Mendelevski's Box

by Roger Swindells

  ‘Leave it with me, I’ll have a word, but it may be another case of you having to pay someone for the privilege and I don’t want to see your inheritance swallowed up by damn sharks.’

  ‘Thanks, I appreciate it. Cheer up, we did sell the silver.’

  ‘Yes, and I think he got the best of that deal too, four hundred guilders indeed. Now get off home, it’s nearly time I open up. I’ll put everything back down in the cellar. I’ll see you at four and don’t be late. You might be a rich man, but I have a living to earn.’

  Simon raced home to tell Maaike while Jos sat in the cellar with a large jenever and tried to multiply the number of coins by the weight of gold in grams, but he couldn’t remember what the old man had said each coin weighed. It gave him a headache so he soon gave up and, mentally exhausted, reached for another drink before opening up.

  Monday 5th November 1945

  Everyone in the house, apart from Aart who was on a late shift, was up early. Grietje wanted to go to the Monday market in the Westerstraat to get some last-minute items to take to her mother and father-in-law in Utrecht. She had already shopped at the Noordermarkt as usual on Saturday, buying enough to keep Simon going for a month rather than the few days she was going to be away. He had pointed out that she would be back on Friday, but she had seemed firmly convinced he was going to starve in her absence.

  Maaike hadn’t needed anything for herself as she was going to be away for a full week, and she didn’t think she needed to buy anything to take with her as food and provisions were still more plentiful in Leeuwarden and had been even during the recent winter. She was in the bedroom packing, so he was looking after Irene while Grietje was out.

  He’d been to Centraal Station on Saturday and bought the tickets. A return for himself to Amersfoort, return tickets to Leeuwarden for Maaike, and tickets to Utrecht for Grietje and Irene. Jos had arranged for yet another ‘contact’ of his to pick them up in his car and take them to the station. The railway network was still in some disarray, and to get Maaike to Amersfoort in time to catch the train which would arrive in Zwolle at three, they would have to leave Amsterdam before eleven. Grietje’s train left at about the same time.

  Jos’s friend drew up outside at just after ten fifteen. The car, a large black Citroën, and its driver, dressed in an immaculate suit, attracted considerable attention from the neighbours in both Slootstraat and nearby Madelievenstraat. Just as they were getting into the car, the postman arrived and handed Simon a letter. The envelope showed it was a reply from the Jewish Co-ordination Committee. He put it in his pocket to open later and finished loading the luggage into the car.

  They were at the station in just a few minutes, but it had saved them, and particularly Maaike, the long walk along Brouwersgracht. They were early, but they needed time for Maaike to get up the steps to the platform for the Amersfoort train while Grietje and Irene carried on to the Utrecht platform.

  Irene turned, waving frantically. ‘Goodbye Maaike, I love you, see you soon, lots of kisses, I’ll miss you.’

  ‘Goodbye darling, I’ll see you soon.’

  She blew a kiss. ‘Give my love to Aunt Nel, Maaike.’

  The war weary and badly maintained old train left on time. Simon and Maaike had a compartment to themselves and they settled down on the dirty, worn seats for what threatened to be a slow, stop-start journey.

  ‘You’re quiet, Simon, what’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s the train and the station, it reminds me of the train journeys after we were arrested. Bad, bad memories.’

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s alright.’ He tried to joke but failed miserably. ‘This carriage might be scruffy, but it’s better than how we travelled in 1942.’

  She changed the subject. ‘What’s in the letter?’

  ‘Oh, I forgot all about it.’ He tore open the envelope. ‘It’s as I thought, it’s a reply from the Jewish Co-ordination Committee. I wrote to them in Arnhem but this is from Amsterdam.’

  He read the letter. ‘That explains it, their head office was in Amsterdam all the time. There is an office in Arnhem but they’ve sent my enquiry back here, that’s why it took so long. Why didn’t someone at the Red Cross tell me when I first enquired? Some others who had returned were complaining that the Dutch Red Cross weren’t exactly doing a great job.’

