The Darkroom of Damocles

by Willem Frederik Hermans

  Now Osewoudt managed to free his right arm. He put his hand in his coat pocket and found the knife. He butted his forehead like a ram, but couldn’t prevent Krügener’s lips from brushing his eyelids.

  ‘Ouch!’ gasped Krügener suddenly, recoiling. ‘My back! A stabbing pain in my back!’

  His embrace went limp.

  ‘Oh! My back! My back!’ he groaned. He reared up so high that the back of his head hit the roof of the car. His eyes boggled. His leg slid off the seat, his knees buckled. He tried reaching his arm behind his back to find the source of the pain, but the arm appeared to be paralysed. Osewoudt shoved him down into the space beside the steering wheel, where he remained, crumpled up. The knife stuck out of his back.

  As Osewoudt made his way to the church, an artillery duel exploded on the horizon. White flames lit up the low bank of cloud.

  The church was closed. Osewoudt walked around the building. With the pounding of field guns in his ears, he rang the bell at the rectory.

  The priest himself answered the door.

  ‘Help me,’ Osewoudt implored. ‘Over there, in that car there’s a German, and he’s dying! Help me, please, he tried to rape me!’

  It was a cloudless morning. A flock of chickens ventured on to the road and fled squawking into the bushes as the old car approached.

  ‘Will it be long now before the orchards begin to blossom?’ Osewoudt asked.

  ‘Not long now, I think. It’s a good thing this last winter wasn’t too severe.’

  Dr Sikkens was in his forties. He wore rimless glasses and his sunken cheeks were hurriedly but closely shaven. He was at the wheel in a short duffel coat, the sort of coat doctors find convenient for getting in and out of their cars quickly. He also wore driving gloves, and spread a reassuring smell of coal tar. ‘I’m run off my feet,’ he said. ‘I was called out twice last night. In all these years I haven’t had a holiday, and the winters were the worst. It was bad enough with the war going on, but such hard winters! On the other hand, take the winter of ’42. If that one hadn’t been so cold, the Germans might have held out even longer.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Osewoudt said heartily. ‘But if we’d had some more freezing temperatures last winter, the Allies might have been able reach us up north by crossing the rivers over the ice. If they had, we’d have been liberated by now.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had an easy time of it either, Sister!’

  Osewoudt smiled, pouted, but kept quiet.

  ‘When it comes down to it, nursing is an even more demanding profession than being a doctor. I can’t think where women like you get the energy. It never ceases to amaze me. I used to know a district nurse over there,’ said the doctor, pointing to a distant church steeple to the left of the road. ‘She worked until she dropped – literally! In the middle of the road. That was last year, a week before the Canadians arrived. Damn …’

  He stepped on the brake.

  A large sign made of rough planks stood in the verge. The wood had been painted black, with large white letters saying STOP.

  Five foreign-looking soldiers stood guard beside it. Their helmets had mesh covering with dried twigs sticking out. They wore baggy fatigues with straps and belts, from which dangled all manner of metal equipment. Each of them held an automatic weapon under his arm.

  One of them stepped out into the road. He seemed to recognise the car as the doctor’s, and motioned it on with a raised thumb. Two others noticed Osewoudt in the passenger seat, put their fingers between their lips and whistled. The car set off again.

  There were shouts of ‘Hey! Hey! Hey!’ as they passed the checkpoint.

  ‘Our liberators seem very glad to see you!’ said Dr Sikkens, accelerating. ‘Is anything wrong? Not feeling carsick are you?’

  Osewoudt sat, goggle-eyed and staring, with his legs spread and a hand clutching each knee.

  ‘You’re looking quite green,’ said the doctor. ‘Want me to stop?’

  ‘No, no, please drive on. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘It’s sure to be lack of sleep. You should have taken my advice and stayed at the house today. Crossing the Hollands Diep in a boat last night, on top of all the other trouble you’ve had – you must be exhausted. It won’t do, you know. Why are you in such a hurry to get to Breda?’

  ‘I have an important message to deliver.’

  Osewoudt now settled back in his seat, maintaining a relaxed posture.

