Mendelevski's Box

by Roger Swindells

  She was smiling again, the big smile he remembered from before the war.

  ‘And get that beard off! You’ll find Jaap’s razor under the sink.’

  Friday 21st September 1945

  He woke with a start, bathed in sweat and gripped with fear. The boards of the top bunk were just inches from his face and for an instant he was back in Auschwitz, lying in his narrow space on the boards stacked three high. But there was no one above or below him, no cries of pain, no smell of stale sweat, faeces or death, in their place just the fine dawn light filtering through the curtains, the smell of a fresh pillowcase under his head and the sound of the Westertoren bells.

  Suddenly a fresh terror overwhelmed him, the sound of heavy boots on the stairs coming down from the rooms above. He froze, recalling the day three Dutch policemen and a solitary German soldier had arrived at the family’s hiding place to arrest them, expecting the door to crash in at any moment. The boots passed by and continued down to the ground floor, along the hallway and out of the front door into the street.

  He lay quietly, waiting for his sweating and heart thumping to subside. He could hear Grietje moving in the next room. Irene wanted the toilet, woken no doubt by the noise on the uncarpeted stairs.

  He swung his legs out of the box bed, stretching his limbs and massaging his stiff neck. Grietje’s description of it being a tight fit had been an understatement. His face was raw, Jaap’s razor was blunt and Grietje hadn’t been able to find the strop. He had cut the beard as closely as possible with a pair of kitchen scissors before resorting to the razor. He had no experience of shaving anyway, this had been the first time. Perhaps he should have left the beard and just tidied it up, he was Ashkenazi after all and his father had never shaved.

  He must have fallen asleep almost immediately, safe, warm and fed for the first time in over two years, and had slept so soundly that he had not heard Grietje come into the room and remove his filthy clothes. In their place on the chair lay clean underwear, a shirt, trousers and a thick blue jacket. He dressed quickly, grateful there was no mirror to capture his emaciated nakedness, prominent pelvis, fleshless ribs and pitiful limbs and pleased to have clean clothing.

  Grietje was in the kitchen, making porridge on the gas stove and Irene was eating bread and cheese at the table. She gave him a hard stare, decided it was the same man but without the hairy face he had had the night before, and turned her attention back to her breakfast.

  Turning from the stove, saucepan in hand, Grietje smiled, taking in his new appearance. ‘Good morning, I hope you slept well.’

  ‘The best night since we left Dijkstraat. But who was that on the stairs earlier? It gave me a scare.’

  She laughed. ‘It was old van Beek, Aart, he lives in the top-floor room. If you can manage the stairs it’s the best room in the house for daylight anyway, but it was far too small for us, we were a family then. He’s a tram driver and he is on early shift this week. Did he disturb you in his working boots?’

  ‘I was already awake, but he frightened me for a moment, bad memories of the day they came for us.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, it’s not your fault, after all he can’t be expected to creep down the stairs in his socks, can he?’

  She put a bowl and spoon down on the table across from the girl.

  ‘Sit down, Irene has finished off the cheese and bread so it’s only porridge and it’s watery, more like gruel as I was short of milk.’

  ‘I can’t let you feed me like this, you need everything you have for yourself and Irene.’

  ‘It’s not a problem anymore, starvation is over, thank God, and some food is reasonably plentiful, take a look at the markets. I just need to go shopping after work today, that’s all.’ Not that I can do much with just ten guilders, she thought.

  ‘But you are feeding me and clothing me too. Where are my clothes by the way?’

  ‘Most of them are in the rubbish. Your shirt, vest and pants I’ll take to the laundry woman with our things this afternoon. That jacket and the trousers look well on you.’

  Suddenly she looked worried. ‘They’re Jaap’s of course, I hope you don’t mind a dead man’s clothes.’

  ‘I wore dead men’s clothes for over two years. We fought over them, often before the owner was cold.’

  She looked down, avoiding his eyes, not knowing what to say.

