The Journey Back (8 page)

Here, we even thought Johan was crazy, never getting into the air-raid shelter with the rest of us,” Pict said, shaking his head. “I was home with the girls, Pict, under the table. I always said if a bomb hits the house I might just as well get killed with them. You should’ve seen Annie-trembled like a leaf.” Johan squeezed my hand. “Eh? How could I have left her?”

“I’m telling you, Annie. That Johan is something.”

“Listen to him talk,” Johan said modestly. “Well”-Piet put his sickle over his other shoulder-“I’ve got to begin cutting the rye, Johan. Koos has most of his down already, and you hate to be the last one. If you ask me, this weather can’t go

Behind us someone was knocking loudly on the window. “Johan, Johan”-I could see Dientje’s head through the curtains-“get off the grass. What’s the matter with you, sitting there in broad daylight? No one else in Ussdo is doing it, I’ll bet. What’ll people think?”

“Ahh-” But Johan got up. “C’mon, Annie. We’d better get go’ rag

I followed them all afternoon, ducking first into the chicken coop where Opoe was. “That one, Annie, with the funny eyes, always takes her own time. I have to keep reminding her what she’s sitting there for. Come, chickie, I haven’t got all afternoon.” Vlekje was curled up in the corner, his paws on a layer of peat litter. “Quiet, Annie.” Opoe put her finger against her lips. “There, she’s doing it.” Opoe sounded relieved.

A minute later she rushed over to the nest. “I’ve got to be quick with this one. She likes to eat the shell. She doesn’t want to wait till it’s empty, and I feed it to her. C’mon, get off now.” The chicken got up, turned around to see what she had done, looked again.

Then, cackling angrily, she left the coop. “Nice egg, Annie. She got it a little dirty, but I’ll wash it. You’re going to have it for supper tonight.” With a damp rag Opoe carefully cleaned the egg. In the kitchen where steam was still rising and dripping again, Dientje and a neighbor were canning beans. They snipped off the ends, broke them in two, threw them into a pot, and took up new ones from the heap in their laps. “You want anything, Annie? An apple maybe?” Dientje asked.

“Shall I get you one from the side of the house? No? A cookie? One with sugar sprin-Ides? She likes those, Leida.”

“Ha-ha, ha-ha,” Leida laughed.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Everything made her laugh, even when Dientie asked, “How many iars d’ you think this will rmke?” She must have seen me looking at her. “I ‘bet Annie wonders what’s the matter with me.” Leida laughed again. “No teeth. I, had ‘em all pulled, Annie.

All of a sudden I had such a toothache.” She showed me where.

“Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t work, it hurt so. I went to the dentist, and I said, “Out with ‘em. I’ve had enough of pain in the mouth.” Now I’m getting some new ones”-she giggled-“in a couple of weeks, for my thirty-fifth birthday. Some dentist in the city, Dientje, who first asked for a hundred guilders and a dozen eggs, but after I sat down in the chair and he had gotten the last ones out, he wanted more. Now I can’t get the new ones from him for less than four dozen, which isn’t very nice of him.” Laughing, she closed another jar. “Ja, ja, Leida.

The war made a lot of people’ bad,” Dientje agreed. One by one, she lowered the jars into the boiling water. Johan was in the stable, sitting next to the only cow that was in there. “I’ve got to keep a dose eye on her, Annie. She’s had a lot of trouble before when she’s calved.”

He stroked her sides: “Ja. Better not be in the middle of the night again, you hear? Not like the other time.” He lifted his cap and scratched his head. “Too bad I can’t tell for sure whether it’s going to be a boy or girl calf, Annie. Some farmers tie a golden ring to a piece of string and let it dangle. If it turns one way, it means a boy calf; the other way, a girl. But I for one”-he scratched the cow’s head, too-“don’t believe in such nonsense. I say she’s been awfully jumpy for a day or two, so it’s going to be a girl. And, Annie, listen to this.

I’m going to give her a special mme. Guess what one.” He laughed mysteriously.

“I can’t, Johan.”

“Want me to tell you? It’s go’ rag to be Annie. This way there’ll be an Annie around here all the time. In the meadow, in the stable, “Annie,”

I’ll yell, and she’ll be right there! What d’you think of that, oh?”

Calves were cute. They had big ears and such long legs.

I liked it, I told him. “I thought you would. Ja, ja, leave it to Joban.

