Hunger Journeys (20 page)

Sofie didn’t answer her. She was far away, no doubt constructing a future for herself as a German housewife. What a fate that would be, Lena thought, and she felt no longing in that moment for a similar fate for herself.

The sunlight that came to them was thin and cold. Perhaps there would be food in Almelo, but winter and the German army held it in as firm a grip as the rest of the Netherlands. The soldiers who had kept them safe for the last two days would be filling their train with food for their own people that day. She and Sofie had better stay out of sight, Lena thought. Imagine a German soldier from the train greeting them in the town centre!

The distance between the farmhouses decreased, and the road passed over a broad canal. A farmer walked his fields in the far distance. Lena could not tell if he saw them or not.

On they walked.

They passed a cemetery on their right, and then, all of a sudden, they were in town. Lena marvelled at the long, straight row of mansions and the beautiful, broad tree-lined street. She could see the signs of five years of war, but they were nothing like in Amsterdam. The houses and gardens looked a little worn, the snowy street a little torn up, but that was all. And some of these houses, she suspected, had been commandeered by Germans. They always took the best ones.

Sofie stopped and gazed around in wonder. “The people in Almelo are very rich,” she said.

Lena laughed. “You mean the people on this street are rich,” she said. “I’m sure that Almelo has poor people, like everywhere else.” She reached for Sofie’s arm and quickened her pace. It would not do to be caught in the street by the enemy with curfew barely over and them obviously from elsewhere.

“What is the name of the family that you know?” Lena asked quietly.

“Wijman,” Sofie said shortly. She paused. “I think.”

Lena’s stomach lurched. No. She would not respond to those last two words. They would find the Wijman family and ask for shelter and food in exchange for work.

Both girls stopped abruptly then, frozen in place by the sight of a man opening his front gate right beside them. He wore a heavy winter coat, leather gloves and a grey cap; he looked well-to-do, a match for the imposing house behind him, though when Lena looked closer, she could see that his coat was worn and his gloves had been mended.

“Hello,” he said, his voice friendly. “I saw you coming from the upstairs window. Where did you spring from?”

Lena had no idea why she told him the truth. Or part of it.
“Amsterdam,” she said. “We came from Amsterdam.”

He looked from one to the other and back. “How have you done that?” he asked. “Two young girls?”

“We walked some of the way and we begged rides,” Lena said. Then quickly, before he could ask more questions, she added, “Do you know the Wijman family?”

“Wijman … Wijman. Why, yes, I think so. At least I know of one Wijman family. A butcher shop right in the centre of town bears that name. Or did, before the war. Just keep on going, my dear, and keep on asking, and you will find it.” He paused, looking at them thoughtfully. “But have you been walking all night? Why don’t you come in for a bite and something hot to drink. It must have been a while since you had a proper meal.”

Gratitude swept over Lena, almost overwhelming her, and with it came hunger. They had had hardly a bite that morning, and she had not liked to guess when they might eat again. Sofie grabbed Lena’s hand and squeezed hard.

And Sofie had the presence of mind to answer him. “Oh, thank you, Meneer. We are hungry. You are so kind!” She babbled their thanks as he led them up a long path through the front garden and to the left of the house to the back door.

Lena followed in silence, almost as grateful for Sofie’s chatter as she was for the prospect of breakfast.

“We live in just a few rooms now,” the man said over his shoulder as he opened the door.

They entered through a mudroom, where all three removed their shoes and coats and hats, and walked on into the kitchen, which was steamy with heat from the stove and steam from the bread that must have just come from the oven. Lena inhaled the scent and wondered if she might swoon from pleasure.

“Janneke,” the man called. “I’ve got guests.” A tall woman in a much-mended apron came through from another part of the house. A few words from her husband, and she hustled Lena and Sofie onto two chairs at the large table and reached for the bread knife.

“This is my wife, Mevrouw Klaassen. She will take care of you,” the man, who must have been Meneer Klaassen, said to them, and he left the kitchen through another door.

Moments later, Lena and Sofie were sinking their teeth into bread spread with real butter, mugs of milk to hand. The bread was coarse and the milk thin, but to eat fresh bread and drink milk at all was untold luxury.

