by Monica Hesse
She’s not dead, I tell myself.
After I’ve been at the crèche only a few minutes, Judith calls to discuss business with Mina.
“I’ve saved up two pounds of ersatz coffee,” Mina tells her on the telephone. “I was thinking of having a little party, if you know of any friends who are free this evening.”
“Everyone I know is in the mood for tea these days,” I hear Judith say on the other end of the line. “Nobody wants coffee.”
Mina explained the telephone code to me already. Tea is light-complexioned children, who look more ethnically Dutch, and coffee is those with darker features. Families want blond toddlers, whose presence can easily be explained away.
I should go, I mouth finally. I have time to visit one more dentist.
Mina cups her hand over the phone receiver. “Judith is telling me there’s a gathering at Leo’s tonight. She wants me to invite you.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say. And I will. I have been. I know they need my help, but I need to find Mirjam first.
“I wish I could go. I would if I were older,” Mina says.
“Maybe.”
“She says maybe,” Mina tells Judith. “I know, I know, but that’s all she’ll say.” I can imagine what Judith is thinking on the other end of the line: that she and Mina are Jewish, with Jewish names and Stars of David sewn onto their clothes, and they still risk their lives every day. I am blond-haired and green-eyed with pristine papers, and I still haven’t agreed to help them. She’ll think that, and it’s true, because everyone is running out of time. I’m just not ready yet. Not quite.
Mina hangs up the receiver and looks slightly embarrassed. “Judith implied that if you don’t go tonight, she’s not going to use her contacts in the theater to ask about Mirjam again. She says the group has too much important work to spend time helping people who don’t offer anything in return.”
“I’ll go.”
Earlier this morning I told Mr. Kreuk I needed to miss work to go to the dentist. And then I went to six of them. One after the other, pretending to have an aching tooth, asking at each one for Dr. Rosen. I started with the two nearest the Jewish neighborhoods, then spiraled farther out. This afternoon I’d already arranged to meet with a prospective contact, a baker in North Amsterdam, so I cross the river by ferry and, after meeting the baker, go to a dental office in a tidy residential neighborhood. Inside, the receptionist is already wearing her coat. “The doctor was about to leave,” she says. “It’s nearly five.”
“My tooth really hurts. Doesn’t Dr. Rosen have just a few minutes?” I wait for her to tell me that there is no Dr. Rosen, which is what has happened at every office so far.
She sighs. “Dr. Rosen is out sick. You would have to see his partner instead, Dr. Zimmer.”
“His—what?”
“Dr. Rosen is sick. But I’ll get Dr. Zimmer for you. If you’re sure it’s an emergency?”
As soon as she disappears from view, I slink behind her desk. A large appointment book lies open on top. Off to one side, a wire mail holder, filled with bills. I flip through them quickly, hoping to find one with Dr. Rosen’s home address, as I listen with one ear to the receptionist in the next room. No home addresses. Everything is addressed to the clinic. My eyes move up to the walls behind the desk, scanning diplomas and certificates. One corner has photographs: a dark-haired couple, who I assume are the Rosens, standing with—I step closer to make sure I’m seeing correctly. The boy with the round face who winked at me at the Lyceum. The cheeky, nervy boy who reminded me of Bas. Tobias.
“What are you doing?” The receptionist glares at me from the doorway.
“Do you have a spare handkerchief? I’m a receptionist, too. Sometimes I keep them in my desk.”
She frowns and plucks me one from her pocket. “Dr. Zimmer can’t see you today. He has a personal engagement after work. He told me to make you an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. He doesn’t usually do Saturday appointments, but you can come in at one.”
“What about—” I’m inventing as I go. “Maybe Dr. Rosen could see me at his house. Do you have the address?”
I’ve gone too far; she looks really suspicious now. I put my hand to my heart. “Goodness, I don’t know what came over me, asking for Dr. Rosen’s home address. I guess people will do anything when they have a sore tooth. Tomorrow, one o’clock.”
A ferry is just arriving as I bicycle up to the port. The disembarking passengers are mostly businessmen coming home from work, but also young couples and mothers with small children. A crowd of young people waits near me to board the ferry, joking and jostling each other about school and movies and some farmer they must have passed on their outing. Maybe I should have stayed at Dr. Rosen’s office. Maybe I should have been honest with Dr. Zimmer’s secretary, or pretended to be concerned about the ailing Rosen family and asked where I could deliver a pot of soup.
Wait. I recognize one of the voices from the crowd of young people. I scan the group until I pick out the familiar blond head. It’s Mrs. Janssen’s errand boy, the one who sold her opklapbed on the day she asked me to find Mirjam.
“Christoffel!”
He turns and his face flushes red when he recognizes me. “Hanneke, right?”
