Mendelevski's Box

by Roger Swindells

  Café van Loon was right on the corner as Maaike had said, housed on the ground floor of an imposing four-storey building, the first, second and top floors of which had huge windows. The double doors, above which was a rusty Heineken sign, went across the corner of the building and a rough bench sat under the window outside. To the side a set of wooden steps led up to what he presumed was the entrance to the private accommodation above.

  Inside the space was larger than he expected. The bar was to the right with a line of stools at which sat two older, obviously local, men drinking beer. Straight ahead, up five wooden steps, was a raised seating area with a number of bare wooden tables and chairs lit by two more large windows on the side street. To the left was a large cast iron stove, the chimney of which disappeared at an angle out through the wall.

  Three men were engaged in a noisy card game at the table in the furthest corner. Below the raised area a small set of steps led down, he assumed, to the cellar. The ceiling, from which hung an old wooden three bladed fan, and to a lesser extent the walls, were stained dark brown from hundreds of years of smoke.

  Maaike, in a white lace edged blouse, was sitting on a high stool behind the bar, an old two-tap polished brass beer pump in front of her and her crutches propped up close to hand. She greeted him with a smile. ’You made it, I told you it was close and easy to find.’ She jumped down from the stool and gave a little hop to steady herself before putting the crutches under her arms. ‘I told Jos about you, he’s in the back, I’ll just get him.’

  She crutched gracefully across to the steps, climbing them expertly, her single foot first then the crutches. She went over to one of three doors, opened it and called his name.

  A voice boomed out an acknowledgement from somewhere inside.

  She gave him a huge smile. ‘He’ll be down in a moment, I think they are eating.’

  He looked around, noting a collection of old enamel signs advertising Amstel, Brand and a dozen other beers and numerous old faded photographs of jolly pre-war evenings in the Café van Loon. Above his head was the underside of a curving stairway presumably leading from the steps he had seen outside up to the accommodation above. Perhaps Jos and his family did not occupy the whole house—living ‘at the back’ would make more sense.

  The door crashed open and an enormous man in both height and width appeared, sporting a huge grizzly grey beard, moustache and a stained brown apron. He extended a huge hand, while asking, ‘Simon? I’m Jos van Loon, goedenavond.’

  ‘Goedenavond Meneer van Loon.’

  ‘Please call me Jos, everyone else does, except my wife of course, her names for me are often very unflattering.’ He laughed loud and long at his own joke. ‘Do you want a beer?’

  He intended to decline as he had never drunk alcohol in his life and had no money but Jos was already calling out to Maaike, ‘Fluitje for Simon please and jenever for me, I’ll collect them.’

  ‘Now Maaike tells me you are looking for work but that you have neither experience nor papers.’

  He nodded, cautiously sipping at the beer. Why people liked it he didn’t understand.

  ‘You’re a Jew, yes?’

  Simon glanced at Maaike behind the bar.

  ‘No, she didn’t tell me, I guessed. I could tell just looking at you. Half starved, someone else’s clothes and you look haunted. It doesn’t matter to me, you poor sods deserve a chance after what the Nazis put you through. I took part in the strike in 1941 when they started shipping you all to the camps, it nearly brought them down here in Amsterdam but the NSB and police bailed them out. I’ll never forget how the police co-operated. A lot of the NSB went into the SS and fought in Russia. That got rid of plenty of the bastards. The only good thing the Germans did was abolish the bicycle tax but then they stole them when they left. Anyway, you’re looking for your family right?’

  ‘Yes, right on both counts, Meneer, sorry, Jos. We are, sorry were, originally from Lithuania, we are Ashkenazi. My father came here with his new wife, my mother, in 1919, just after the Great War. I think everyone is dead, even my young sister. I need to support myself, everyone and everything we owned have gone.’