  ‘There’s no need to slow down, I’m not feeling sick. Don’t mind me, Doctor.’

  ‘I’m not sure …’

  The doctor angled his head so that he could shift his gaze from the road to Osewoudt at will.

  ‘Notice anything in particular?’

  ‘Just what I said before, Sister. I must advise you to rest as soon as possible. Can’t you come back and stay with us after you’ve delivered your message?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, Doctor. Don’t say you didn’t notice! Well, I might as well tell you. I am not a nurse. I am not a girl. I’m a man.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. Well. Hm.’

  The doctor faced forward again and concentrated on driving.

  ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Of course, Sister. I believe you! Of course. I quite understand what you mean. A village doctor’s work covers a multitude of fields, including psychiatry. Look here, it seems to me you’re at the end of your tether. You really need to take a rest or you’ll have a breakdown. People with your kind of perseverance, your bravery, are under great stress – a sudden breakdown is not unusual! You are an exceptionally energetic and active sort of person, and I’d be prepared to bet that you always have been. It is quite possible that there is a touch of maleness in your psychological make-up. I wouldn’t be surprised if you preferred playing with boys when you were little, if you were a tomboy, got into fights. Maybe you even wished you were a boy now and then. In times like these, during a war, when the whole world is upside down, that kind of impossible childhood wish can rise to the surface in people who are otherwise completely mature. But it will pass once you have taken some rest.’

  ‘That has nothing to do with it. The only thing wrong with me is that I don’t have a beard.’

  ‘What’s that? Well, that is an aspect I would have to look into. I think the best thing for you would be to consult a specialist at the earliest opportunity.’

  A long column of armoured vehicles towing heavy guns came towards them. A motorcyclist wearing a helmet rode in front; he waved them to the side of the road. The doctor steered the car to the verge and stopped. Amid the din of roaring engines the vehicles rolled past one by one, olive green, dented here and there, splashed with brightly coloured, incomprehensible signs. Heads in helmets protruded from the tops of some of the trucks; long, thin antennae swayed to and fro in the air. These were the Allies! Osewoudt saw them clearly now for the first time, but he hid his face in his hands and cowered in his seat to avoid the soldiers’ notice.

  ‘Doctor,’ he said, when they set off again, ‘you’ve got it all wrong. I only put this nurse’s uniform on the day before yesterday. I’m going to Breda to volunteer for military service.’

  The doctor made no reply. Was he concentrating on the busy junction on the outskirts of Breda, which they were now approaching?

  ‘Doctor,’ said Osewoudt as they drove into the town, ‘I had a girlfriend in Amsterdam. She had a child by me. Do you believe me now?’

  ‘Is it all right if I wait for you here?’ said Dr Sikkens. ‘Then you can come back with me straightaway. I’ll see what I can do for you. My car is hardly the place for conducting a surgery. But you can stay with us as long as you like. I wish you’d take my advice! My wife and I would like nothing better! We have the greatest respect for people like you.’

  ‘But Doctor!’ Osewoudt implored, almost choking, ‘I have a man’s wristwatch!’ He showed it.

  ‘Most nurses have them, because the dial’s bigger.’ The doctor laughed. ‘Just tell me where you
want to go. I’ll wait for you in the car and then we’ll drive back together!’

  ‘I’ll get out here,’ said Osewoudt, and opened the door while the car was still running.

  ‘Where – here?’

  ‘Here! Here!’ he shrieked, putting his leg out of the door. By the time the car came to a stop Osewoudt was already dashing across the thoroughfare, zigzagging between two bicycles. He ducked into the first side street, his veil flapping behind him, and ran so fast he had to hold on to his cap. He could feel it sliding down, the bow under his chin had come undone. Slowing his pace, he retied it.

  He came to a large square bordered by low houses. He ran across it and turned into another street, where there were no gardens. At the end of this street he saw a crowd of people. He made his way towards them, boldly.

  The street led to a main road. There were a lot of people about, massed on either side of the carriageway, holding small flags, orange ones and red-white-and-blue ones. The boys wore orange paper hats and the girls had orange ribbons in their hair. Every house had put out a flag.