The students surrounding him, the boys especially, have gone silent, jabbing one another with their elbows as they try to figure out who I am and how Christoffel knows me.
“Right. From Mrs. Janssen’s,” I say, trying to ignore the gawking crowd.
“Mr. Tof—Mr. Cool—aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” a wiry, donkey-nosed boy shouts from behind him.
Christoffel flushes at the nickname. He is a handsome boy who doesn’t quite realize it yet. I bet the girls have started to. He seems young for his age, but in a year or two he’ll grow out of his awkwardness and have willing girlfriends lining up around the corner. “I’m seeing Mrs. Janssen later tonight,” he says. “My father had a little present for her from Den Haag—he goes back and forth for work—so I said I’d take it to her.”
Den Haag, back and forth on the train? That’s impressive. It must be an important job. Finding a ticket is difficult for most people now that the trains have been taken over by the German army for their own transportation. Dutch men mostly avoid them because soldiers prowl our public transportation looking for workers to send to their war-effort factories. So either Christoffel’s father is a powerful businessman, or he’s a member of the Red Cross, which has an office in Den Haag. Or he is a member of the NSB.
“Are you here on a school outing today?” I ask. “Did you have fun?”
“It was fine. I don’t know. I don’t really like big group outings. I don’t really even like bicycling, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to say that.”
“Not and stay Dutch, you can’t.”
“What about you?” Christoffel asks. “What were you doing in North Amsterdam?”
“Nothing. The dentist.”
“I hope it went all right. I used to cry and cry when I had to go to the dentist.”
“It’s scary for little kids,” I say.
“Little kids? That was last year.” His blush deepens even more when I laugh at his joke, and he smiles for having thought of it. Sweet, fumbling kid. “Well. I should go back to the group,” he says finally. “They’re already teasing me because I can’t stay out with them tonight. Papa leaves early to go back to Den Haag for work tomorrow.”
“It was nice to see you,” I say.
He turns to walk away, but something else about his last statement paws at my brain. His second mention of Den Haag. Why was I just thinking of that city? Something to do with Mirjam. Something Mina knew.
“Wait, Christoffel. I have a favor to ask,” I say. He turns back. “Do you think your father could make a small side trip? To a hotel in Kijkduin? I need to get a letter to someone there, and in the mail it would take forever. But if your father is already going there…”
“What kind of letter?�
�� he asks.
I’m already taking out a pencil, using my knees as a table as I scrawl out a note. It will be harder for him to refuse if I hand him something already finished. “Nothing special,” I say. “It’s just that the postal system is so unreliable these days, and I’m trying to track down an old friend through a mutual acquaintance. I want to make sure it actually gets there.”
Whatever I write now must be beyond reproach. Unlike Ollie, who I’ve known for years, I know virtually nothing about Christoffel. Whether his father is or isn’t NSB, Christoffel could be a sympathizer. He’s only sixteen, but I’ve seen members of the Nationale Jeugdstorm, the Dutch version of the Hitler Youth, far younger than Christoffel marching around public squares, performing drills.
Dear Amalia,
We’ve never met, but I understand that we have a pair of mutual acquaintances—Mirjam and Tobias. I wonder if you may have heard from them recently. I live in Amsterdam now and was hoping to introduce them to some other friends who are visiting. Please respond as soon as possible; I only have a short amount of time.
I add my name to the bottom of the message and mention that any response can be returned via the same man who delivered the letter. Then I read over the short note again, weighing whether to put in any more details. My pencil hovers just over the page. Finally, I decide to add just one more line.
I am a friend.
Behind Christoffel, the other students call for him to hurry up. I start to fold the paper in thirds, the way I would a normal letter, but instead decide to crease the paper into the complicated star pattern that Mirjam’s letter to Amalia was folded into. I do it so Amalia will believe that I can be trusted, that I’m a girl just like her. I also do it because Christoffel won’t dare unfold this letter to read it—he’d never be able to refold it into this shape. Across the face I write, in block letters, AMALIA. C/O PROPRIETOR. GREEN HOTEL, KIJKDUIN. I hope there’s not more than one green hotel.
“Thank you,” I say. The ferry has almost crossed the river. Passengers are beginning to line up their bicycles to get off quickly.
“Christoffel! Let’s go! Come on, Mr. Cool!”
He blushes again at the nickname, which must be a private joke of some kind. I don’t wait for him to leave before elbowing my own way to the front of the line for disembarkation. I don’t want him to think he still has the option to give me back the paper, or that he has any other choice but to do me this favor.