  ‘There are lots of bars and cafes round the Jordaan looking for staff, things are hopefully picking up now those Nazi bastards have left. The gas and electricity are back on, the trams are running, there’s some petrol available - if you know where to look that is - there is more food, beer supplies are back to normal, thank goodness no one bombed the brewery, and we are starting to live again. They need staff on the Prinsengracht too but the bars and cafes there are a bit more upmarket than this place. They serve food and fancy drinks so it’s waiters and professional bar staff they need plus they’ll want people who are all legal and registered so you pay tax.’

  ‘I’ve got no experience, in fact I’ve never had a job, I was a student when we went into hiding.’

  ‘No use to the posh bars then eh? Plus you’re hardly dressed for it, are you?’

  ‘I’m sorry, but these clothes are all I have until I get a job.’

  ‘It’s somewhere round here for you then. I could recommend you to a dozen bar owner friends of mine in the Jordaan but why would I pass up a good honest Jewish boy who actually wants to work? What about coming here? I took a chance on the lovely Maaike over there, her father was a regular in here for over a year until the German bastards sent him away and she was like you and needed a job. She’s been great but for obvious reasons she can’t do the cellar work or serve drinks to the tables. Do you think you two could work together?’

  ‘I’m sure we could if someone teaches me.’

  ‘I’ll soon show you the cellar and Maaike will show you the bar, we only do two types of beer on tap, four or five in bottles, jenever and whisky, brandy and vodka if I can get it, although now a lot of the Canadians have gone home and Amsterdam is not their city for leave anymore that will be harder. My wife and I do eleven in the morning to six when Maaike arrives plus I have to do the cellar in the evenings as and when, and frankly I want more time off. I would need you here from four in the afternoon till closing Tuesday to Friday and from eleven on Saturdays. Oh, and Wednesday mornings too, the brewery delivers then. The drayman and I will do most of it until you know what to do. Perhaps you can hold the horse for now.’ He laughed loudly. ‘By the way you’re not one of those who can’t work Friday evenings and in the daylight on Saturdays are you? It’s a busy day with the markets.’

  ‘No no, it’s a long time since I followed any strict stuff like that, you ate anything you could get and there were jobs to do in the camps every day of the week. It felt like the Sabbath when there were no bodies to move.’

  ‘That’s awful, I hope the full story about what those bastards did comes out one day.’ He paused for a moment, deep in thought. ‘Then it’s agreed?’ He extended his huge hand again. ‘I need a rest, in the war I worked on the docks and I ran this place. That’s where I knew Jaap Blok, you’re staying with his wife in Slootstraat, at the same house as Maaike, I’m told. Jaap was a good friend and a brave man.’

  ‘Thank you Jos, I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I know you won’t, same rate per hour as Maaike once you know the job, yes? Now are you drinking that beer or just warming it? Get it down you and I’ll show you the cellar.’

  Simon followed him down the steps, smiling and mouthing ‘thank you’ to Maaike as they passed.

  Jos let Maaike leave early and Simon walked her home. It was dusk and the street lights were coming on. Maaike swung smoothly along on her crutches and he found himself having to walk a little quicker to keep up.

  As they got to the bridge over Egelantiersgracht she stopped and looked along the canal. The lights shimmered on the water and the trees were starting to take on autumnal shades. ‘I love this city, so different to Rotterdam and this neighbourhood with all its problems and deprivation is so welcoming and warm.’

  ‘I’m starting to agree, until yesterday I knew only the Jodenbuurt but the Jo
rdaan is growing on me. I upset Grietje this afternoon by criticising it, but I think I was wrong. I need to find a new home to start my life again and I think this might be it.’

  Saturday 22nd September 1945

  Unlike the night before he didn’t sleep well and was awake long before dawn. Whether it was the excitement of getting a job or the uncomfortable child’s bed he didn’t know. He listened to the silence, another rare commodity in the camp, broken only by the chimes of the Westerkerk. Suddenly he was back in the hiding place, keeping quiet in case anyone below heard them.

  Eventually Aart’s boots on the stairs broke his chain of thought. He had not yet heard Grietje so he decided to get up and made coffee for her. She had been in bed when he got back the previous night. He was slightly disappointed she hadn’t waited up to hear his news but it had been late, Maaike having decided to take the long route back.