Hey, where are you off to now?” The chicken coop, of course. I didn’t want to miss a thing that was going on.

It was getting to be evening. The sun was going down red, turning the whole sky that color and a little purple, too, all the way down to the trees.

Bunches of flies danced around in clusters, landing sometimes, but mostly not. A rooster crowed. I leaned against the gate, close to where Johan had tied up the four cows to be milked. Their backs were covered with pieces of ‘canvas. From time to time they shook their heads and swept their tails around to chase away the flies. For a second it helped. Milk began to splash and hiss into the pails as Johan and Dientje’s hands moved the teats up and down. “Getting fired, Annie?”

“Just a little, Dientje.” But it was a nice kind of fired, a peaceful kind. From the gate I heard their voices again, hushed. They were talking about tomorrow. “We can’t wait another day with the rye, Johan, or we’ll be the only ones with ours still up.”

“First thing tomorrow, after the calf. Make a batch of pancake sandwiches, something to drink, blanket for Annie to sit on-”

“Not too close to the sickle, Johan.”

“I know, woman, what d’you take me for?”

“And we’ll bring a straw hat, Johan. We don’t want her to get sunburned.”

“Maybe we can find her one of those white aprons, like Ma used to wear.”

I was having such a good time already, just listen Lag Tomorrow, the day after, the one after that, and then-No, I didn’t want to think about that day now. I scratched my arms. There were an awful lot of flies around; that, I didn’t like. Johan had finished with his cow. He emptied the pail into the jug. Steaming, the milk rushed through the strainer, leaving foam that fizzed around, then slowly dissolved. The sky was becoming a little darker, less red. “Soon we’d all be sitting in the kitchen with the door open, to let in the last of the light. Opoe was already there, cutting bread for supper. She’d hold the loaf against her bosom and carve. Just before the knife touched the apron, she’d stop and break the slice off. A minute later she’d add a piece of wood to the stove, so the water would boil for tea-and my egg. She’d take four knives from the drawer, wipe the oilcloth on the table, get out the cups … Noiselessly I left the gate. I had to go inside and see for myself.

The four days were over. They had gone so fast I felt as if I had just come. Johan’s rye was still not all gathered into sheaves. I could have gone to the fields again with him and Dientje, woven another basket, picked more cornflowers, selected more straws for binding the rye.

Slowly I pedaled away.

Far behind me, from the stable, came mooir sounds. The cow had calved-a girl. “Did just told her,” Johan had said. And we had hug he Closer, I could hear voices, three of them, calling goodbye, telling me to be careful, to say hello Sini, Rachel, Father, and to come back. Then could no longer hear them. But when I turin around to look, they were still there. The fields again, practically bare now. A fe birds were flying over the stubble, looking fi spilled grain. When they saw a kernel, the swooped down, pecked at it. Flapping winl against the gray sky, the only sounds. Last field. the turn. Funny, I had not said anything to them about Father, that he was always out. Not on bus inc either, Rachel said, not at night, not when it w: pitch-dark. “How could he see?”

Besides, h wouldn’t take a bath every day, she said, not cows.

Where did he go then? 9.

“I think I’m all set.” Sini picked up her bag an looked around the room to make sure she had nothing behind. She turned to Father and Rachel

I’ll be fine,” she assured them again. “Don’t worry.” Quickly she ran down the stairs. I followed her. A second later we closed the back door behind us.

Already we were halfway to the railroad crossing, but the gate was down.

Good. A freight train was coming. Noisily the two cars sped by. We crossed the tracks. Did Sini notice how fancy the Misterstraat looked compared to when we first came home? Pieces of glass taken from picture frames had been installed in the boards across this store windows, some so large that several people could see in at once. And read the signs that said what you could buy now and what would b coming soon. Or, as in the shoe store see a real shoe. But, no, Sini was in too much of a hurry to get to that city she was going to, to become a nurse-Ensehede, where so much was happening that she wouldn’t know what to choose from first.

Listen to her carry on. The minute I got out of bed this morning, she began again, just as she had yesterdar and the day before.

“Three movie houses, not only Fred week as you have here. Concerts, restaurants., duse to Johan and Dientje.. lots of places to to dance …

I’m so excited.”

We passed the marketplace, and on the left, caf& The sign

“Nightly Dances” was gone, pulled down by the proprietor the day the Canadian soldiers left. “Thank God,” people had said, “at last we can get a good night’s sleep again. All that noise …” How could they have thought that? It had been music, pleasant music.

