Mendelevski's Box

by Roger Swindells

  Sunday 30th September 1945

  He lay awake until dawn wondering how he and Maaike could face each other after the night before, desperately hoping she would not mention it and that their friendship would not be spoiled. He was strongly attracted to her but had been shocked and frightened as he had no experience with women and had certainly never shared a bed with one. He reflected that the same almost certainly applied to her with men, and he convinced himself that the previous night had been purely a cry for company and compassion and nothing more. He wanted to help her as he knew that within seconds of waking she would remember about her father’s death, so she would need him until Grietje arrived.

  He need not have worried, she met him at the door with a sad smile. ‘Please, come in. Thank you for looking after me last night, you are a good friend. Have you eaten?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Grietje left me enough food for a week.’

  ‘She does like to look after you. What are you doing today?’

  ‘I thought I’d spend the morning with you if that’s alright. The husband of Grietje’s friend’s is coming around sometime to finish building a new bed for me so I need to let him in but otherwise I’m all yours until Grietje gets home. I will be with you when you speak to her about your father.’

  ‘That’s nice, but I’m afraid I won’t be very good company. Every time I think about my father I cry, part of me still can’t believe it but I know it’s true.’

  ‘I’ll get Grietje’s coffee, she won’t mind in the circumstances.’

  They sat and talked. She showed him a photograph of her parents. Her mother looked very young and beautiful while her father looked older and very stern.

  ‘He didn’t like the camera,’ she explained. ‘He was a very old-fashioned Frisian man. Moving to Rotterdam, then here, was like emigrating to him. I wonder what he thought of Dresden?’ She started to cry. ‘The rotten war and those hateful Nazis sending him away from me and taking my mama too. I know he hated Germany, I still have his letters, he was so sad. I’m pleased he found a friend in Meneer Claassen.’

  ‘He’s a good man, he obviously thought a lot of your father.’

  Her hands trembling, she took a bundle of letters from a drawer in the bureau. Hitler’s image stared at them from the stamps on the envelopes. ‘This is all I have of him now.’

  It hurt him so much to see her breaking her heart. ‘You have memories, they will always be there for you.’

  The man arrived to work on his bed at ten. He left him upstairs alone as Grietje said he could and persuaded Maaike to go for a walk.

  It felt decidedly autumnal as they made their way slowly along Bloemgracht towards Prinsengracht. The last of the morning mist still hung over the canal as the sun came through and the leaves on the trees had started to turn.

  She stopped outside number eighty-two. ‘It was here that Jaap was shot by the Germans. I came here with Grietje, who wanted to see where it happened.’

  They stood in silence for a moment. She was obviously still thinking about her father, but he was thinking about the tragedies Grietje had suffered. Between the three of them the war had taken a terrible toll. They sat for a while outside the Noorderkerk, people were leaving after the eleven o’clock service had ended. He remembered the large numbers leaving the shul on Friday evenings and twice on Saturdays. Even if the shul was open he wondered if there were enough men left to form a minyan. He feared the Jewish population of Amsterdam would never engage in their enjoyable pre-war Shabbos activities ever again. There were still some Jews in Amsterdam; many had been hidden and actually survived the war without being found. He had met some of them while looking for his family but none of them were relatives, friends or people he knew from the shul.

  He felt her looking at him. ‘What are you thinking about?’

  ‘Just how things were in my community and how it can never be the same, no matter how many survived and eventually return.’

  She took his hand and looked up into his face. ‘You’re not alone you know, just like you told me last night, I’m here for you, we could sort of belong together now somehow, in a way, couldn’t we?’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘We should get back, I’m not sure what time Grietje will be home.’

  ‘I’ll make us some lunch,’ she said, looking a little disappointed.

  They walked back along Westerstraat, he was still deep in thought but she clearly wanted to talk.

  ‘It’s time you got registered so that you actually exist again. I don’t know how to do it, but you can’t just live like a displaced person. You belong here, you were born here, it’s your home city even if your house and family have gone.’