“We’ve found paradise,” Sofie said through a mouthful. “How can there be such plenty here?”

Mevrouw Klaassen’s face tightened. “We do not have plenty like we did before, but we are not starving. Even with the Germans commandeering all the livestock, including the milk from the cows, we manage to collect enough for ourselves. But what we used to send west is now taken east, so the cities see none of it. We scrape by. They starve.” All the warmth and generosity in her expression was gone.

Lena had stuffed half the bread down her throat before she remembered the need to eat slowly. “Sofie, slow down,” she said quickly. “We’ll be sick. Our bodies aren’t used to this.” She chewed what was in her mouth and took a small sip of milk.

Mevrouw Klaassen left the room for a few minutes, and they heard her talking in the hall but could not make out the words. When she came back, she sat down at the table with them. “You came from Amsterdam, you say?”

“Yes,” Sofie said.

“And you know a family here?”

“Yes,” again.

“Well, I expect that the Wijmans will help you, but even though things are better here than in your part of the country, we are all of us struggling, and they perhaps a little more than my husband and me. They may not be able to support two of you.”

She paused and looked at them.

“Our sons are gone,” she said, “both of them. The elder worked for the railway. When the call came for the strike, he went into hiding. We have heard nothing of him since. The younger was taken right in the street—rounded up like sheep with other young men. They took him away to Germany, more than a year ago now. We have had one note. One.”

Lena saw the anger once again. Here was a woman who knew exactly who her enemy was. Here was a woman in pain. Lena didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth to say something, anything at all, but Mevrouw Klaassen spoke first. “We would be happy to take in one of you. You seem like good girls. And you look strong and willing. We could use some help with the boys gone.”

These were not the people they had been seeking, but what the woman said seemed right. Who could take in two extra mouths in these cold months of war? The Wijmans could take Sofie. After all, they knew her. And Lena would stay here. She felt a warmth around her heart to go with the warmth in her belly. Angry or not, here were people who really wanted her. She smiled and looked up just as Sofie spoke.

“I’ll stay with you,” she said brightly.

Lena stared. “But, Sofie, what about the Wijmans?”

“Oh, it doesn’t make any difference which of us stays with them. It’s not like they’re going to really remember me.”

“What do you mean they won’t remember you?” Lena said, keeping her eyes averted from their host. “Then why would they take in either of us?” She could hear the anger in her voice, but she didn’t care.

Mevrouw Klaassen put a hand on Lena’s wrist.

Sofie looked at Lena for a moment, her eyes wide and round. Lena itched to slap that pretend innocence off her face. She clenched her fist, and then felt her fingers loosen. There was something behind those round eyes. Fear. That was what it was. Sofie was afraid to stay at the Wijmans’. Alone. She was afraid to stay there alone. When there were two of them, it had been just fine. Thoughts tumbled in Lena’s head, but she felt her anger lessen just a bit. Even though now
she
had to stay there alone. And Sofie didn’t seem to give a moment’s thought to that.

“I only mean,” Sofie continued, “that they’ll be just as happy to have you as me. Don’t you think?” On the last words, she turned her gaze on their hostess.

“Well, we’ll just have to see, won’t we?” Mevrouw Klaassen said. “My husband will take you, Lena. And, Sofie, why don’t you go along just for the introductions? As I said, we are willing to take in one.”

Lena pinched her tongue between her teeth. She wished that she knew what Sofie was afraid of. And that Sofie had voiced those fears
before
they travelled all the way across the country. Lena bit down hard.

“Meneer,” Mevrouw Klaassen called then, “we have news!”

And he was there again, grinning. When he heard which girl was to stay, he reached out, grasped Sofie’s hand and shook it vigorously. Lena’s chest tightened as she watched Sofie enter the fold.

“Come,” he said. They bundled up again, though Lena hated putting her warm feet back in those cold, wet shoes. He hefted her bag, leaving Sofie’s where it was.