  He and Maaike had talked at length on the way home. He was right, she was just 18, three years younger than him, but far more streetwise and he was amazed that she walked home alone every night, even though the bar had closed much earlier during the war. She had been unable to work for short periods in the winter if the pavements had been covered in snow or ice but other than that she had doggedly refused to miss a day, despite often being hassled by German patrols checking she wasn’t a Jew breaking the curfew and, more recently, by on-leave Canadians. He’d thanked her over and over for getting him the job and apologised for the fact that he appeared to be getting more hours than her. She’d told him not to worry, the hours she had suited her, and she was paid a little by Grietje for looking after Irene.

  He couldn’t wait to tell Grietje his news, so he took coffee to her room, knocked and heard a sleepy: ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me, Simon, can I come in? I have lots to tell you.’

  ‘Just a moment, OK, come in. Quietly please, Irene is still asleep.’

  The room was in darkness, but he could make out it was much larger than his and that a large brass bed dominated the centre. Grietje was silhouetted against the window drawing the curtains. As she turned she let her robe fall open revealing her large bare breasts. Below the waist she wore black knickers and thick wool stockings held up with a suspender belt. He looked away, frightened and shocked. He had only ever seen his mother in her underwear and that by accident when he was a young boy.

  She gathered the robe around her. ‘Oh God! I’m sorry! What must you think of me? Please put the coffee there by the bed and go to the kitchen. We’ll be there in a moment.’

  Irene began to stir as he hurried from the room.

  They came into the kitchen a few minutes later. Irene was still in her nightdress, Maaike had told him she did not have to look after her as Grietje did not work on Saturdays. Grietje was in her dressing gown, thankfully now tied tightly at the waist.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, how awfully embarrassing. Now tell me how things went last night.’

  Ten minutes ago he had been bubbling over with excitement and pride to tell her all about the job but now he was confused and embarrassed and found it hard to even remember, let alone tell her about it.

  She encouraged him. ‘Come on, do tell.’

  ‘I met Jos van Loon, he knew Jaap and Maaike’s father by the way, and he gave me a job there, at his bar, working with Maaike.’

  For an instant he thought he saw a frown cross her face. ‘So you’ll be working with Maaike, that’s nice.’

  ‘Mainly I’ll be helping her with the things she can’t do because of her leg. I’ll be working with Meneer van Loon as well in the cellar and with his wife in the bar. It will be a lot of hours though, more than I expected, more than Maaike in fact, so I don’t know if I will be able to help you much with Irene after all.’

  She smiled and patted his hand. ‘That’s fantastic, I am so proud of you, the first steps to getting back on your feet and getting your confidence back. Don’t worry about Irene, I can do the extra cleaning around your work and Maaike’s.’

  ‘I’ll be able to pay you for my rent and keep now too until I can find a place, so that will help.’

  ‘You can stay here as long as you want, you know that, and keep your money until you get some decent clothes and buy yourself a few possessions.’

  ‘Thank you, you’re so kind to me,’ he smiled, ‘but if I am to stay, can we please do something about those bunk beds, I just don’t fit.’

  ‘Of course, I know a friend of Jaap’s who might be able to make a proper bed out of them. But now I need you to go to the market.’

  ‘I have to work today at eleven, Jos says Saturdays are busy because of the markets.’

  ‘It won’t take you that long, it’s not a long list, vegetables, fruit depending on what you can get, some meat or sausage too if possible and eggs, bread and cheese. It all depends on what is available. We may not need the distribution cards anymore apart from for coffee and clothes but some things are still not plentiful. You might have to shop around to get the best price, it’s a farmers’ market so there should be a good choice.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘They were charging twenty-five guilders for a loaf on the black market in January and February,’ she said, shaking her head in disbelief, ‘that’s why it was difficult to feed people in hiding through the war, they had no distribution cards and the black market prices went completely crazy at the end.’

