by Pam Lewis
Minke took Zef in her arms and held him so tightly, feeling his small heart beating against hers. She was sobbing, trying not to make too much noise. Cassian ushered her into her room and shut the door. They sat on the bed. “Do you believe it now?” she asked Cassian. She couldn’t take her eyes from Zef’s face, couldn’t stop kissing him. How he had changed, lost the chubby cheeks, his hair grown somewhat darker, his blue eyes clear, alternately wary and delighted by so much attention.
Cassian lifted Zef’s shirt.
Mrs. Bowen crowded into the room. “Well?” she said.
“No question,” Cassian said.
“Let’s go,” Mrs. Bowen said.
Tessa and Frederik didn’t see them enter, as they were still both engaged in their lunch. Zef shouted, causing Tessa to look up. “What is it now?” She turned to look and barked a little cry. “What the devil?” Dietz said.
“It seems this child is not your son, madam,” Mr. Wiley said.
“Jij, pompoen kop,” Tessa said in disgust.
“Tessa.” Cassian clicked his heels together to get their attention. “Frederik. The game is up. We all know this is Jozef DeVries. We all know he’s not your child.”
“Flikker!” Tessa muttered.
“Let’s all remain calm,” Mr. Wiley said.
Mrs. Bowen was standing in front of the screen, her arms having been crossed over her breast for some time, her mouth ajar.
“You know there’s a mark on his back, Tessa,” Cassian said.
“He’s mine,” Tessa said flatly.
“Zef?” Cassian said. The child’s head spun around. He remembered.
Cassian knelt. “Let’s have a look,” he said, and made to lift Zef from Minke’s arm.
“Bring us our wraps this minute,” Dietz said to the Misses Wiley. Neither of the sisters made a move.
“You know the spot is there, Tessa,” Minke said. “And he has a small scar on his wrist. Just there.” With the index finger of her left hand, she indicated the inside of her right wrist. “Perhaps you haven’t even noticed it.” She reached for Zef’s hand. “Zef, sweetheart?”
“Dr. Tredegar doesn’t need to look for the marks, does he?” Mr. Wiley asked.
“I lost my baby, Minke,” Tessa said, weeping alligator tears. “Take pity on me. First my Astrid and then—” She broke off. “You have another child already. You’ll have more.”
“If you won’t bring our wraps, I’ll get them myself.” Dietz stood up.
Minke’s nose touched the top of Zef’s blond head, and she breathed in the sweet scent of her son, a smell both fresh and distinctive.
Tessa stood unsteadily. “I must take my Hendrik now,” she said to Minke, reaching out. “It’s time for us to leave.”
“Sit down, both of you,” Mr. Wiley said. “If a crime has been committed, this is far from over.”
“How could you do such a thing to us?” Minke asked Dietz, lapsing into Dutch. “Cause such suffering.”
Dietz remained standing. “Ask your husband.”
Tessa used a napkin to blot the perspiration from her throat. “He’s our boy now. We paid. We brought him to America. He has our name on his passport. We have raised him, and there’s really no more to be said.”
“What do you mean, ask my husband?” Minke shot back.
“I’ll say no more,” Dietz said.
“Paid whom, Tessa?”
“Sander, of course,” Tessa said.
“Money burns a hole in your husband’s pocket,” Dietz said. “It’s been known for years. He married Elisabeth for her money, and she carefully guarded her belongings. You should have done the same, you foolish girl. You should have protected your boy.” He stepped behind Tessa’s chair and pulled it out for her.
“For God’s sake, all of you speak English!” Mr. Wiley broke in.
“Mrs. Dietz has said they bought the child. She believes the transaction to be binding,” Cassian explained.
“Not buy,” Dietz snapped in Dutch. “There was no money involved.”
“But you just said.”
“He owed me the money.”
Mr. Wiley threw up his hands. “Stop all this speaking Dutch. Just show me the mark.”
Minke raised Zef’s shirt, feeling numb. The spot was small and smooth but distinct. A bluish patch of skin just above his waist.