  ‘Excuse me madam, can you tell me what’s going on?’

  ‘Haven’t you heard, Sister? The queen will be coming past in a few minutes.’

  ‘Oh, how wonderful! I just arrived here from occupied territory, you see. I escaped. I feel as if I’m dreaming! I can’t believe my eyes! All these happy faces, all the bunting! It’s five years since I saw a Dutch flag! This is my country, my very own country! I feel as if I’ve been away for years, and have finally come home to my own people!’

  He was shaking all over. He clung to the woman’s arm as though seeking support from the branch of a tree.

  ‘Will it be long now? I’d so much love to see the queen, but I have to deliver a message. It’s very urgent.’

  ‘She may be here in ten minutes, five minutes, who knows …’

  ‘I need to go to the headquarters of the Netherlands Armed Forces. Is it far from here?’

  ‘Oh, Sister! You’re right on top of it, so to speak! See those barracks over the road? That’s their headquarters. If that’s where you have to deliver your message you’ll be better off than us. The queen’s going to stop there to inspect the guard of honour. If you’re quick you’ll get a grandstand view! Come along children, make way! Let the nurse through!’

  ‘Thank you, you are very kind.’

  Osewoudt said goodbye and crossed the road diagonally. Helmeted troops now began to form a cordon, but they let him through. Even the sentry at the barracks gate did not stop him. Skirts flapping, he strode to the main entrance, climbed the steps and went inside. He was confronted by three soldiers with white braid on their chests and a sergeant with a barrage of shiny medals.

  ‘Sergeant …’

  ‘What can I do for you, Sister?’

  ‘I have to speak to the commander. It’s urgent. I have an important message for him. Osewoudt is the name. Just tell him Osewoudt is here.’

  ‘I’ll go and check, Sister.’ The sergeant swung round and vanished into the building.

  Osewoudt smiled at the soldiers.

  ‘Nice day, isn’t it, Sister?’ one of them said.

  All three soldiers now began to pay him attention. They stepped forward, and the one nearest to him said: ‘Nice weather for a swim.’

  He looked Osewoudt up and down, grinning and squinting, gauging what the nurse would look like in a bathing costume. He was the tallest of the threesome, and bent low towards Osewoudt’s face.

  ‘Nice weather for a sunbathe, too, on the lawn by the pool.’

  ‘A bit early in the season for me,’ said Osewoudt. He turned aside and looked out across the forecourt to the road. What was that? Indeed, the doctor’s car. The doctor must have followed him. Driving very slowly, he poked his head out of the window to scan the approach to the barracks, without, apparently, spotting Osewoudt. But then it was quite dark in the vestibule compared with the forecourt.

  The cordon of troops tightened their control. An old-fashioned military policeman on horseback, in blue dress uniform complete with sword and fur cap, approached the car. He leaned down, motioning the doctor to drive on. A moment later the car had gone.

  Then footsteps sounded in the corridor. It was the sergeant, hurrying towards him with an officer in tow. The sergeant signalled mysteriously to the soldiers as he advanced, and the lieutenant, who was lame in one leg, swung his good leg further forward than people who have the use of both legs do, so that it landed each time with a loud thud. In his right hand he held out a file card from an index system. He was as pale as plaster, and his bulbous eyes shifted from the card to Osewoudt and back again. He was now very close.

  ‘Osewoudt! Osewoudt!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is this Osewoudt? Can this be Osewoudt?’

  There was a photo glued to the filing card.

  ‘Yes, I am Osewoudt. Do you know who I am?’

  ‘Arrest him! Take him into custody! Search him! The man’s dangerous! You stupid fools! He’s no nurse, he’s a spy!’

  Two of the soldiers promptly seized him by the arms and twisted them behind his back. The third, who only a moment ago had wanted to go swimming with him, frisked him gingerly with one hand, as if he thought Osewoudt might be carrying dynamite. Finally he pulled off the veil.