  He looked shocked. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘I got paid yesterday so I bought milk, I think it’s still alright.’ She sniffed the jug. ‘I’ll buy more when he comes around today, but your budget is ten guilders and try not to get change in those awful Nazi zinc coins. The new ones should be available now but the market dealers will be trying to pass off all the zinc stuff. Next week will be interesting, they’re calling in all the old notes and those who got rich on the black market will have to explain where all their money came from.’ She laughed and said, ’Not that it will affect me, or you, for that matter.’

  ‘You do know I have never been shopping in my life?’

  ‘Good day to learn then and if there are any of the second-hand stalls look for a razor strop. If they see your face you might get it free! Out of here, follow Anjeliersstraat right down to Prinsengracht and turn left at the end. While you’re out I’ll iron your shirt, vest and pants. The woman on Marnixstraat who does the washing did me a favour and did it all, and Maaike’s, in a hurry in exchange for an hour’s cleaning.’

  ‘Jos didn’t actually say so but I think he wants me a bit smarter.’

  ‘You’ll be in a clean shirt and underwear at least today and I’ll press your trousers when you get back.’

  ‘I badly need shoes and more clothes, I can’t wear Jaap’s forever.’

  ‘I can’t help with shoes, Jaap had huge feet. You’ll need to go over to your old stamping ground on Waterlooplein when you get your first pay packet. It’s starting to get going again, they’ll have some good second-hand stuff there from the north but you have to be early and fight for it, half of Amsterdam is in rags at the moment.’

  ‘It has to be better than my stuff. When I first got back they were giving out coupons to get clothes at a place on the Nieuwendijk, but they were no better than the rags I was already in and the shoes were even worse. Some of the others went to a shop on Koningsplein but when I got there everything was gone. Jaap’s clothes are the best I have had since we arrived at the camp.’

  ‘Don’t worry, you’ll soon be able to clothe yourself. Now if you want breakfast, go!’

  ‘Shall I take Maaike’s washing down to her on my way out?’

  ’No need for that,’ she snapped, ‘I’ll take them later, besides I think she is probably staying in bed this morning as she doesn’t have to look after Irene.’

  He found the market and managed to get many of the items before running out of money. He suspected he had been either short-changed, he had not handled money for nearly three years, or the stallholders had put up the price realising
his inexperience. One gave him some of the wartime zinc coins he had been told to avoid saying the new American coinage still wasn’t available, but when he tried to spend them again the next stallholder refused to take them.

  He remembered something Grietje had said about getting fruit cheaply, or even free, if it was bruised, when the market was closing so he left the fruit and vegetables hoping perhaps that he could get out from work for a few minutes late in the afternoon.

  He had no luck with the razor strop, but he could have purchased amongst other things dozens of pairs of ice skates, a wide range of allegedly antique crockery, numerous branded beer glasses and a German helmet. That part of markets and second-hand and antique shops had always fascinated him, but he had never even been allowed to visit Waterlooplein alone. His mother had always accompanied him and his sister and taking time to explore and examine things was not permitted.

  Back in Slootstraat Grietje seemed pleased with his purchases but was disappointed he had no vegetables and angry about the handful of zinc he brought back. She was in the kitchen with a flat iron heating on a gas ring on the stove. His clean shirt and underwear lay over the back of a chair, already ironed.

  ‘I’ll go myself this afternoon, after all it’s your first day at work so you can’t really ask for time off to go back to the market and anyway I can either get the price down or flutter my eyelashes and get things for free. Now get those trousers off so I can press them and go and change your underwear and shirt. I’ve put out some socks for you, they will be too big but better than too small and yours are more holes than socks.’

  He changed and waited for his trousers, but when they did not appear he went, rather self-consciously in his shirt and underpants, back to the kitchen.

  He was greeted by Grietje, shouting, ‘Simon! Simon! It’s just been announced on the radio that Eduard Wirths is dead. He killed himself two days ago. He was an SS doctor at Auschwitz they said, is that right? Great news, yes? A monster has gone from the earth, you must be pleased.’ She threw her arms around him excitedly.