  ‘I’ll have to ask at the Red Cross, they have my details from the camp list but I don’t know how to prove I am who I say I am, I just have a piece of paper they gave me when I left the camp which I suppose could belong to someone else. I have no identity card, nothing at all. I don’t know what things father took with us to the hiding place or what happened to them—taken by the Germans or the police when they searched the house probably. Maybe whoever betrayed us took them. We were told just to take clothing when we were arrested.’

  ‘I’m sure the Red Cross have dealt with lots of people in your situation.’

  ‘I’ll find out, it’s something I didn’t think about when I was on my way home, I just wanted to get here to look for my family. Lots of others who survived went into displaced persons camps under the Americans and British, some even went with the Russians to Odessa I think, but I refused and came straight back here. They tell me the Americans were working to improve conditions and give help to get people out of the DP camps; they’re probably better off than I am here.’

  ‘Don’t say that, you’re home here.’ She smiled. ‘You’re as Dutch as I am, just a different religion, that’s all.’

  ‘Maybe, but I don’t have an identity. Our cards were all stamped ‘Jood’ and I suppose the Germans took them when we were arrested. I doubt they went to the camp with us, but I just don’t know. There’s something called a Jewish Central Registration Office in Eindhoven, I’ve given them my details and those of my parents and sister, maybe they can advise me. Will the authorities just take my word?’

  ‘You could try the Town Hall as well, I suppose. Ask Jos, he’ll know or find out. I read somewhere they were talking about making payments to Jewish camp survivors, reparations I think was the word they used. I don’t know who is going to do it or when, but you need to be on a list or something.’

  ‘No amount of money is going to bring my family back.’

  ‘But it might help you rebuild your life.’

  ‘I’ll talk to some of those who hid and weren’t arrested, they will know what to do, they’ve been sorting things out since they came out of hiding in May.’

  ‘They might also know how you can get your family’s house back.’

  ‘Maybe, but it won’t be a family home anymore, will it? I know my father cleared his workshop, Grietje helped him pack, and I think he disposed of almost everything apart from the fixtures. He was supposed to put our money in a bank on Sarphatistraat. He said it was a Nazi bank, the Germans made it compulsory, but I don’t know if he did deposit it. He left instructions about everything in the house too. It’s almost as if he knew we wouldn’t be coming back and anyway anything that was left was probably looted by Dutch people who hate us Jews, a bit like the ones in our house now.’

  ‘Please don’t judge us all like that. Many Dutch people did all they could for their Jewish friends and neighbours and many of those who just watched did not realise what they were witnessing until it was too late.’

  ‘I know there were a lot of Jews hidden by Dutch people in the cities and out in the countryside on farms. One of the families I met spent the whole war up in your part of the country in Friesland with a local family. I know a lot of people also tried to help with fake ID cards and deleting names from the lists of Jews but many just stood by. The police rounded u
p the Jews on the Germans’ behalf and a lot of those in hiding were betrayed, like us, by Dutch people who the Jewish families had actually been paying to hide them. If only there had been more like Jaap. Now to make it worse, they have taken our homes.’

  She fell silent and he was afraid he had upset her. He touched her shoulder as they walked. ‘I’m sorry, you have suffered awfully too because of the Nazis. You lost both your parents and your leg.’

  She smiled weakly. ‘I was coping until I got the news about my father last night. I suppose if I am honest I was expecting it, but I just hoped against hope, just as you are still doing about your mother and sister.’ She stopped. ‘Hold me a moment, please.’

  He held her shoulders and as she looked up at him, his lips met hers in a soft kiss. She gripped his elbows and, raising herself up on the toes of her single foot, she pushed her lips firmly against his, hardening and prolonging the kiss. ‘Stay with me again tonight, I need you, I want you.’

  He felt her raise her stump and push it between his thighs. He pulled away from her both embarrassed and feeling strangely aroused.

