The Darkroom of Damocles

by Willem Frederik Hermans

‘Since you’re such a keen traveller, why don’t you go and see if there’s a train coming? I can hear an engine. Go and take a look, I bet it’s a goods train.’

  The child let go of Osewoudt and wandered off through the open door to the platform.

  ‘So how did it go?’

  ‘Fine. The pair of them.’

  ‘The woman too?’

  ‘Yes. She was in the kitchen.’

  ‘Any cognac on the premises?’

  ‘Don’t know. I didn’t look, not for papers either. It didn’t go very smoothly. But it’s done.’

  ‘I was afraid he’d come all the way to the station with us. I was telling him: you’ll catch your death without a coat in this weather. You’ll be laid up tomorrow if you’re not careful. It’s very cold for the time of year!’ She did not smile as she said this.

  The goods train came past, blocking out most of the daylight in the waiting room.

  Osewoudt put his hand on the nape of the girl’s neck and said: ‘Come on, try not to think about it.’

  ‘When he left I forgot to say Houzee.’

  ‘What does it matter? It went pretty well, all things considered.’

  ‘I wonder if the Germans will shoot hostages in revenge.’

  Osewoudt felt his knees begin to quake. He asked: ‘Where did you leave that bike he lent you?’

  ‘At the left-luggage office. He said he’d come for it later. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’ve been a bit careless. I came here by bike too – I took his – but I left it outside. If anyone recognises it …’

  ‘So what? It won’t mean anything to them unless they’ve already been to the bungalow and have seen …’

  ‘Damn, I wish that train would come.’

  ‘Relax, will you. Even if someone has found out already, why would they think of checking whether Lagendaal’s bike was left outside the station?’

  ‘No, but still, whoever finds out is bound to go straight to the village, in which case they’ll go past the station.’

  Walter came inside.

  ‘I say! It was a very long train! Seventy-seven carriages! I expect it’s going to the Eastern Front!’

  ‘Yes Walter, to the Eastern Front, taking warm clothes for our soldiers.’

  ‘I’m for the Russians,’ said Walter. ‘All us boys are for the Russians.’

  In the train they sat the child between them, so there was no need for them to talk to each other. It was a carriage with a corridor from end to end.

  The train stopped at Barneveld-Dorp and two women entered the carriage; all the seats were now occupied.

  The train rode on. Outside, the drizzle was drawing thin streaks of wet on the window.

  The train stopped again at Barneveld-Voorthuizen. The door opened and a large woman with a basket on her arm hoisted herself up.

  ‘No seats left here?’

  ‘No, all taken.’

  Osewoudt stood up and pointed to his seat.

  But the woman glared first at him, then at the child, and finally at the fake youth leader.

  ‘No, thank you. I wouldn’t take your seat if you paid me.’

  ‘Good for you!’ said one of the women who had got on at the last stop. ‘People like that are best left alone! Get them used to being in solitary later on!’

  The whole compartment laughed. Osewoudt sat down and looked out of the window.

  The train set off again. Almost immediately, two men in long leather coats came in from the corridor.

  ‘Polizei! Ausweise bitte.’

  ‘Not that too!’ said the woman who’d made the remark about being in solitary.

  ‘Identity cards please,’ said the man in front, extending his hand. The other man stayed in the corridor and kept looking left and right.

  Osewoudt handed over his card. The man slipped it from its celluloid sheath, unfolded it, clapped it shut again almost at once, held it up with an air of complicity and gave it back.

  Then the woman who preferred to stand handed over her identity card.

  When everyone had shown their papers it was the youth leader’s turn. The German smiled as he took her card, unfolded it, then frowned. He studied it closely, including the back. The second man peered at it over the first’s shoulder, after which the first one folded the card and put it in his pocket.

  ‘Da stimmt was nicht. Kommen sie mal mit.’

  Something was wrong. As if expecting this, Hey You rose from her seat and went with the leather-coated duo. She did not look back.

  Chuckles sounded in the compartment.

  ‘Well, I don’t mind sitting down now,’ said the large woman, and sank on to the vacant seat.

