Slowly I picked up another potato. So big. I glared at it. Thicker the peels. Shorter the curls. She’d never notice. Father took them to the cows anyway.
Footsteps on the road. “Broekman, here” came Mother’s voice. “By the hedge.”
It was the gardener, his arms full of plants. “We can get started right away, Mrs. de Leeuw, and I’ll try not to take any longer than I have to,” he promised. But after every plant he put in, he slowly straightened his back. “A little bit of rest does a lot of good, Mrs. de Leeuw,” he explained, “especially in the spring when the ground doesn’t give.”
“If it helps the garden.” Mother laughed.
“It does,” he assured her, still stretching.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. de Leeuw. Hi, Annie. What pretty things are going on here,” Maria called. “Come, Sweetie, let’s take a look.” Nudging her goat on with her knee, she came over. “Oh, oh, oh, I was right,” she marveled, leaning across the hedge. “When they’ve got those contests again, Mrs. de Leeuw, I bet your garden will get all the ribbons.”
Mother liked that. “Thank you,” she said. “And it will be all right if you want to come by every day and watch the progress.”
“We will, we will.” Maria beamed, lovingly looking down at her goat. “Watch where you eat,” she scolded it. “That hedge has thorns. You know you can’t take those. What am I going to do with you? Come.”
“How can anyone love an animal that much?” Mother said wonderingly, looking after them. “All they do is make a mess. Broekman,” she hinted, “I don’t like paying for leaning on shovels either.”
Instantly the soil began to fly again. A few more plants went in, same way, with rests on the shovel in between. Mother was joking now. Nice. Didn’t do that too often.
Maybe she didn’t want him to quit. There weren’t that many gardeners, and he was a good one. Worked at the best places in town, Mother said. “As soon as you can, Broekman, I’d like azaleas, anemones, chrysanthemums.”
“I will, Mrs. de Leeuw. Get you some fine ones, too, and I’ll see you next week.”
I smiled. Mother certainly knew how to handle him.
She was walking around again, I saw, touching the evergreen that had been there for years, a shrub with leaves just unfolding. She stopped in front of the forsythia bush. Carefully she pulled a branch closer, inspected it, then eased it back, not disturbing the flowers at all. She stepped back, admired it again.
They were beautiful, even yellower than when I had gone to school this morning. “It’s such a nice bush, Mother.”
She turned around. “That shows good taste, Annie.”
Confused I nodded. A compliment? Yes, definitely. I got to my feet, picked up the pail, the basket with peels— thick ones and thin.
“If you had any talent,” Mother continued, “you could make a picture of it and keep it forever.” Briskly she went in.
“Good taste,” she had said. After all these months … Father had been right. “Patience, Annie, and it’ll all come.” I looked at the forsythia bush once more, fondly. Then, lightly, I went in. You have good taste, she said. Good taste, good taste. …
PART FOUR
* SPRING *
*
1 *
The weather held. One sunny day ran into another, as if trying to make up for lost time. The roads were crowded again with cars and hitchhikers. “How far can you take us? How far?” There were buses again, going in all directions this time, and stopping in many towns, no matter how small.
“Good-bye, Mother.” I stood in the doorway. I had already said good-bye to Father a while ago, before he left for work. “Have a nice time,” he had wished me. “And give my love to the Oostervelds.”
I would. In less than two hours. Would Mother say it, too?
I looked at her. She was still getting dressed. She was wearing jewelry today, and a silk scarf. Pretty. “Annie, … ”
Instantly I let go of the doorknob.
“That pleat in the front doesn’t please me,” she said, frowning, pulling at it a little, “but it’s definitely not my sewing. They’ll like it. They’ll know I take good care of you.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Annie, … ”
“Yes, Mother?” Now she’d say it.
“Be sure to change into your old skirt when you get there.”
Of course. Nothing to worry about.
Intently Mother was combing her hair, trying to swirl the waves this way, that way; different today.
I waited another second. She was still combing. … Slowly I reached the road. I turned around to look at the house, the garden. In less than an hour Nel would come. Easter vacation for her, too.