They should have stayed, those soldiers. Then maybe Sini would have, too. “Come on, Annie.”

Yes, yes, I was trying to walk fast.

“Let’s wait here.”

We had reached the edge of town. And it had taken us hardly any time.

Sini pulled a mirror from her bag. She looked closely at her face, dabbing at the lipstick a soldier had given her. Rachel had been upset by the lipstick. It was sinful, she said; if God had wanted S’mi to have such red lips, He would have made them that way. But to me it looked beautiful. The first car that comes along will surely stop for her, I thought.

“Well, do you think I look all right for the big city, Annie?”

“Yes.”

With her arm around my shoulder we waited, not talking. A motorcycle went by with two Pcs

sengers squeezed into the back seat. No cars. Once or twice Sini went to the middle of the road, just to look. If none came by dark, we’d have to turn around whether she wanted to or not. Go home. unpack … Numbly I heard truck sounds and saw Sini signal. I stared at the ground. A mail truck was slowing down. “Goodbye, Annie.” Sini’s voice was hoarse. “I can’t stay with you forever. I have to get out of this town. It’s dead for me. Rachel cares a lot about you, Annie.

You’ll be fine, better even.” Of course. Of course. Stubbly grass we were standing on; I could almost feel k through my shoes. She kissed me.

Then walked to the truck. The people in the back pulled her up.

“You’ll love it here,” they said to her, laughing. “Nice canvas armchairs, compliments of the government.” With a plop, she hnded on a mailbag. “Okay?” The driver stuck his head out the window. “Then let’s go.” More laughter as everyone bounced around. My eyes followed the truck. She’d wave, wouldn’t she? Not forget I was still here? half stood up, crawled to the tailgate; a hand back and forth, Sini’s. Mine did, too. Suddenly a streedamp went on. “Got it work,” a repairman said, grinning. The very first one. Could Sini see it? Well, what difference would it make if she did? None. She would still have said there were more lights in Enschede. I wiped my eyes.

It’s just that we had been close for so long.

On the island of Walcheren thousands of men were working very hard, yet not one hole in the dikes had been closed. Anxiously they counted the number of days till November, when the winter storms could rip apart whatever had been repaired. “Less than eighty days,” they said worriedly, and picked up even bigger loads of rocks and sand and clay, ignoring the rain that had been coming down on them for days now.

“Didn’t I tell you the weather we were having was abnormal?” people all over Holland said as they hurried through the streets in waterlogged shoes-or carried them tucked under their arms since no shoe coupons had been issued yet. When they reached the stores, they always found the same long lines of people, no matter how early they arrived. Wet, too, and irritable about many things -the weather, housing, food.

“I still come home with the same cabbage and beans. My husband said one more meal like that, and he’s moving out.”

“Where to?” a woman with an umbrella answered. “The government isn’t building any housing yet. They don’t even do repairs. Our roof is still leaking. We had to move the beds to the kitchen!”

“This is what I want to know. Why do sick people get extra food coupons, whereas healthy people are the ones with appetites?” The man hitched up his pants before he stated his next complaint. “And those refugees. The minister got us to take one in.

It’ll be ten months tomorrow. Where’s the end? The only good thing that’s happened lately is that the newspaper is back, even if it’s only two pages long. At least I can sit down with the news again and go over it as often as I want to.” Holding my purchases under my sweater, I crossed the street. What was so good about newspapers? Nothing. They had ads from all over-hospital ones. “We need you,” they said in big letters. “Thousands and thousands of sick people are waiting. We can’t accept them unless you become a nurse.” I kicked a stone hard. Good, it splashed right into a puddle. At the tree in the marketplace, the people who came to read the notices were irritable, too. “Why hasn’t the man fro TM Town Hall come anyway?” they complained. “Today’s his day. Just because of the rain! We are here.” But their voices sounded a little relieved. He came a few days later, carrying the new list. It was a longer one this time. Stiffly people approached the tree, looking for the same names they had been hoping to find all these months: Emma Cohen, Meier Philips, Herman Schaap, Mozes Spier, Jakob Vos-all the relatives and friends they had known, who had ended up in those camps with odd-sounding names. Auschwitz, Dachau, Bergen-Belsen, others. Again they did not find them. When they got to the end of the list, they saw what was printed on the last line. “COMPLETE,” it read.