  ‘I’ll move on today, I have some more places to check out in the old streets and I want to find the place where we hid. I know it was in the Jordaan somewhere but it’s just a rabbit warren for someone like me, I don’t know this part of the city at all. I’ll keep in touch and hopefully repay you somehow, you have been too generous already.’

  She fixed her gaze on him and suddenly he was, to her, a boy again. ‘You’ll stay here until you get sorted out and at least have somewhere to sleep, no arguments and anyway, you have to wait here for your washing.’

  ‘I can’t allow you to do all this for me, I’m a young fit man, or soon will be, I hope. You’re a widow, alone and with a child. You work hard I’m sure, but money must be short. If I stay I must contribute something, I need to, for my pride if nothing else. Would it save you some money if I look after Irene for you?’

  Her voice hardened. ‘No. That’s impossible, Maaike relies on me for the few guilders I give her, she’s alone too and just does a little bar work in the evenings, she needs the money even more than I do. If your pride won’t let you stay unless you contribute something, then go and get a job somewhere.’

  ‘But what can I do? I’ve never worked, you know that. I was just sixteen and still studying before the war, father was supporting me and anyway I have no papers just the one they gave me saying I am a Jew who was in Auschwitz, and this of course.’ He pulled back his shirt sleeve to reveal his tattooed forearm.

  ‘Speak to Maaike, there are always jobs in the bars and cafes that don’t ask for papers. She’s originally from Friesland, she arrived here with her father but he was taken for forced labour in Germany so she found herself a job paying enough to keep the room downstairs and for food.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m feeling sorry for myself, pathetic really.’

  He felt her hand on the back of his neck.

  ‘You’ve been through hell. No one can possibly comprehend what it was like. Even when the camps were liberated and reports started to come through we didn’t believe it possible. Now we are all ashamed. We stood and watched as you went past in trams or were marched down the Damrak on the way to the station. We saw, but few of us actually did anything. Most of us just carried on as normal. I want to help you. You have your pride while I have guilt for all my countrymen. We need each other, you and I, we can support each other and hope we can both be repaired.’

  She fell silent for a moment remembering, then noticed the time.

  ‘I’m in a hurry, I need to get ready for work, it’s past Vondelpark and I have to walk so can you please take Irene downstairs for me and introduce yourself to Maaike while you’re there.’

  Suddenly her mood changed and, giving him a mischievous glance, she giggled. ’Oh, and please don’t forget to make it clear you’re only the lodger.’

  They stood in the bare unlit hallway, the girl banging on the door.

  ‘Maaike! Maaike! It’s me, Irene.’

  ‘I’m coming little one.’

  The key turned and the door opened. A pretty, fair haired, young woman with sad blue eyes, virtually still a girl, for she could be no more than eighteen years old, stood between a pair of crutches with just a single leg showing below her skirt.

  ‘Come in, come in. Where is mama today?’

  ‘She’s getting ready for work so I brought her down for you, I’m Simon by the way.’

  She smiled. ‘And I’m Maaike, Grietje told me all about you. Well, not everything of course.’ She appeared flustered. ‘I mean she said she had a guest, a good looking Jewish boy, she said.’

  ‘Why tha
nk you, but not a boy anymore, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Come in please, don’t stand out there in the dark.’

  She moved expertly backwards on the crutches to allow him to pass into the room. Identical to Grietje’s but at street level it suffered even more from a lack of natural light and was lit by a single bare bulb. Irene was already over in the corner near the fireplace with a box of old soft toys and dog-eared books.

  ‘Read me a story, Maaike, read to me please, Maaike.’

  ‘In a minute, darling. Please sit down for a moment, Simon.’

  She dropped down into a large worn armchair by the window. Her skirt lay flat on the chair and showed her left leg had been amputated at the middle of the thigh. What light there was from the window highlighted her shoulder-length hair and innocent face.

  ‘How long have you been back in Amsterdam?’

