‘Of course. But he’s escaped justice and thousands are still dead. If anything, it brings it all back.’
‘I’m sorry, I thought you would be pleased a beast like him was dead.’
‘I am, and I expect more of them will kill themselves before too long. The big trials start in November. Now can I have my trousers, please?’
‘So long as those bastards Seyss-Inquart and Mussert get their just desserts, I want them to hang.’
Jaap’s trousers were still worn, thin and too big around his waist but now they had immaculate creases. With them, his clean shirt and an apron from Jos he might actually look the part.
Grietje made him a late breakfast, bread with a slice of old cheese and a fried egg. She called it uitsmijter, another dish never seen in the Mendelevski household. She and Irene also had a slice of the ham he had bought at the market, but he declined. After all it was the Sabbath and he thought he ought not to break two rules on the same day.
After they’d eaten she took some towels and set off with Irene, via Westerpark, to visit friends in the Spaarndammerbuurt who had a bathroom. He was tempted to go down to see Maaike but he resisted, knowing he would see her at six. Instead he set off early for the bar, anxious to appear keen on his first day.
The streets were by now very busy indeed, more so than the previous evening and much busier than when he had made his way to the market earlier. Crowds of women, laden with shopping, relieved no doubt to be able to obtain food again, made their way home. Bicycles were again in evidence, but not as many as in pre-war Amsterdam; most were still on wooden tyres or their metal rims. A few cars, their drivers fortunate to have found petrol, drove slowly along Egelantiersgracht. The whole area was bustling and the chairs outside those cafes and bars which were still in business were occupied by Jordaan residents enjoying the late summer sun and, more importantly, their freedom and a return to comparative normality.
He arrived at Café van Loon just after ten. Jos had been right, the place was crowded, and a number of men sat on the bench outside smoking, drinking beer and exchanging stories. He approached the bar, all the stools were taken so he stood hopefully behind the row of drinkers trying to catch the eye of a tiny middle-aged woman with dyed red hair, narrow lips and an angry expression who he assumed to be Jos’s wife.
Finally she noticed him. ’What can I get you?’
‘I’m Simon, I’m here to start work, Jos is expecting me. I’m rather early.’
‘Ah, so you’re the Jewboy.’ She looked him up and down. ‘You’ll have to do I suppose, he didn’t ask me about employing you. I’m Mevrouw van Loon by the way. He’s in the cellar, drinking I suspect and staying out of the way so he doesn’t have to work, the lazy bastard. Go down, he’ll be hidden away somewhere, tell him to give you an apron. It might cover up that awful shirt and trousers a little bit.’
He wanted the ground to swallow him up as the drinkers turned to look at him. How different she was to her husband.
’Thank you mevrouw,’ he smiled weakly and turned away.
She shouted after him, ‘And bring up three crates of Amstel, two Brand and two bottles of jenever, one of them bessen.’
Jos van Loon was in the far corner of the cellar, behind a pile of old broken bar furniture and surrounded by a haze of smoke. He had a jenever bottle by his side, a glass in his hand, and was smoking a large foul-smelling cigar. Behind him in his hideaway were six cases of Canadian Club whisky and a stack of American cigarettes.
‘Simon! My God, you’re early boy.’
‘Your wife sent me down, you have to give me an apron and I have to take beer and jenever upstairs.’
‘Ignore the miserable bitch, you’re early, sit down and have a drink.’
‘No, please, I want to get off on the right foot, I’m here to work.’ He was afraid the obviously drunken landlord was going to insist and put him in a difficult position, but he needn’t have worried.
‘You’re right, get on the wrong side of her and your life will be hell, believe me, I know. There’s a fairly clean apron over there, you know where the beer is and the jenever is in that cupboard.’
He struggled up the steps from the cellar to the bar with the two crates of Brand beer, still not as strong as a man of his age should be. He realised he had tried to carry too many of the heavy wooden crates at once. He put them down rather heavily behind the bar.