  They marched him down the corridor, or rather, they propelled him by the elbows, as if he were a dressmaker’s dummy. They came to a hall with rows of low benches occupied by the guard of honour, sitting up straight with their rifles between their knees. Osewoudt was conducted down the aisle between the rows; he kept silent. The third soldier, who was leading the way, opened a door. The other two soldiers let go of Osewoudt, or rather, flung him inside. The door banged behind them and bolts were slid home.

  The wall dividing this space from the hall was very thin. Voices were raised on the other side of the bolted door. ‘Silence!’ barked the lieutenant, and a hush descended.

  Osewoudt stood by the door, his heart thumping. He shook his half-dislocated shoulders, passed his hand over his now capless head. He noticed that his teeth were chattering and his knees quaking, as if he had climbed to the top of a tower at the double only to find himself in a boarded-up belfry.

  Yet it wasn’t dark in the cubicle. There was a window, tall and narrow, like all the windows in the barracks. It was covered on the outside by a web of barbed wire.

  He listened at the door. He could hear talking in low voices in the hall beyond, but couldn’t make out what was being said. His eyes wandered round the small space. There was a bunk, a low table on rusty tubular legs, a rusty metal chair, and a wooden washstand with an enamel basin.

  The noise from outside now reached him. He crossed to the window, which he could raise easily. There was so much barbed wire that not even a child would be able to poke its arm out without getting hurt. But it was easy enough to see through.

  The window overlooked the forecourt. He was about half a storey above ground level. The woman had been right, he would have a grandstand view of the queen! Clenching his jaws to stop his teeth chattering, he fetched the chair and set it in front of the window. He sat down, put his hands on the sill, propped his chin on his hand, and gazed outside.

  The road was now closed to traffic. The carriageway was completely clear, and lined on either side with infantrymen posted in front of the onlookers, alternately facing the road and the crowd.

  Loud stamping sounded from the guardroom next door. A few moments later the guard of honour emerged in the forecourt to the accompaniment of drums. They marched four abreast, shouldering their rifles with bayonets fixed. At the gate the column split in two, each half describing an arc until they came to a halt on command. They now stood in two facing semicircles, with rifles grounded.

  It was quiet for a moment, then in the distance the cheering started. Six motorcycle outriders came past in succession, rolling slowly over the carriageway. The cheering mounted. A flurry of waving hands and flags rippled above the heads of the expectant crowd. An
open car drew up and stopped.

  A military policeman opened the car door and the queen stepped out. She wore a grey costume with a fairly long, flared skirt. On her feet she wore sensible brown shoes. The officers saluted, the cheers became deafening. Osewoudt sprang up from his chair.

  The old lady advanced slowly across the forecourt. In her left hand she held a small bouquet wrapped in paper, probably the offering of a child in the crowd. She held her right hand level with her temple, with the palm turned to her face. She made stiff little bows left and right, fluttering her raised hand in a gesture of fanning her royal aura towards her subjects. She smiled benignly.

  ‘Hurrah! Hurrah!’ Osewoudt shouted.

  At that moment the queen happened to glance in his direction. He let go of the barbed wire he had been clinging to, and bowed. He had the impression the royal hand gestures were meant specifically for him. No doubt the queen, too, had a soft spot for nurses! Then the old lady’s gaze moved on.

  ‘Hurrah!’ Osewoudt shouted once more. But his voice was drowned out by the cheering crowd, and no one looked up at his window.

  Then there was some commotion on the other side of the partition. The door opened slowly.

  Osewoudt had shut the window and was sitting on his chair by the washstand. He did not move.

  A soldier put his head round the door.

  ‘Christ! Is that him?’

  The door was pushed to, and he heard the soldier say: ‘I’d have sworn he was a girl!’

  The door opened again, and another soldier looked in. His lips were smeared with whipped cream. In one hand he held a spoon, in the other a saucer with strawberries.

  ‘Strawberries and cream!’ he crowed. ‘But not for dirty faggots like you!’

  The door slammed and Osewoudt heard him say: ‘Damn! There was me thinking: nice bit of stuff! A blonde bombshell! Damn!’

  The sun was already setting when the door opened once more. A tall colonel entered, followed by the limping lieutenant and a corporal. Osewoudt got up; he stood facing the colonel.