  ‘That’s all right, but when Auntie Marchiena gets back you’ll have to get up again,’ said Walter.

  The woman stared stonily ahead. The grins on the faces of the other passengers faded. They were puzzled. A leader of the National Youth Storm, a traitor, being led away by the German police? How was that possible?

  After a pause one of the passengers burst out with: ‘Plenty of gits among that lot too! Black market, who knows?’

  ‘Where has Auntie Marchiena gone?’ Walter asked.

  Everyone grew still.

  It took a tremendous effort for Osewoudt to tear himself away from the view through the window. All eyes were on him when he finally muttered: ‘Hush now, Walter. We’ll be arriving in Amersfoort soon, and then Auntie Marchiena will join us again.’

  He checked his watch.

  ‘Look, only another three minutes. We’re almost there.’

  Even before the train had come to a standstill he took the little boy’s hand and held it firmly, ready to jump down to the platform.

  Suddenly he realised that he had no ticket for the child. Of course Hey You would have bought him a ticket! Hey You still had it! He looked up and down the platform, but couldn’t see her anywhere. Then he bent down to Walter.

  ‘Look here, Walter. You stay put for a moment, don’t move! I’ll be back before you know it. You stay right here. Be on the lookout for Auntie Marchiena, will you? There’s something I have to do. But you’re to stay here, understand?’

  He let go of the little boy’s hand and ran to a door with a sign over it: THROUGH TICKETS. There he bought a one-way ticket plus a child’s ticket to Amsterdam.

  From a distance he could see that Walter was doing as he had been told. He was still rooted to the appointed spot.

  Osewoudt thought: what have I let myself in for? What am I to do with the kid? Where in God’s name can I take him? I should have left him there and taken the train to Amsterdam by myself. Damnation, how do I get rid of him?

  But then, as if buying that half-fare ticket had made it his moral duty, he walked back to Walter.

  ‘Well? Have you seen Auntie Marchiena yet?’

  ‘No. Did you?’

  ‘Yes, she’s got an errand to run here in Amersfoort, some business to discuss with those two gentlemen. The train to Amsterdam will be here in five minutes. Auntie Marchiena will catch up with us later, she said. Take my hand, Walter, come along, let’s go and find our train.’

  Osewoudt led the child to the platform for departures to Amsterdam. The train arrived almost at once.

  He found two seats.

  ‘Travelling by train is best,’ Walter said. He laid his hands either side of him on the bench.

  ‘Is it? What else have you travelled on?’

  ‘An aeroplane. I didn’t like it much.’

  ‘So where did you go on the aeroplane?’

  ‘To South America. It’s very hot there, you know!’

  An old man sitting opposite joined in the conversation.

  ‘That must have been before the war then, eh my boy?’

  The old man winked at Osewoudt.

  ‘It can’t have,’ said Walter. ‘There’s always been a war on.’

  It wasn’t until they arrived in Amsterdam that Walter started whining about Auntie Marchiena. ‘Can’t we look in the waiting room, see if Au
ntie Marchiena’s there?’

  ‘How could she be? Auntie Marchiena’s still in Amersfoort. So she can’t be in the waiting room. She’ll be coming on the next train.’

  ‘I hate it.’

  ‘What do you hate?’

  ‘I hate it here. I want to go to the children’s home with Auntie Marchiena, like Papa said. I’m getting a belt with a dagger. You’re a stranger and I’ve got nothing to do with you!’

  At that moment a loud crackling erupted from the loudspeakers hung along the platforms, and a hollow but hoarse voice announced: ‘Calling Mr Osewoudt! Mr Osewoudt! Will Mr Osewoudt, believed to be arriving from Amersfoort, please report to the stationmaster’s office to receive an urgent message. I repeat: will Mr Osewoudt, arriving from Amersfoort, please report to …’

  Osewoudt felt as if he’d been dealt a violent kick in the groin. He had to swallow to keep himself from vomiting. He wished he could tie his handkerchief over his face. He squeezed Walter’s hand. Walter said: ‘Why are they calling that gentleman?’

  ‘Because they need him, of course.’