‘One crate under there as it is and then refill that shelf with the others and if you can’t manage, just carry one crate at a time. We can’t afford breakages, you’ll end up paying out of your wages. Take the empty one back down with you and get those jenevers up here quickly, Jewboy.’
‘Empty crates over there, Simon,’ van Loon indicated a corner near the trapdoor and poured himself another drink, ‘I’ll be pleased when Maaike gets here, then the old cow will go upstairs, out of the way.’
I’ll be pleased when she gets here too, he thought, returning to the bar with the two bottles of gin.
‘I said one bessen idiot, don’t you know what bessen looks like? It’s the coloured one, its blackcurrant-flavoured. Whatever made him employ you I don’t know. Bloody Jew!’
Everyone in the bar was staring, or at least he felt as though they were. There were certainly a number of drinkers looking but most were casting sympathetic glances at him, they obviously knew Mevrouw van Loon of old.
He brought up and refilled the shelves with the Amstel without any problem and managed to get through to five thirty without further incident. Van Loon’s wife had asked him to serve some customers but just as he was about to point out that he didn’t know how, her husband emerged from the cellar red-faced with the butt of his cigar clamped between his teeth. ‘I’ll do that, Maaike is going to teach him the bar work when she gets here. Can you collect the empties, please Simon?’
Jos, despite his obvious excessive jenever consumption, started to serve customers, often three at a time, noting what they had on the already open tabs clipped on a board behind the bar, while holding a conversation with someone sitting upstairs and refreshing drinks without apparently even being asked. ‘Take this up to Wim, he’s the ugly one at the back near the gents, then see if anyone outside needs a drink. We don’t do pavement service so normally, if they are too idle to come in, they get bugger all, but as you’re here and an extra pair of hands you can go and see. If anyone wants to leave tell them they’ll have to come in to pay.’
He was standing outside taking a breath of fresh air when he spotted Maaike coming towards him. He waved, and she paused for a moment to let go of a crutch to wave back.
‘Hello Simon, you’re here and working hard already.’
‘You’re early too.’
‘I wanted to see you, I mean to see how you were getting on. I saw you going out this morning, you were very early.’
‘And I wanted to see you too, I’m glad you’re here. Jos is drunk but managing very well and his wife has disappeared upstairs, thank goodness.’
‘Oh, you’ve met our very own Führer have you?’ she joked. ‘She’s a nasty piece of work, I’d like to say her bark is worse than her bite, but it probably isn’t.’
‘You likening her to Hitler isn’t far off, I get the distinct impression that she doesn’t like Jews.’
‘Don’t worry, she doesn’t like anybody, how she hasn’t driven all the customers away I don’t know. I don’t think she likes me that much. Jos is like a father and I was hoping to get close to her too, but I know she makes remarks about my leg and calls me a cripple.’
They went inside. Maaike was greeted by a number of the customers and Jos, who announced, ‘And here is the little lady all you lot come in to see, isn’t she beautiful?’
With that he took her jacket, stumbled up the steps, hung the jacket on a peg and disappeared through the door marked ‘Private’.
‘It’s just the two of us then. Are we going to be able to manage? It’s very busy.’
‘Easily, it will die down after abo
ut seven or eight and I will be able to show you how to serve the beer, teach you the prices and introduce you to the more determined regular drinkers. Until then can you do empties and take trays up the steps for me.’
‘I’ve already stocked the bar and I saw Jos changing the barrels, which is a good thing as I’ve already forgotten his short lesson last night.’
‘If you collect the dirty glasses I’ll show you how to wash them. It’s not just a simple sink, the water is always running and there are brushes in the water to wash the glasses and a tap to rinse the suds out, then you put them upside down on the brass drainer there. Watch me, it’s easy.’ She slid down from the high stool and hopped towards him. Holding on to the bar with one hand, she expertly washed a full tray of glasses in an instant with the other. She hopped back to the stool and smiled at him. ‘OK, so now you try.’