  ‘You know that’s not possible.’ He tried to cover his confusion, ‘Come on, we must go, Grietje will be home soon and you have to tell her about your father and you have to write to your aunt.’

  She looked away. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I just want you…’

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. Grietje still wasn’t home. Maaike started to make lunch while he went upstairs to check on the progress on his bed. Not only was it finished but somehow the husband of Grietje’s friend had found a full-size mattress to go on it.

  Grietje and Irene arrived back at two thirty.

  He was still in Maaike’s room, but they heard her come in and met her in the hall.

  ‘Hello you two, nice cosy weekend together?’ she joked.

  If only you knew, he thought. ‘I’m afraid Maaike has had some bad news, can you come in?’

  Maaike threw herself into Grietje’s arms, her crutches falling to the ground. She sobbed, ‘Oh Grietje, he’s dead, my papa is dead, a man came and told me.’

  Irene, seeing Maaike so distressed, also began to cry.

  ‘Simon, please take her upstairs for me while I talk to Maaike,’ said Grietje.

  Grietje came up after about an hour. ‘She’s calmer now, I said I would send coffee down and some tablets I had after Jaap died. Will you take them, please?’

  ‘Of course. Did she tell you everything?’

  ‘She said her father was killed when the British bombed Dresden and a friend he had made out there came to the bar to tell her.’

  ‘Yes, but she thinks he was killed outright. That’s not true, he was burned and died in agony weeks later. She must never know.’

  ‘The poor sod, he must have suffered.’

  ‘What’s she going to do?’

  ‘She’s managed on her own since she was fifteen, with our help she’ll carry on like before, the same as all of us. We’ll just have to support her a little more, that’s all.’

  While they waited for the coffee he showed her the new bed and mattress. ‘It’s marvellous. It’s going to be wonderful to be able to stretch out, but where he got the mattress from I don’t know. It was such a surprise, I was expecting to have to sleep on bare boards like in the camp.’

  She smiled. ’I managed to arrange it before I left, he said he would deliver it for me. I want you to be comfortable here, it’s your home now, here with me, for as long as you need it. You’ll have all your new clothes clean and ironed tomorrow.’

  More confused than ever he took the coffee to Maaike and together they drafted a letter to her family in Friesland.

  Wednesday 3rd October 1945

  He had intended to spend his day off on Monday at the Red Cross and around the Jodenbuurt asking about his family and making enquiries about how to obtain documentation. He had also been hoping to talk to others from his neighbourhood but Grietje had been working and she had asked him to keep Maaike company and to help her look after Irene.

  He had collected the washing for Grietje from the woman on Marnixstraat, then they had taken Irene to the park, posted the letter to Maaike’s family and had lunch together. Neither of them had mentioned the Sunday walk home but there had been a tension between them, and he had not felt as comfortable as before in her company.

  They had also spent Tuesday morning together. Maaike had been very tearful and upset about her father and he had wanted to hold her and comfort her, but had felt uncomfortable about doing so. He had actually been relieved to go to work in the afternoon while Maaike had stayed at home, not yet ready to return.

  Tuesday evening at work had been very quiet. Jos’s wife had been in the bar when he arrived, but she had disappeared upstairs almost immediately leaving him alone with just a handful of customers all evening. Jos had appeared briefly at nine and had sent him home early, giving him no chance to ask if there was any news about the seaman who had the information so important to him.

  Wednesday morning arrived, and a chance to talk to Jos couldn’t come quickly enough so Simon found himself at the bar nearly an hour early for the brewery delivery. The bar was still closed and there was no sign of Jos or his wife.

  He knocked on the doors and eventually Jos appeared red faced from the cellar. ‘You’re a bit early, couldn’t you sleep?’

  ‘Not really no, I want to ask you about the man you said might have something to tell me. Have you found out anything yet about when he will be back in Amsterdam? I’m desperate to know.’