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘Just that they have all my details and those of my family, no point in that now, I suppose. It gives their address in Amsterdam if I need anything, and guess where it is?’

  ‘I don’t know, just tell me, please, no games.’

  ‘18 Johannes Vermeerstraat, we must have walked right past it when we were going from the tram to van der Meer’s house. It says here that as well as it being their head office, it’s a registration office and a reception centre for repatriates and they also operate a child welfare office and a clothing warehouse. They’ve been open since August, that’s a week or so before I got back. I wish I’d known all this then or that someone had told me. They might have found me somewhere to stay instead of me having to sleep on the streets.’

  ‘Then you wouldn’t have moved in with Grietje and we would never have met.’

  He smiled and took her hand. ‘That’s true, but it would have made things a lot easier. It also says they distribute clothing, blankets, food parcels, and even pots and pans and things from there, and from an office on Museumplein. I wish I’d known that, I was sent to a place on Nieuwendijk and given rags to wear.’

  ‘You don’t need any of that stuff now.’

  ‘No, but I still need their help. It’s obvious they’re the people to ask how I can get a new ID card. There must be lots of us with old cards identifying us as Jews or others who have come back with no card at all. I’m going to ask if they can help with the house and father’s insurance too and see if they can assist with a bank account.’

  ‘I certainly hope they can do something, it’s a shame you didn’t know all this earlier, it would have helped you so much. I think there will be lots of other survivors who are still struggling to cope but don’t know where to go.’

  They had over an hour to wait at Amersfoort station for the Zwolle train, so after changing platforms they went for coffee. The station was in a state of disrepair with broken glass panels in the roofs over the platforms.

  ‘I think this place was bombed by both sides in the war. The British attacked the railway lines. It was a really big railway hub and an army town. There was a camp as well, I met a couple of men from around here when they arrived in Auschwitz. They said that when the Germans invaded in May 1940 all the people had to leave the city, but they were soon allowed back and then of course the Jews got arrested.’

  The train for Zwolle was already waiting so she boarded it a little early, struggling to get up the steps. He went on with her, carrying her suitcase.

  ‘Now, you’re sure your cousins will be at Zwolle? This train gets in at two minutes past three, delays permitting.’

  ‘Stop worrying, they’ll be there I’m sure. If they’re not, I’ll find someone to help me down with my case and I’ll wait for them.’

  ‘But what if they don’t come at all?’

  ‘Then I’ll get someone to help me onto the next train to Leeuwarden.’ She laughed at him. ‘Don’t worry, you’re like an old woman.’

  ‘I’m sorry, but I do worry about you.’

  ‘I know and it’s nice. Now you’d better get off or you’ll find yourself coming to Zwolle with me, the train’s about to leave. I’ll write as soon as I know what time I’ll be back here on Monday so you can meet me.’

  ‘Please do, I want to know you got to Aunt Nel’s safely.’

  He kissed her and stood on the platform watching her through the grimy carriage window until the train pulled out. He waved until she was out of sight.

  Back in Amsterdam he was at a loose end. With both Maaike and Grietje away, and no work
to go to, he decided to go to Johannes Vermeerstraat. He realised that the Jewish Co-ordination Committee office would almost certainly be closed, but he thought he could at least identify the building and see if the opening times were displayed.

  He took a tram from Centraal Station to Johannes Vermeerplein. He felt both confident and quite pleased with himself having safely negotiated a tram journey through the heart of the city without Maaike’s help or Jos’s directions.

  Number 18 was, like all the properties in the street, an imposing three storey building with a small attic window up at roof level forming a fourth level. Built of granite blocks at street level and brick above, a small notice pasted to the wall announced it to be the office of the ‘JCC’ with opening hours of nine until four on weekdays.