In town the day had also begun. Bedding was hanging across windowsills, to air. In the Misterstraat the first of the new windows in the stores were being washed.
With long, careful strokes, Mr. de Wind moved a sponge across his window. “Doesn’t it look wonderful,” he called over to his neighbor. “I have only three more boards to get rid of. By Christmas I’ll be all set. The government promised.”
Near them a woman was sweeping the sidewalk. Her broom was stiff and scratchy—also new. Other sounds in the street; the milkman’s bell as he made his rounds. Customers rushed over to his cart with a pot, a coupon. In the marketplace the farmers had already set up their stands and were calling attention to their wares. “Look ’ere, look ’ere.” I stopped. So many flowers—purples, yellows, reds, all of those in one; pansies, spilling over the side of the pails.
Bong, bong. I’d better hurry, run. At the bus stop I joined the end of the line. I was just in time. The sound of the horn, loud and hoarse, came from around the corner. The line began to move.
*
2 *
The bus was full of people going on vacation, or visiting just for the day. Someone across from me was talking about that.
“After supper tonight we can come home, wife. Not like the other time, remember? We stood on the road waiting for a car so long that we had to turn around and sleep at the kids’ house after all? And the dog kept us up all night?”
“I’m glad we didn’t try that again,” his wife grumbled. “Driver, you’re sure now about the return schedule?” Relaxed, she leaned back.
We were no longer in Winterswijk. We had reached the main road. I looked at my suitcase. Mother’s. It was an old one, a little scratched. Carefully I moved it out from under my neighbor’s feet.
We were already in Groenlo, I saw, and nearly through it. Only a few houses now along a narrow street. Then nothing but the road again.
Nel—closer and closer. … I even knew what stop her train was at now—Zutphen. “And once she’s there, Annie, it’s almost as if she’s home already.” I sighed. I didn’t want to think about that. Johan and Dientje—I hadn’t seen them in so long, not since the wedding. And Opoe—even longer than that. It would be nice. I wouldn’t have to walk just so, eat just so, sit … not always have to think of what to do next.
Just be with them … be me. They might have left their house already, could even be at the bus stop now, waiting for me. I’d make sure I’d be the first one off. I glanced out the window. Not there yet. Another village to go. Now almost. Quickly I walked to the front of the bus to remind the driver. “Usselo?” he repeated. “Not too many calls for that place.” I got off. I was the only one.
*
3 *
Where were Johan and Dientje? For a second I stood still, thinking. Maybe they had not been able to figure out the time. Sure, with my handwriting? Well, I’d get there myself. I began to walk down the road.
“Hi.” I waved back at a man on a cart. People were friendly here, and it was so quiet, none of the big town noises Winterswijk had.
There was something new. Where the rubble from the old bakery had been was a shed with a sign, “Good bread and rolls here.” And look, in Spieker Diena’s store, four different-colored socks were on display, temptingly dangling from a clothesline th
at was stretched all the way across the window. Faster now. Almost, almost. Right there, the farm, the geranium beds in front of the house. Two people running toward me.
“I told you, Dientje, we can’t tell with that clock. She’s here already.”
“Be careful with her, Johan,” Dientje warned. “You just came from the stable.”
“Ah, woman,” he yelled jubilantly, “she doesn’t care. See? She hasn’t changed a bit. She’s still our little Annie.”
Opoe was rushing over, too, laughing and wiping her face on her apron before she offered me her cheek. So wonderful to be back. Now I realized how much I had missed them. Holding their hands, I went in the house.
“She looks tired, Johan.” “Not like she used to.” “Sit in Ma’s chair.” “No, not you, Vlekje.” “Nice and plump though”—interrupting each other, tripping over their words.
“I see a real figure on’r.” Opoe came closer to get a better look.
“And the skirt—beautiful.”
“I got something new, too, Annie.” Dientje beamed.
“I’ll show you later, after we eat.” “How are your father, and, and your”—rapidly she hurried on—“mother?
That’s good, that’s good.” On, right away. “D’you have friends?”
“Sort of,” I said hesitantly. The walk home with Selma. … “Ah, friends, I want to hear about learning. How are you doing with those formulas we talked about?”