The evening passed quickly. He enjoyed her company and he thought they worked well together. As promised she showed him how to pour draught and bottled beers, the different glasses and how to measure spirits, and talked him through the price list.
She introduced him to, and he actually served, a couple of the hardened regulars but when it came to adding up how much customers owed he was useless compared to her mental arithmetic.
Jos came down after a noisy argument with his wife, audible to everyone, bringing them a supper of bitterballen and cheese. ‘Here, have these you two, see how I spoil you kids. I have to look after the staff, don’t I?’
He settled himself at the end of the bar, drinking small glasses of beer and chatting to a couple of the regulars. They were still there at ten, but all the other customers had paid and left, all the glasses were washed, and between them they had wiped the tables and tidied the bar area.
‘Off you go Maaike, I’m not staying open much longer, and take this lad with you, he looks absolutely tired out.’ Jos turned to Simon. ’Well done, a good start.’
He fetched her coat and held it for her.
She balanced on her one leg with tiny hopping movements while she put her arms in the jacket. She took her crutches and moved confidently to the door. She called back over her shoulder, ‘Good night Jos, thank you, see you Tuesday.’
They walked back together via Egelantiersgracht and Lijnbaansgracht. She said how much she loved to walk the canals at night. As they approached the door she tripped and stumbled, almost falling. He caught her and held her for a few moments until she steadied herself.
‘Oh Simon, thank you. I feel so stupid doing that in front of you. What must you think? Honestly, I haven’t done that for ages. I’ve been like this for a long time now, I used to fall a lot in the beginning but I’m usually pretty safe on my crutches now. It’s not surprising nobody wants a girl with one leg if she keeps falling over.’
‘Don’t be silly, it’s very dark, the lamp is out and the streets are full of potholes, the whole city seems to be falling apart since the war.’
She smiled. ‘Thank you, you are a kind man. Good night.’
Monday 24th September 1945
‘Simon! Breakfast, come on, some of us have to work even if you don’t.’ She had laid out his food: bread, jam, a little butter and coffee. Now she was struggling to get an uncooperative Irene ready and down to Maaike. She started work earlier on Mondays and finished later as it was Maaike’s day off.
The two women had spent part of Sunday together. Grietje had invited Maaike up for lunch then they had taken Irene to Westerpark. Simon had been out all day over in the Jodenbuurt, still looking, still hoping. She wasn’t sure for what anymore, but she feared he was doomed to fail again.
He wasn’t back when she went to bed, which was early, as she had a particularly busy day ahead.
‘Simon, come on, please, stir yourself, I have to go soon.’
‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’ He appeared at the kitchen door, even more dishevelled than usual.
‘What the hell happened to you? You look terrible. What time did you get in last night?’
‘About two.’
She looked shocked. ’What on earth were you doing until then?’
He looked ashamed. ‘Drinking, you see I met someone.’
‘Drinking?’ She looked angry now. ‘You don’t drink and what do you mean you ‘met someone’, not a woman I hope?’
‘No, no, I met someone I knew and who remembered me. Not a relative or even a friend really. It was old Bart van Dieten, you remember him, he had the workshop above father’s, making jewellery.’
‘Oh yes, I remember him, he used to try to touch my backside when I was cleaning the landing.’
‘Yes, well,’ he ignored her and carried on excitedly with his story, ‘it was fantastic just to find someone. He’s not a Jew, of course, so he only comes into our old neighbourhood to work, he lives somewhere out in the west, but he knew me straight away.’
‘How did you end up drinking half the night?’
‘I went to the Red Cross, they’re accessing the registration cards from the City Registry to help in tracing people so I hoped they might know more about my mother and sister, but they were closed. There are fewer trains coming back now so there are less and less of us registering and looking for help. They are still putting up new lists all the time of those who have survived and returned and those who will not. I checked them as I haven’t been over there for a few days but there’s still no news. I went to the free kitchen, it’s still there and I thought I might be able to get a meal but it was closed as it was Sunday so…’
‘Simon, I have to work, get on with it, please.’