  ‘Since July. The first repatriation trains left in June for the displaced persons camps but they were for women, children and families. As a single man I had to wait, but there was much work to do as so many were sick and needed care. Also I thought I might find my mother and sister in the hospital, but there was no trace. Then I thought they might have been put on one of the first transports out, so I came here hoping to find them. I’ve been looking for them, other relatives and friends, but I can’t find anyone at all. Anyway, what about you? I was born here but from your accent I think you were not.’

  She smiled. ‘No, you’re right, I’m not an Amsterdammer. I’m from Friesland and the accent is strong, I know. My father worked on the Afsluitdijk and when it was finished he had no work so he moved us to Rotterdam. I was five years old. He worked on many projects in Zeeland, so my mother and I were often alone. We were alone when the Nazis bombed Rotterdam and our house received a direct hit. Mother was killed and I was left with this.’ She touched the end of her stump and her pretty face registered sadness.

  ‘But how come you are in Amsterdam?’

  ‘We had nobody in Rotterdam, we had no house and there was no work, in fact there was virtually no Rotterdam, so my father brought us here when I left hospital in 1941. We took this place as it was cheap and easy for me on the ground floor. Amsterdam staircases are not for people like this.’ She smiled wistfully and once more indicated her one-leggedness. ‘We had been here for a year or so when my father was taken by the Germans to do work somewhere near Dresden, so I am alone.’

  ‘Have you no relatives in Friesland?’

  ‘There are relatives in Leeuwarden but travel to other areas was difficult during the war and anyway I must stay here in case my father ever comes home. I haven’t heard from him since the city was bombed in February, but I pray he is alive somewhere, maybe in hospital.’

  ‘I’m hoping to find family too but I fear the worst. Hopefully your news will be better.’

  ‘I hope so. How rude of me, would you like coffee?’ She went to stand, reaching for her crutches.

  ‘No, thank you. You have Irene to look after and I want to look around the area. Grietje says you are working and that you might be able to give me some ideas.’

  ‘I just work in a bar, its evenings only but it just about pays the bills. It’s the Café van Loon on the corner of Nieuwe Leliestraat and Tweede Leliedwarsstraat.’

  ‘It sounds complicated, why can’t the streets have short names? Singel and Spui I can handle. I’ll call in tonight if I may, that’s if I can find it of course!’ he laughed.

  ‘It’s not far, even I can walk there,’ she smiled. ‘Between Bloemgracht and Egelantiersgracht if you get lost. I don’t know if Jos can help you but he knows all the other bar owners.’

  ‘Will it matter that I’m a Jew?’ The label still hung heavy around his neck.

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’m sure it won’t and anyway I won’t tell him if you don’t.’

  ‘I warn you I’ve never worked in a bar.’

  She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, neither had I.’

  He moved to the door. ‘Don’t get up, I’ll see myself out and thank you.’

  As he left he turned to see Irene, clasping a book, climbing onto Maaike’s single knee and the story had already begun as he emerged into the narrow street.

  He got back, footsore, hungry and deflated, in the late afternoon.

  ‘Simon, is that you?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me.’

  ‘How are you? What did you do today? I’m in the kitchen, come and tell me. Did you talk to Maaike?’

  He walked through the living room.

  Irene was sitting at the kitchen table eating while Grietje was once more at the stove. ‘It’s stamppot, have you ever had it before and are you allowed to eat it? It has sausages, but I don’t have a clue what they are made with,’ she laughed.

  ‘If we had it, which I doubt, I’m sure we didn’t call it that but I’ll eat anything, I’m tired and starving.’

  ‘Sit down and eat then tell me everything.’

  ‘This is tasty, if this is what pork is like what have I been missing?’

  ‘And you a good Jewish boy.’ She laughed again. ‘What has the war done to you? Well, did you talk to Maaike and isn’t she nice? Irene adores her.’

  ‘She’s lovely and yes, we spoke. She’s much younger than I expected, younger than me I guess. You didn’t tell me she had only one leg.’

  ‘Why would I? Does it matter? She’s simply a neighbour who has suffered from the war. What difference does a missing leg make?’