Outside, Meneer Klaassen set a brisk pace, striding over the packed snow on the sidewalk. Lena and Sofie had to scurry to keep up. They passed a few people in the street, and he nodded briskly at each but made no move to stop. All returned his greeting respectfully and stared at the two young girls who followed him. Lena watched Sofie preen a little under their gaze.

Annoyance flooded her, and she jabbed Sofie with an elbow. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “You think everyone’s an admirer. We are strangers. We’re in tatters. Of course they stare.”

Sofie’s small smile froze on her face. She turned a sharp gaze on Lena and fixed her eyes on the ground, preening done.

The broad street and the beautiful trees and houses went on and on.

Some minutes later, Lena looked ahead and came to a stop. Her fingers slid insistently around Sofie’s forearm. She pulled her sometime friend close and spoke right into her ear. “The train station. We are going to walk right past the train station. And look, there’s the train. It’s arrived already!”

They both looked then, almost tripping over their feet and falling rapidly behind their guide. The station was on their left, not fifty paces from where they stood. The track crossed right in front of them. And in plain view, not far away at all, was the train. It had to be their train, not another one. Lena could hear the shouts of men on the other side of the engine, the station side. The repairs to the track must have gone more quickly than expected. Or perhaps they had really taken as long as that.

Meneer Klaassen stopped and turned right in the middle of the track. He put down Lena’s bag and stood, staring back at them, as they stared at the train.

“Girls, what are you doing?” he called back to them.

Lena smiled broadly and raised her hand in a sort of wave. “Nothing!” she called. “We’re coming.” She jerked Sofie’s elbow, and they were on their way.

Meneer Klaassen looked at them oddly when they came up to him, and it was he who followed them as they almost ran across the tracks, heads turned slightly away, determinedly not looking in the direction of all those men.

Moments later, the station buildings shielded them. Lena took a deep breath. “I guess that’s one of the trains that take all the food,” she said. She did not have to pretend the edge to her voice. She had only to think of her mother’s bony body, her sister’s dangerous hunger journeys. It seemed odd, almost impossible, that only several hours before, she and Sofie had been asleep on that very train.

“Yes,” Meneer Klaassen said, his suspicions apparently at rest. “But don’t you girls worry. You’ll neither one starve here in Almelo. None’s starved yet.” And he smiled reassuringly.

Lena pinched Sofie’s arm hard, and Sofie twitched herself out of her reverie. “We so appreciate your generosity, Meneer Klaassen,” she said, but her voice was flat, and her eyes left the ground for only a moment. She had Uli in that head of hers, Lena knew. How much it must have cost her to look the other way as they crossed those tracks!

Their guide paused again and looked at Sofie thoughtfully. Lena watched him, worried, but he turned away and started walking again without saying a word.

Freestanding houses had given way to row-housing on the
east side of the tracks, but the street still had a nobility about it. In the distance, Lena saw, it opened out into what could only be the market square.

Soon they walked right out into that long, open space. On their left, almost behind them, Lena saw a large cluster of masts. A canal must end there, she thought, getting goods to market. Across from them, the long east side of the square was lined with buildings—a bit battered, yes, but not dominated by German signs and barbed wire like so many were in Amsterdam. Evidence of war was here too, though. She saw a tank off to her right, and three German soldiers stood talking some distance away.

Still, Lena had not set foot in a small town since she was a young girl before the war. Family holidays flooded her senses. Almelo was just about as far from the seaside as you could get and still be in the Netherlands, but she almost felt that if she sniffed, she would smell salt and fish. If she listened, she would hear gulls. If she looked, the signs of winter and war would fall away and she would have her bathing costume on under her clothes.

But no, she was in a small town almost on the border of Germany in the middle of a terrible war. Still, it was nice to be away from the starvation and misery of Amsterdam, and the more private misery of her own family.

The girls followed Meneer Klaassen straight ahead, into a narrower open space that led out of the square. That quickly came to an end, and they turned left onto what was obviously Almelo’s main business street. “Grotestraat,” Meneer Klaassen said over his shoulder.

Moments later, he veered to his right and stepped up to the door to what appeared to be a small shop, although it bore no sign. Its display windows were empty, like most of the others, and its plain white curtains were drawn.