  He took out the tickets. He had three: the half-used return ticket for the Leiden-Amersfoort journey, the one-way ticket from Amersfoort to Amsterdam, and the half-fare ticket for the child. He examined each in turn, then put the first ticket back in his pocket and kept the other two in his hand.

  ‘What do they need him for?’

  ‘To give him a message, Walter. From his wife, I expect, or from his mother.’

  ‘From his mother,’ Osewoudt echoed softly as they shuffled forward in the queue for the barrier.

  ‘What sort of message?’

  ‘Maybe he promised his mother he’d buy her a basket of cherries and didn’t get round to it. Something like that, Walter, something like that, maybe.’

  ‘It’s a funny sort of name. What does it mean? It sounds like the name of a wood. Is there a wood called Osewoudt, too?’

  ‘No, there isn’t. Not that I’ve heard of anyway. It’s just a funny name, that’s all!’

  Walter’s eyes kept darting in all directions.

  ‘Is it still a long way to the children’s home?’

  ‘A very long way. You’d get too tired if I took you there now. We’re going to visit a very kind old gentleman first, we’ll have a rest there. His whole house is full of birds’ feathers, red ones, green ones, blue and yellow ones. He’s got feathers from all sorts of different birds. You won’t believe your eyes!’

  They went over the bridge and started down Oudezijds Achterburgwal.

  They were a few houses away from Uncle Bart’s when he heard someone tapping on a window, more loudly than the way whores usually tap on their windows. Osewoudt stopped to look. From a basement window a whore signalled urgently to him. She had stood up from her stool.

  Osewoudt took a few steps towards the open basement door. The woman came out, drawing her coat tightly around her with one hand.

  ‘You’re Mr Nauta’s nephew, aren’t you? Are you on your way to your uncle’s?’

  ‘Yes. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘Listen! You want to get away from here as quick as you can! The Germans were here earlier and they took your uncle away. They ransacked the place, took everything away in a big lorry. I thought I’d let you know!’

  Without waiting for a reply, the woman scurried back to her basement.

  ‘What did she want?’ Walter asked.

  ‘Never you mind. Come along now. We’re nearly there.’

  Nearly where? He didn’t know, hadn’t a clue. He had meant to leave the child with Uncle Bart – on reflection a ridiculous idea anyway. He had to get rid of him somehow, the sooner the better! If only he could chuck him in the canal with a heavy stone round his neck.

  He set off at such a brisk pace that the boy could hardly keep up. Osewoudt did not look up at the windows when he passed Uncle Bart’s house. He kept his eyes on the pavement as he strode on. Here and there he saw a stray red feather lying by the side of the canal.

  ‘What did that lady say?’ Walter asked.

  ‘Things that don’t concern you.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Walter, pipe down, will you?’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘If you’re a good boy I’ll take you for a ride in a cart. Look, like that one over there. We’ll go for a ride in one of those little carts!’

  They had reached the turning into Damstraat, and were waiting to cross when a light metal cart came past, drawn by an emaciated horse.

  ‘What a nice cart!’

  ‘Yes, very nice. Handy, too, now there’s no petrol for cars! When those carts were first invented they weren’t pulled by a horse but by a man on a bicycle. Isn’t that funny? But that’s not allowed any more. Goes against human dignity, you see. Don’t you see? Not to worry! We’ll go for a ride in one of those carts, it’ll be fun.’

  He went down Damstraat towards Dam Square, pulling the child with him.

  By the small archway leading from Dam Square to Rokin he stood still and said, giving Walter’s arm a tug with each word: ‘You stay right here in this archway! Do exactly as I say. Don’t budge. I’ll nip over to find us a cart, and then it’ll come here to pick us up. Got it?’

  He let go of Walter and sprinted towards Rokin.

  He jumped on to the open platform of the first tram that came past.

  Looking across the way, he noticed that Walter was not quite as obedient as he had hoped. The little boy had gone through the archway, no doubt driven by curiosity, and now stood with his hands in his pockets surveying the quiet side of Rokin, where no fewer than three carts were waiting. It was as if the carts were lined up there solely to increase the child’s bewilderment.