“Mr. and Mrs. Dietz,” Mr. Wiley said. “Frederik and Tessa. I’m afraid an arrangement of the type you describe is illegal if it was made without the mother’s consent. It will need to be decided in a court of law, with all parties testifying to what occurred. Mrs. DeVries clearly contests the appropriation of her son. I believe her when she says the boy was kidnapped on the beach. Hardly a legal adoption, wouldn’t you say?”
“They stole him!” Minke held on to Zef with one arm and pointed fiercely with her free hand.
Dietz shot back in Dutch, “Take him, then, for Christ’s sake. He’s been nothing but trouble.”
“Nee, nee!” Tessa shouted.
“It was never Pieps, was it?” Minke asked.
“Of course not.” Dietz turned away as if to leave.
“Then who?”
“Some boys.”
“Funny how it’s always boys, so anonymous. Like the ones who attacked Cassian.” It dawned on her then. “The same, perhaps. The very same. I wouldn’t be surprised if you were behind that as well.”
“Do you want me to explain here in front of Mr. Wiley?” Dietz said.
“Please,” Cassian said.
“Dokter homoseksuele,” Dietz began.
“English!” Mrs. Bowen demanded.
“I don’t know the word—”
“We have the same word in English, Mr. Dietz,” Mr. Wiley said coolly.
“Dr. Tredegar was beaten for it,” Dietz said. “Such things happen everywhere to people like him. These people are the devil’s spawn.”
Mr. Wiley raised a thick eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Kidnapping is a grave offense in this country,” Cassian said.
“Who said anything about kidnapping?” Dietz said in English. “She’s having delusions.”
Minke was past her anger. Squeezing Zef to herself made her want to shout with joy. Tessa had put far too many clothes on him. She unbuttoned his vest, his sweater, and removed them. He laughed when his arms were free. He seemed to have forgotten Tessa altogether, never looking for her once.
“Minke will bring charges,” Cassian said. “You can expect that.”
“Dr. Tredegar.” In a condescending tone, Dietz spoke in Dutch. “I don’t think that will be wise. Mr. and Mrs. DeVries gave their boy to Tessa for safekeeping because they were destitute, and then she changed her mind. There are any number of possibilities. And we’re well set to handle the cost of attorneys. I might add that her story of the kidnapping on the beach was peculiar. Only she was witness to it. What’s more, our witnesses, these Wileys, have understood nothing of what’s been said.”
“Mr. Dietz, are you familiar with the custom of extradition?” Mr. Wiley scowled thoughtfully. “I’m not an attorney, but I know this much: A crime that occurs in another country must be resolved in that country. When Mrs. DeVries brings charges, you will likely be returned to Argentina. It will be up to Argentine authorities to prosecute. From what I understand, people accused of a crime wait in prison for many years for the trial. Theirs is not as efficient a system as our own.”
“What did he just say?” Tessa asked.
Minke was only too happy to translate.
“Oh, no,” Tessa said. “I’ll never go back. I did nothing wrong.”
“Shut up,” Dietz said.
“Mrs. Bowen, will you please summon the police?” Mr. Wiley said, then turned to Dietz.
“You don’t know who you’re dealing with,” Dietz huffed. “Come, Tessa.” The two of them swept from the dining room and could be heard arguing in the vestibule. There came the rattling of the elevator door and then silence.
“What
did she call me?” Mr. Wiley asked. “That Dietz woman. She called me a name in Dutch. I want to know what it was.”
Minke stole a guilty glance at Cassian. “She called you a pumpkin head.”
Mr. Wiley laughed. “How very original.”
“What will happen?” Cassian asked.
“He’ll be visited by police tomorrow.”
“Is it true about extradition?” Cassian asked.
Mr. Wiley shrugged. “Wasn’t it wonderful the way that scared them?”