  He decided to walk back to Slootstraat via the Rijksmuseum tunnel. It was a beautiful autumn evening and he had nothing to rush back for. Approaching the back of the museum he saw the house of van der Meer ahead. As he got closer, the front door opened and van der Meer appeared with another man. The two walked down the steps, speaking briefly and shaking hands on the pavement before van der Meer went back into the house while Edwin Berger turned, crossed the pavement, got into his car and drove away.

  For the second time he watched helplessly as the man he believed had betrayed him and his family to the Nazis disappeared into the distance.

  He burst through the doors of Café van Loon, sweating profusely having run all the way from van der Meer’s house.

  ‘Jos! Jos! I’ve just seen him again. Berger, I’ve seen him, and he was at van der Meer’s!’

  ‘Simon, lad, calm down, you’ll frighten the customers going on like that.’

  ‘But I’ve just seen him again. He was there, twenty metres away from me at most, just the same as when we saw him in Kromme Palmstraat that day. It was the same car and everything.’

  ‘Just a minute, we can’t talk in front of this lot. I’ll get her upstairs to come down for a minute.’

  Jos’s wife eventually appeared and they went down to the cellar. Jos settled himself in his chair, opened a beer and turned to him. ‘Now tell me again, calmly this time.’

  ‘I was passing van der Meer’s house and he came out with Berger. They shook hands and Berger drove away.’

  ‘Is that it?’

  ‘Yes, that’s it. But Berger knows van der Meer. Surely this changes everything.’

  ‘Maybe, but he’s gone again, gone somewhere in this huge city and we haven’t got a clue where.’

  ‘But he was there, right in front of me, just like before.’

  ‘What could you do? You could hardly have grabbed hold of the rear bumper.’

  ‘But what could Berger have been doing with van der Meer? I didn’t like him when we went to see him, there was just something about him. He was an odious, smarmy man.’

  ‘There could be a dozen reasons at least why they were together, it’s probably a complete coincidence.’

  ‘I’m going to find out.’

  ‘And how the hell are you proposing to do that?’

  ‘I’m going to ask him.’

  ‘Are you sure? You’d better be careful. How are you going to introduce Berger’s name?’

  ‘I don’t know yet, I haven’t thought it out.’

  ‘Well you’d better think about it, don’t jump in. Take Jos’s advice and sleep on it for a day or so.’

  ‘I will, but I’ve got to do it. I was prepared to give up after we found nothing in the stable. I told Maaike it was all finished but seeing him again today started it all off again. I can’t leave it now, I have to go on.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t, but if you are set on it then be careful, that’s all. If van der Meer is a friend of Berger’s, be very careful indeed. Do you want me to go with you?’

  ‘No, this is one where even you can’t help me. I have to do it myself. I’ll keep you in reserve until I meet Berger face to face, if I may.’

  ‘You can rely on that, I’ll sort the bastard out for you.’

  Tuesday 6th November 1945

  He had thought about it as Jos had advised. In fact, he had thought about nothing else leading to yet another disturbed night to add to the many since he returned to the city. As well as thinking about how to approach van der Meer, he was wondering and worrying whether Maaike had arrived safely in Leeuwarden.

  Unable to sleep he was up very early, taking care not to wake Aart, and made himself breakfast. It felt strange not having Grietje to prepare it for him and Irene there chattering to him while they shared the kitchen table.

  As soon as he had eaten he went out into the Jordaan in an effort to sort out his thoughts and to try to come up with some ideas. Early mornings were his favourite time, he loved being out in the narrow streets before the area was fully awake. Bar owners like Jos were sweeping outside their premises, deliveries were being made to shops and restaurants and the smell of bread and cakes hung in the air. Night workers were returning to the residential streets as others made their way to work in the city centre.

  He passed local residents; many recognised and greeted him, adding to his newfound feeling of belonging, but he was still bothered and confused by thoughts that perhaps he should make a completely fresh start away from Amsterdam and maybe even the Netherlands if only Maaike could be persuaded to leave with him. Abraham Hirschfeld’s comment about how few of the young generation of Jews were left had merely increased his already growing feeling that perhaps he should once again embrace his religion and return to the shul.