  ‘Hang on there, young man. First things first. How is Maaike?’

  ‘Not good, she’s still very emotional, especially in quiet moments. It doesn’t seem too bad when she’s busy looking after Grietje’s daughter and doesn’t have time to think about it. I helped her write to her father’s family in Leeuwarden. I don’t think she will be back at work yet though.’

  ‘I don’t want her back here until she is ready, please tell her that. By the way, can you open up and manage here on your own for a while today, there’s virtually no cleaning up to do, it was very quiet last night as you know. My wife will hopefully stay out of your way. I’m going to the bank again. My account should be released, it’s been seven days, so hopefully I can draw out money as normal to pay bills, and you two of course. The takings have been so poor I just don’t have much cash in the till. It will probably be quiet again today, no one has any money left but tomorrow will hopefully be busy,’ he laughed. ‘That stupid ‘ten guilders for a week’ restriction will be over, people will be getting paid and able to settle debts, including mine, and pour alcohol down their throats again.’

  ‘Jos, will you please tell me about the sailor, when is he coming home?’

  ‘In a minute, let’s have coffee first. It’s not a big delivery today, things have been so quiet I don’t need much, so I expect we’ll be low on his list. There’s plenty of time. You look very smart today by the way.’

  ‘They’re my new clothes, well not new but you know what I mean. At least these trousers fit me.’

  ‘Not for long the way you are going, you’ve put on weight already, living with Grietje Blok obviously suits you. She seems to be looking after you rather well.’

  They sat in the raised area and Jos brought a coffee pot and two cups. ‘I went to see my friend in the office, it cost me a bottle of Canadian Club by the way, but I found out the ship is on its way back from the Indies via the African coast. It’s due here in ten days and then it will probably be requisitioned by the government to take troops and equipment out to the Indies. They’ve only just got the damn ship back from the Yanks who chartered it during the war. Anyway, it will be leaving again virtually straight away, the troops and equipment will be here in Amsterdam waiting, and it will be returning with released internees. It’s likely to be one of many trips that vessel will make. It’s all getting very nasty out there as I feared, the locals are causing all sorts of shit with this ind
ependence business, there’s virtually a revolution going on. The cities are still under control apparently, the company has ships in harbour at Medan and Batavia, which Sukarno’s lot is calling Jakarta now. But out in the country it’s very sticky already.’

  ‘Are you saying he’ll go off again to the Indies for however long it takes?’

  ‘They’ll try and keep the same crew on board if they can, it’s not a situation where there’s any danger to shipping but they’re all signed on as merchant sailors, not navy or anything like that, so if they want they’ll be able to sign off when the ship gets back to Amsterdam.’

  ‘And Theo, will he stay on board or sign off?’

  ‘My guess is he’ll sign off. He’s got a wife and a sister, a widow who he’s responsible for, so he won’t want to be committed to a long-term contract if it’s going to drag on out there. My friend in the office is going to tip him the wink and arrange something closer to home on a coaster or something running to the UK.’

  ‘So he’ll come in here as soon as he gets home?’

  Jos laughed. ‘Well, I think he might go and see his wife before he fancies one of my beers, don’t you?’

  ‘Don’t make fun of me, Jos, you know how important this is to me.’

  ‘I’m sorry, of course I do, now drink up, the drayman’s here.’

  Unloading was quite an easy job. Jos hadn’t ordered many crates of bottled beer and there were fewer than usual to return so it was just a matter of three barrels to roll down the cellar and only one empty to manhandle back up. He opened up the bar and gave the drayman a beer and the horse some water while Jos went off to the bank. It was, as Jos had expected, his last delivery so the drayman hung around for a second free beer. By twelve there were just three customers sitting on stools at the bar. They all wanted to know how Maaike was and when she was coming back. Of Jos’s wife there was, thankfully, no sign, but it meant he couldn’t take orders for bitterballen or cheese.