couldn’t help clicking his fingers.
“No, you didn’t think of that, did you?” sneered Michiel. Then he continued, “That night he searched my room. I caught him at it. He reacted very quickly, said he wanted to look up a word in my English dictionary. The English word for dynamiet. He might have been better off looking up how to say verrader in English.”
“Traitor,” Jack said helpfully.
“My goodness, Jack,” joked Dirk. “You speak such good English.”
“Shall I continue?” asked Michiel.
“I do wish you wouldn’t play with the pistol like that,” said Ben van Hierden. “Guns do sometimes go off, you know.”