  ‘Nothing, I was just shocked, that’s all, she’s so young and pretty, it seems unfair.’

  ‘Life’s unfair, you above everyone should know that. She’s been alone for over two years since her father was sent to Germany. She was only fifteen or sixteen, a disabled teenage girl in an occupied city. Anyway, what did she say?’

  ‘Well, she said she would ask her boss about a job. I’m meeting her at work later. She told me her father was made to work in Germany, that he’s missing and she doesn’t know if he is still alive.’

  ‘You have a lot in common then.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that exactly, but she’s a nice girl.’

  ‘So what did you do all day?’

  ‘First of all I found out the name of this street, which was just as well as I got lost at least three times. It’s a very complicated neighbourhood, some of the street names go on forever. I thought I ought to know where I am living even if I can’t find it again.’

  She laughed once more. She seemed a totally different woman to the one he had met the day before. ‘If you can’t find your way home just look for the billiard hall on the corner and the big advertisement painted on the wall.’

  ‘You seem happy tonight, Grietje. It’s lovely to see you like this.’

  ‘I had a good day at work, my boss wants me to work more hours. I’ll have to speak to Maaike about that. You might end up helping out with Irene after all. There were lots of bargains at the market this afternoon and you’re staying. Do go on, what else did you do?’

  ‘I didn’t fancy going to my old area, so I explored round here. First I found the bar where Maaike works. Then I set out to walk the area, stupidly I thought I might find the house where we hid but I only saw it from the outside twice, once when we arrived and once when we were taken away. All I remember is that we were upstairs, I think it was above a garage or a warehouse, I’m not sure. I seem to remember large green wooden doors. We weren’t allowed near the windows overlooking the street for obvious reasons. Anyway, all the houses look the same apart from those on the canals and I didn’t find anything remotely resembling it.’

  ’Don’t worry, you’ll soon find your way around. I’ll send you shopping to the Noordermarkt tomorrow, it’s fairly close. You might find a strop for the razor while you’re there.’

  ‘It seems a very poor area, very rundown, lots of the streets have derelict houses with awful wooden steps leading up to them and the people are, well, lower class.’

  She spoke suddenly and fiercely. ‘You should fit in w
ell then, rich Jewish boy, except you’re not anymore, are you? You’re as poor as we are. It’s poor, yes, and the houses are old and in need of much work but Jodenbreestraat was hardly the Royal Palace. What with the war and everything it’s hardly surprising. The people are hard working, unlike some.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean, I …’

  ‘You forget I cleaned for your father for years and visited your home. Just one of the clocks or watches in his workshop was worth more than Jaap and I earned in a year. You should remember that the Jordaan has given you sanctuary on two occasions now, this street may be one of the worst, but it’s home and the people are honest folk.’

  ‘What can I say? I just found it so different, so strange, I’d just never seen housing like this. I wouldn’t insult you or the people of your neighbourhood for anything. I’ll leave, how can I stay after hurting you like that?’

  ‘I’m sorry too, but there’s no need for that, I overreacted, I forgot that you were used to better things and what you have been through in the last three years. I was wrong too. Please can we both forget any harsh words and start again?’

  They sat in silence, both too embarrassed to say more.

  She broke the stillness first. ‘What time are you going to see Maaike? Do you want to wash first? There is a clean shirt for you in your room, another one of Jaap’s. I’ll put Irene to bed and see you later.’

  ‘Thank you Grietje, I don’t deserve you.’

  He left the house just before seven, knowing Maaike would have started work at six.

  It was a beautiful early autumn evening in Amsterdam. The narrow streets of the Jordaan were still fairly busy, especially with cyclists despite the alleged shortage of both bicycles and tyres. More must have been hidden away awaiting liberation than he realised. Small shops, their windows still decorated with faded homemade red, white, blue and primarily orange flags for the celebration five months before, were still open along with bars and cafes and he started to get a feeling of community, something he had missed so much. He was not yet part of it of course, but the possibility that he might belong somewhere again raised his spirits.