  Standing alone in the morning silence on a bridge on Bloemgracht, quietly observing a resident heron, he realised the only way to ease his turmoil and sort out his thoughts was to place and then address each problem in order and he decided that, despite what he had said to Maaike, van der Meer and Berger must be dealt with first.

  He turned on his heel and set out for Johannes Vermeerstraat.

  Once again van der Meer’s secretary Joke answered the door. Van der Meer was in court and was not expected back until midday, but she appeared to have mellowed a little since his first visit and invited him to come back then.

  As he had time to kill he walked up to the JCC office. A tiny lady, he guessed in her sixties, matronly and obviously Jewish, greeted him in the front office. He gave her his details and those of his family. She confirmed all were on the search record already together with his address. He told her that sadly the search for his parents and sister was over and she noted the record. He was, however, unable to provide her with a date of their death.

  ‘Is there anything the JCC can do for you?’

  ‘Two months ago I would have said yes, but as you can see I have somewhere to live, although it’s temporary. I’m now reasonably clothed and I have work although I’d like to go back to my studies sometime in the future. Perhaps you can help with that. For some reason I didn’t know about you when I got back, that was when I badly needed help.’

  ‘You were in Auschwitz I think, yes?’

  ‘Yes, from late 1942. I stayed on after liberation to help where I could, the Russians weren’t very helpful, but I wasn’t a priority to be shipped out and anyway I was hoping to find my mother and sister. I made my own way back. Lots of others were sent back via Odessa. But what about you? You survived too?’

  ‘I was very lucky, I left the Netherlands before the war. We went to England with my husband’s work. I feel awful that I sat there in safety for the whole war, so as soon as I could I volunteered to come back to help and the JCC needed people. There have been quite a few Auschwitz survivors through here, none from Sobibor though. Have you found any friends or relatives, from your shul maybe?’

  ‘Not really, just the woman who told me about mother and Esther. I haven’t been back to the shul yet.’

  ‘And your home?’

  ‘My home is still intact, unlike some, but there is a Dutch family in it. Can you help with that?’

  ‘We’re trying to help a number of people with that
problem, but it’s very difficult and the city authorities seem more interested in trying to charge survivors for unpaid rents and taxes than helping them to get their houses back. I think you might need a lawyer if you know anybody, and it could take years.’

  I know one, he thought. But can I trust him?

  She went on. ‘It’s the same with life insurance too. Did your parents have insurance at all? They’re all refusing to pay, no death certificates, unpaid premiums, the Germans took the money as those insured were Jews—they’re using excuses. I think it will go on for years.’

  ‘A friend warned me about that. He also said it was going to be difficult for me to open a bank account even though I have ID.’

  ‘That all depends how much you have. Most survivors have absolutely nothing. If you have enough money to open an account, or so much that it’s a problem, then you’re a very, very lucky boy indeed.’

  ‘Father left some valuables behind but I can’t prove it, the banks seem totally fixated with identifying money from the wartime black market.’

  ‘I’m not being very helpful, am I?’

  ‘There is one thing I hope you can advise me on. I have my ID card stamped to show I’m a Jew and I’d like to get a new one which doesn’t single me out because of my religion.’ He showed her his card and the prominent letter ‘J’ stamped in black on it.

  ‘I can help with that. I’ve had lots of survivors through here with no identification at all and many who survived in hiding still have their original cards, which they want to change. I’m told all cards will be valid for two or maybe three more years before they will be replaced, and that’s if the government decides to continue with them at all. The issue of ID cards was suggested and turned down before the war and the Germans simply used the prototype design. Issuing new ones to everyone in the country is going to be a huge job, but I think you can get a new one issued now if you apply to the registry at the relevant city hall, Amsterdam presumably in your case. I’m not sure they’re compulsory anymore now the Germans have gone. You’ve changed a lot though, so you’ll need a new photograph, that’s for sure.’