“Physics?” I laughed. “Horrible, Johan.”
“The calf Annie—Annie, now that you’re here it sounds so funny calling her that—she’s something. Frisky.” Johan made his hands leap in the air. “I’ll show you later.”
I nodded vigorously.
“I’ve got so much to tell you, Annie. Can’t put it all in a letter.”
“I know, Johan. But they were fine letters.” Not like this though—one piece of news after another, with Opoe and Dientje making sure he didn’t forget anything.
“Johan, tell her about the minister,” Dientje urged.
“Goddammit, Annie. Yes. Remember, since the parsonage got bombed he’s been living with people down the road? And he couldn’t stand their cooking? Ja, that I wrote. Well—” He paused, rubbed his nose, and settled his feet more comfortably on another chair. “One day Mr. Hannink came here and said, ‘You take him. It’s only for a couple of days. Then he’ll go to someone else’s house.’
“I said to him, ‘That’s the same thing you told us when you brought Annie and Sini, and look how long that lasted. That was wonderful, but I’m not sure I can stand having a minister underfoot.’”
“With the way Johan talks sometimes, Annie, we weren’t sure the minister would put up with us.”
I giggled.
“Ja, she knows, woman, I don’t hide anything. But I said, ‘Let’m come for an evening. I’ll try him out.’ I did, Annie. Nothing bothered him, nothing. Couldn’t tell he was a minister except for looking at him. Ha, ha, three weeks he stayed. That Mr. Hannink always fools us.”
“And he ate”—Opoe shook her head—“as if he did real work.”
“He liked what I cooked, Annie. And we don’t eat out of the pan any more. Regular plates we’re using, and all the time the way you do in Winterswijk, not just for birthdays.” Dientje’s face looked flushed.
“That couldn’t be helped,” Opoe said gravely, “with a minister in the house.”
“Ja, ja.” Johan laughed. “Many fellow—er, er, mankind have passed through my house. Jews, Germans, Canadians, and now the minister. I said that nicely, Annie, didn’t I?” Johan said triumphantly. “Fellow mankind? Ja, ja, I learn easy enough, even though I never did go to school much—English, church talk, everything.”
“Johan, that Willem—”
“Ja, Ma, I’m getting there. Remember him, Annie? He was picked up on Liberation Day? He’s out of jail again and back on his farm. That’s how it goes. Came home looking good, too. Had a nice rest, I guess. And everyone in Usselo talks to him again. ‘Life goes on,’ they say. ‘We’ve got to forget.’ But me”—Johan raised his voice—“I still hate him, that traitor. I wouldn’t say good morning to’m even if he said it to me.”
“And Johan, tell’r about the crime Usselo had.”
“Can you believe, a bag of nails disappeared from Berend’s shed. And who did it still isn’t saying.”
“Annie looks exhausted from all the news.” They laughed. “That tiny Usselo, eh? Ja, ja, not everything happens just in big towns.”
The door opened. A woman came in, tittering. Leida, who else?
“Hiya, everyone. I bet Annie doesn’t recognize me now that I’ve got teeth.”
“I do.” I laughed.
“They don’t work, Annie; they only look good. I can’t wear them when I eat. They hurt so. I should take’m back to that dentist to complain, but every time I sit down in his chair he wants something else from me before he begins. Last time it was a ham. They say I should go to the police, but I hate to do that.”
“Yes, yes.” Understandingly everyone nodded.
“Well”—Leida was smiling again—“if you’re finished with the paper, I’ll take it, Johan. Ever since the war, we all read the news in Usselo.” She giggled. “We don’t want to be surprised again. I’ve got a radio, but who’s in the house long enough to sit and listen to it? Annie’s looking at the date of the paper.” She roared. “Three days old, she thinks, and Leida here calls it news. Johan, I’ve got to run. You tell’r we want to know what’s going on, but we don’t want to spend the money on it, so we all share.”
Sheepishly Johan looked at me. Leida stuck her head back in. “Annie, I’ll see you. I suppose you’re staying for a while.”
“She sure is,” Johan answered, “through Easter at least. She’s got to help us eat the eggs, Leida.”