24
MISS ANNE, EVER expecting things to come out well, had already found a child’s bed for Zef, as well as toys for both the children, which she revealed once the Dietzes were gone. Everyone crowded into Minke’s little apartment off the kitchen to observe the children meeting each other for the first time. Elly, newly awake from her nap, looked from face to face with her usual solemnity. Minke sat on her bed holding Zef in her lap, and the two children stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. It occurred to Minke that Elly could be the first child Zef had been in contact with, and he studied her carefully. For her part, Elly’s big brown eyes were wide, her little cherub mouth slightly open. Neither child seemed to know what to make of the other. Finally Elly drew herself unsteadily to her feet and reached a chubby hand out for Zef, who wriggled off Minke’s lap and approached his little sister, leaning down so they were face-to-face. Again the two spent some long moments taking each other in, a spell Elly broke when she reached out and grabbed for her brother’s nose, causing him to burst into fits of giggles and she to do the same.
For Minke, there was more to be done, and it had to be done immediately. She wouldn’t rest until it was behind her, and although she found it nearly impossible to leave Zef and Elly behind with Cassian, she comforted herself knowing how many happy years they had ahead. Before she left, she asked Cassian to notify the police after an hour had elapsed.
She took the same route back to Sander’s apartment that she’d taken to the Wileys’ on the day she’d left, a lifetime earlier. She sat on the same bench in Central Park where she’d sat that day. She needed her ducks in a row, as they said here in America.
She walked north along Broadway and then west on 121st Street. Nothing had changed in Sander and Fenna’s neighborhood. Women still sat on their stoops, watching the children play and warming themselves over small firepots. Men from inside the tavern observed the goings-on in the street with the same dull expressions. Minke pulled open the door to the building and climbed the stairs. When she knocked, a baby cried. Woodrow.
She heard Fenna say something angrily to the baby. It took a minute or so for her to open the door. She was haggard, heavy-breasted from nursing. Seeing Minke, she hesitated, then stepped aside. The apartment was exactly as it had been, but now it smelled of rank milk and dirty diapers.
“Is Sander here?”
“What do you want?”
“To speak to Sander.”
Woodrow went from crying to screaming, and it was clear Fenna intended to do nothing about it. Minke picked the child up from his makeshift bed. He was a beautiful baby, with honey-colored hair and blue eyes. “His diaper needs to be changed. Get me something.” Fenna left the room and returned with a folded cloth. She was clearly too tired to argue. No doubt relieved to have someone, anyone, even Minke, help with the child.
“Why did you come?” Fenna asked.
Minke had already told her. She wasn’t about to say it again.
“Where do you live, anyway? Mama wrote to me. You haven’t told her where you live. They think you’re ashamed of something.”
“I’m ashamed of this.” Minke indicated the baby, the apartment.
“If you wanted to hang on to Sander, you should have fought for him. Everybody says so. You gave up without a whimper.”
Minke felt like a tennis ball, bouncing back and forth across the net separating her rage at Sander for what he had done and her bliss at having found Zef. It was like switching from fields of ash to the Garden of Eden. She found Fenna’s words very funny. “I’ll bet you wish I had fought for him and won. You’d be better off now, wouldn’t you?”
Fenna sagged onto the chair. “There’s no money. He barely works. He drinks all the time.”
“Poor you. Poor innocent Fenna.” She finished changing the baby and hoisted him onto her shoulder. “Mama and Papa must be so proud,” Minke said, the sarcasm dripping.
“They don’t know.”
“So you’re the one who’s ashamed.”
“Everybody is the same in this country,” Fenna snapped. “You ask any of those women out there.” She indicated the street. “It goes one way or the other. People either bring their families over or never see them again. I’ll never see ours again. They sent both of us away, you know. No more mouths to feed.”
“I’ll see them again,” Minke said.
“There’s a war coming. They’re stuck.” Fenna frowned, remembering. “Where is your baby?”
“With Cassian. When does Sander come back?”
“He comes and goes.”
They were watchful with each other, circling, keeping their distance. Minke looked at Fenna’s chapped lips and reddened face, her sorry life here. You reap what you sow, she thought.
Fenna drew a handkerchief from her cleavage and blew her nose. Minke would never see her sister after this day, and although it gave her pause, realizing that her children would not know Woodrow, who was both brother and cousin to them, it was a price she would accept. She didn’t despise Fenna. That would have required passion. No, Fenna had shown her true colors, and Minke was no longer interested. How strange that the decision was easy to make, as if it had announced itself to her.