‘I went for a walk around the old area, hoping against hope to see someone, anyone, and I went up to father’s old business again and that’s when I saw Bart. He was on his way to his place, recognised me, and let me in. I told you it was all boarded up, but I forgot the little side door down the alley.’
‘And?’
‘Father’s workshop is still there, it’s not been stripped or damaged in any way, I presume because Bart and the other man were still working there. It was locked but I looked through the glass panel and could see his bench, the desk, cupboards and one of the lamps. There was nothing else. Father obviously cleared out all the stock and tools and stuff when he closed down.’
‘I remember that, he had to pay me off.’ She sounded hurt and angry. ‘I helped him to pack and move things to Dijkstraat, it was the last time I worked for your family. As a matter of fact, it was the last time I saw you.’
‘I spent the rest of the day with Bart, he bought me a late lunch. He’s trying to build his business back up so he’s working seven days a week at the moment, and we went to a bar on the Spuistraat, then on a tram out to his home and then out again to a bar in his neighbourhood. We stayed there talking about my father, what had happened to us, what it was like for him here while I was away, how the area was destroyed last winter, everything in fact. Before I realised it was midnight and I had to find my way back here. I’m not used to drinking, in fact I don’t like it, I feel terrible today. I didn’t know the way, so it took me a long time.’
‘That will teach you. You are lucky you didn’t fall into a canal.’
‘It was worth it though, just finding someone. We’re going to keep in touch whenever I am there checking the lists. He’s going to ask around for me if he sees anyone he thinks might know me. He said he’d heard a rumour that the City Council is thinking of charging returning Jews the rent and taxes which have been unpaid on their properties while we have been away. Surely not, that can’t be right, can it?’
‘I wouldn’t worry about it, you said some locals were living in your family’s house so unless you try to take it back or want to re-occupy the workshop, I’d just keep a low profile. No one knows where you are or even that you’re here. Look, I’m late, now I have to go, we’ll talk tonight, but I’m pleased for you.’
She took Irene down to Maaike on her way out while he ate his breakfast and washed. He really needed more sleep, but the bed wa
s so uncomfortable he opted to go for a walk instead in the hope of clearing his pounding head. He passed Maaike’s door, wanting to see her and tell her his news, but decided against it.
It was a hot day and he wandered aimlessly for what seemed like hours, half hoping to find the hiding place, but it was useless, it could just as easily have been down past Elandsgracht as up near Westerstraat and he was afraid he would not recognise it even if he saw it.
It was about three when he got back to Slootstraat. He knew Grietje was working a little later than usual and that Maaike would be in looking after Irene so he decided to call on her.
‘Simon! I was hoping you would drop in on me, the day seems so long when I am inside all the time. I was going to come up to see you but you know, the staircase is steep and I have little Irene.’
‘And I wanted to see you too, but I felt quite ill this morning.’
He recounted the story of his Sunday while she made coffee in the kitchen. Irene sat on his knee with a stuffed dog, which she insisted he stroked every few minutes.
‘Bring your coffee through here, we can sit more comfortably.’
He followed her into the sitting room. She was wearing a sleeveless summer dress and as she came into the room she was silhouetted against the window and he could see her stump clearly through the thin skirt.
‘Here, sit next to me.’ She patted the settee. ‘Irene seems to have claimed the chair. Great news that you found a friend yesterday, but still no news on your family?’
‘Sadly no, and nothing on your father either I assume.’
‘No, nothing.’ For the first time since he had known her he thought he saw a tear.
He wanted to put his arm around her and comfort her but he was afraid. ‘I’m sure you’ll get a letter soon or, better still, he’ll walk through that door.’
‘I hope so, I don’t think I can stand not knowing for much longer. Anyway,’ she sniffed and dried her eyes, ‘what are you doing this evening? I often do what I call my canal walk along Brouwersgracht, it’s my favourite. We could stop somewhere for a drink or a coffee. I often have to rest.’
Mendelevski's Box Page 4