I’d like to. … The door closed again. Leida’s laughter faded and was gone. There was something I had to say. “Johan,” I began.
“How many eggs can you eat this year, Annie? Six, eh? Ha, more I bet. Eight? Dientje, maybe a couple of dozen like me.”
I had to tell them. Couldn’t wait any longer. I blurted it out. “I won’t be here on Sunday.” They stared, all three of them; didn’t believe me. I said it again, “I won’t be here—” I swallowed, waited.
“When?” Johan demanded.
His face. … Couldn’t look at him. “Thursday,” I whispered.
Now he knew. His voice. “Did you hear that, Ma, Dientje? Goddammit, Annie, you can’t do that. You’ve got to stay longer.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t.
“Why not.”
I closed my eyes—Mother. “What d’you want to go to Usselo for? You just saw them in October. That should be enough for anyone. Well, if you want to, go ahead, for four days.
Johan’s voice again. “Tell me.”
“So much work to do for school,” I whispered.
“And maybe her mother will miss’r if she stays longer. Right, Annie?” Anxiously Dientje looked at me.
Grateful, I nodded. Yes, that was it.
But Johan was still upset. “She has her all the time. We’ve talked about you all winter, Annie. You don’t know. Wait till she comes, we kept saying. Can’t be later than Eastertime. And we’ll sit around the table and eat eggs like we did a couple of years in a row. Sini can’t be here. That we understand. But you. …”
Please, Johan, no more. I can’t stand it.
“Nothing ever goes the way it should. Never has, either. Before the war, I didn’t notice. Now I see it.”
“God-o-god-o-god, Johan, enough.” Heavily Opoe got up, looked for something in the cabinet, found it. Cups. “Fui-fui, that Annie must think we’ve got nothing to drink here.”
Silence. Only Dientje’s fingers rubbing the table back and forth. Even that sound stopped. She got up, went to the stove, reached for the coffeepot.
“I hope you made it right this time,” Opoe said, “not watery as you usually do.” Dientje winked
and poured me a cup anyway. Timidly I looked at Johan. He put his hand on mine, squeezed it.
“I know it’s not your fault. I just got carried away.” He picked up his cup, drank. I did, too. Relaxing, all of us again, and talking; but nice talk now, not like the other. I snuggled deeper into Opoe’s easy chair and swung my legs across the arm.
“Happy you’re here?” Dientje asked.
Yes. The begonias on the windowsill, the kettle on the stove, hissing a little just as it always did. Yes.
Noon dinner was over. The plates were waiting by the pump to be washed. “Annie, want me to show you now?” With a red face Dientje hurried ahead of me up the stairs. “I have it in the closet”—she stopped and looked proudly at me over her shoulder—“on a hanger.” She rushed into her bedroom, opened the closet door, and gingerly lifted something out. “It’s a dress. What d’you think of it, Annie? Tell me honestly.”
“I like it, Dientje. It has such a nice pocket.”
“Yes, doesn’t it?” She wriggled her hand into it. “You can tell it’s lace, can’t you?”
“Yes, and those buttons.”
“Aren’t they pretty?” Dientje agreed. “They’re different, you see that? They’re not round, and they’re shiny? Spieker’s Diena has beautiful things, Annie.” Lovingly Dientje’s hands slid down the skirt. “It took an awful lot of coupons, mine and most of Opoe’s,” she whispered, listening for footsteps on the stairs. “Don’t tell ’em. I know it isn’t exactly what your mother had on at the wedding, Annie, but it’s a little like it, you think?”
“It matches your eyes, Dientje.”
Shyly she looked at me. “Ja, kind of blue, right? I can’t wait till I have some place to go, so I can wear it. And I can say to people, it’s almost like Mrs. de Leeuw’s dress.” Carefully she hung it back in the closet. “I’m learning things, too, Annie. Just like Johan.”
I closed the stable door behind me. “See you later, Johan.” Maybe I’d take a tiny rest, for a few minutes, no more. I knew exactly where, a wonderful place—in the apple tree along the side of the house, the one with the low branch that looked like a bench. One more peek in the chicken coop … in the kitchen … still doing the laundry.
The Journey Back Page 12