  Five minutes later he got off the tram at the Mint Tower. It was exactly half past six. The clock in the tower began to strike.

  He saw Marianne at once. She was wearing a new summer frock. She saw him coming and smiled. He thought she was beautiful, and it felt as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened all day.

  ‘Hello darling!’

  She pinched his cheeks, he took her in his arms.

  ‘You’re very punctual,’ she said. ‘A man who keeps appointments – I like that. Where are your glasses?’

  ‘Consumed by the flames of my ardent desire.’

  ‘What did you do today?’

  ‘A couple of errands. I also went to see Mr Nauta, you remember, Bellincoff Ltd. on Oudezijds Achterburgwal. He’s been arrested by the Germans. They ransacked the whole house!’

  ‘Really? Do you think that Elly woman had anything to do with it? Or that nephew-cum-son-in-law of his?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What did you do to your coat? The front’s all dirty. You look as if you’ve been climbing a pole.’

  ‘What?’ Osewoudt looked down at himself and began slapping the dark streaks made by the telegraph pole. ‘Must have been leaning against something,’ he said. ‘Everything’s filthy these days. Nothing gets cleaned any more. The country’s going to the dogs.’

  ‘It looks like tar, or creosote!’

  She reached out to grasp his raincoat and bent to sniff it.

  ‘Don’t!’ he cried, pushing her away. ‘You almost tripped me up. Where do you want to go?’

  ‘Guess what! I went and bought two cinema tickets. Don’t worry, not a German film. It’s Czech, and it’s called Praeludium.’

  ‘Which cinema?’

  ‘The Tivoli.’ They crossed to the other side of the street.

  ‘You can’t imagine what it feels like,’ she said as they walked down Reguliersbreestraat, ‘going to the cinema like this. I have very strange thoughts. All those Aryans who won’t set foot in the cinema by way of protest, and here I am, a Jewess going to see a film. Sort of perverse, don’t you think?’

  ‘No one can see that you’re Jewish.’

  ‘That’s beside the point – I know what I am! My entire family have been rounded up, I haven’t heard fro
m them since. They may be dead for all I know, and here I am going to the cinema!’

  ‘You don’t want to dwell on that kind of thing,’ said Osewoudt. ‘Anyway, the rumours may be exaggerated, perhaps they’re still alive.’

  ‘But even so, they’ll be in prison. They won’t be strolling down Reguliersbreestraat like us, will they?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The thing is, I can’t believe how I can just carry on as if I didn’t care.’

  They joined the queue. Above the ticket window hung a notice saying FÜR JUDEN VERBOTEN! They shuffled forward over Persian carpets.

  ‘You do care,’ said Osewoudt. ‘If you didn’t you wouldn’t have mentioned it.’

  The lights dimmed and the newsreel began.

  ‘Why don’t the lights go out altogether?’

  ‘It’s been like this for a long time. If Hitler or some crony of his appears on the screen and someone whistles or jeers, they’ll know who it was.’

  Suddenly he thought of Hey You. What had they done to her? What could have been wrong with her identity card? Did they know anything about her? Would they ask her why she had gone to Lunteren? Would they find out that she had two train tickets, one for herself and one for Walter? Would she keep her mouth shut? It seemed unlikely she had told them anything on the train, or the Germans would surely have come back for Walter. Then it struck him that Hey You was supposed to have shown him a photo to prove her identity and that he hadn’t even asked her for it, that he hadn’t seen it at all. That she must still have had it on her when she was arrested! What would it have been of? Who knows, it might have been the third photo. The third photo of the set he had posted to Dorbeck, one of which Elly had, supposedly, given to her in England. What was the third one of? I can’t remember, but that makes no difference. I’d recognise it if I saw it. Will it mean anything to the Germans? He was so preoccupied that he didn’t look at the screen again until the voice and the music faded and the newsreel came to an abrupt halt.

  The lights now went out completely, and something odd happened. A face appeared on screen, motionless but for a slight quiver because it was a film of a photograph. It was his own face. People coughed, the projector whirred, otherwise there was not a sound.

  A typewritten summons accompanied the photograph:

  500 guilders reward