“Something has happened, hasn’t it?” Fenna said.
The joy erupted inside Minke like fireworks.
“You’re smiling.”
She looked away, asked again, “When will Sander be back?”
“I told you, I don’t know.”
“Cassian says he works as a chauffeur.”
“He drives somebody’s car. Somebody knocks on the door any time day or night, and he has to leave. He goes away and comes back after some hours.”
“I can wait.”
“I don’t want you here.”
Minke shrugged.
Fenna cocked her head. “I hear him.”
Heavy steps approached in the hallway. The door burst open. He wore an untidy black suit, the sleeves too short, the shirt open at the neck, revealing pasty skin. Pitiable on anyone else. Upon seeing her, a slight smile crossed his face. “Lonely, are we?” He took off his coat and threw it over a hook.
He was thinner, his hair and eyebrows going gray. He lowered himself to a chair at the table, drew off his shoes, and kicked them to the corner. “Get me something to eat,” he said to Fenna, who rose automatically. After she was gone, he made a circle in the air with his forefinger at Minke. “Turn around. I want to see you.”
She didn’t move.
“Suit yourself.” He ran the back of his hand over his mouth. How could she ever have loved him?
Fenna returned with a bowl of something and laid it on the table before Sander. She fetched Woodrow, who had begun to fuss, took the chair opposite Sander, and began to nurse the child. The room had become tense in only these few minutes, with an air of expectation even while Sander and Fenna went about their dinner. Minke felt the power that came from the seconds passing, of gaining the upper hand while not saying a word.
Sander must have felt it, too. He smacked the table. Fenna jumped. “What the hell?” he said to Minke. “Why did you come here?”
She had promised herself to be calm. All the way to the apartment, she had told herself not to scream and rage. “How could you?”
He broke into a laugh. “How could I what?”
“Zef.” That changed things. All motion stopped. She paused for a few more seconds before saying, “I found him.”
Sander lurched as though an invi
sible hand had pushed him. Fenna sagged and seemed to forget about Woodrow. She knew. The child lost his hold on the nipple and began to squirm, desperate for food.
But Sander recovered, like the fox he was. “Prove it. If you found him, where is he, eh?” He shoved his bowl of soup away. “You come in here and say such a thing after the tragedy we suffered. You should be ashamed.”
“He’s at my home this very minute. In good health.”
Woodrow’s cries became louder. The baby’s face was red from frustration. “But I thought—” Fenna said to Sander.
“You thought what, Fenna?” Minke asked.
“Keep your mouth shut,” Sander said to Fenna. “Your sister needs to leave our house.”
“I thought you’d be happy,” Minke said. “Your son is found.”
“If it were true, I would.”
“Don’t you want to know how I found him, Sander?”
“What is she saying?” Fenna asked over the baby’s cries.
“Feed your baby,” Minke said. “Look at him.” The child was fumbling for Fenna’s nipple, red in the face from frustration and anger. Fenna hoisted him, and the crying stopped.
“Well?” Minke fixed on Sander’s hazel eyes, daring him to look away first. His only claim—that she was lying—was pathetic. They glared at each other. “I know everything, Sander.”
“Then what do you want?”
“What do I want?” she asked, then again, louder. “What do I want?”
He stared at the table, opened his hands. “You think I have something for you?”
She sat down in the third chair at the table, leaned in close to him. “I want to see you in prison, is what I want. I want to pull out your eyes with my bare hands. I want to castrate you. I want to hang your sorry head on a spike. What do I want? That’s all you have to say? You sold our child. My baby. There’s a great deal I want, Sander.”
He grunted, shrugged. As if that was the end of it.
“You murdered Pieps, you bastard. You knew he was innocent. You must have enjoyed killing my only friend. You were so stupid, so jealous of him. What you didn’t know was that you had all my love, all my faithfulness. Not for one second did I give you a reason to be jealous. You killed him because you wanted to.”