FIFTEEN
Everyone but Judith has arrived at Leo’s when I get there. I sit down on the stool I sat on last time, next to Sanne, who is obviously delighted that I’ve shown up and who promptly tells me to close my eyes and hold out my hands. When I do, she gives me a tiny glass filled with juniper-scented liquid.
“Jenever?” I can’t remember the last time I had good alcohol.
“I got a little bottle for my birthday five months ago and hid it. So well, apparently, that I couldn’t find it until this morning. Everyone gets two thimbles.” I tip my head back to down the gin in one swallow. It burns and makes my eyes water.
“You’re here.” Ollie has come over to squat beside me. His eyes look tired but surprised and happy to see me.
“Judith told Mina I had to come.”
“I’m glad.” He reaches over and brushes his knuckles quickly over my cheek, an affectionate gesture, a gesture that comes from the Van de Kamp family. Mr. Van de Kamp used to do it to the children. Bas used to do it to me. It sends heat through my skin, and I immediately push the gesture from my mind.
When Judith doesn’t show up at the appointed time, Willem jokes that she has forfeited the right to one of her thimbles, and he should get to drink it instead. When she hasn’t shown up ten minutes later, Leo says that he wants Judith’s other one.
But when she hasn’t shown up ten minutes after that, the joking has stopped and we all eye one another silently. “Probably she’s held up at the school or theater,” Willem says. “Or there were more road closures.”
“I bet she’s coming down the street right now,” Sanne says, forcing a wide, unnatural smile as she goes to the window to check. “She’s always mad at me for making her late when we go places. This time I’ll get to show her that it’s not always my fault. Sometimes she’s late on her own!” She stares outside for a few hopeful minutes before returning to her seat. The clock gets louder and the silence gets heavier.
We hear footsteps outside the door, and all of us relax, but as soon as they approach, they disappear. Just a passerby hurrying home.
It’s Ollie who speaks next, in a pinched voice he struggles to keep neutral. “Does anyone here know where Judith’s uncle lives? I wonder if it might be time for us to—”
Before he can finish, the door bangs open and Judith tumbles in, carrying a valise and brushing new-fallen snow off her coat. My chest lets out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, and Sanne squeals in relief, jumping up to first embrace, then shake Judith. “We were worried,” Sanne chastises.
“I’m sorry.” Judith returns Sanne’s hug, but her smile looks forced.
“Oh, you’re all sweaty,” Sanne says. The drops running down Judith’s face—I’d assumed they were melted snow, but they’re perspiration.
“I ran to get here. I knew I was late.” She looks wan and shaky. Willem notices, too; he pours her a double serving of Jenever without first asking if she wants one. She accepts it but doesn’t drink, holding the glass in both hands.
“Take my seat?” he offers, and makes sure she sits down.
The color has returned to Ollie’s face. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “Let’s socialize after the meeting. We need to get started,” he says, all business again. “Leo says we’re having trouble getting enough food for the onderduikers. Meat, especially. I’m glad Hanneke came again today. I was hoping she might know—”
“Wait,” Judith interrupts. “We didn’t decide yet. We didn’t decide what our pretend gathering is about today. What we’ll tell people about why we’ve come here.”
“It’s not important, Judith,” Ollie says. “We’re running late. It doesn’t matter right now.”
“It does matter.” Her eyes look oddly bright and shiny.
“It’s fine. You—”
“It does matter. I have an idea. For what to celebrate. It should be my going-away party.”
“Your what?” Sanne’s voice is strained. “What are you talking about, Judith?”
Judith wipes away tears with the back of her hand. “They’ve started to round up the family members of the Jewish Council,” she says. “My uncle can’t protect me anymore. I got my notification late this afternoon to report to the Schouwburg for transport.” Her face completely dissolves.
Ollie is the first to react, wrapping his arms around Judith, the most tender I’ve ever seen him be. Sanne reaches for Judith’s hand, and Willem and Leo simultaneously produce handkerchiefs from their pockets. I don’t know what to do. I haven’t even known Judith a week. I don’t deserve to be as upset by this news as everyone else; I don’t deserve to be upset at all. She asked me to help and I wouldn’t. She asked again, and I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t, even though I had connections, even though it was less dangerous for me than for her and Mina. I came tonight only because she told me I had to. It doesn’t matter if I would have gotten there eventually on my own. I didn’t get there in time.
“I bet that was the Nazi plan all along,” Sanne says viciously. “Recruit important Jews for the Council. Make them think that they have real influence and that joining will let them help their families. And then, when the Nazis get everything they need from them, deport the Council, too. The Council was supposed to be safe.”
“It’s despicable,” Willem says quietly.
“It’s worse than despicable,” Sanne says. “It’s evil.”
“All right.” Ollie tries to control the room again. “We knew this might happen.” He looks at Judith. “Do you have everything you need?”
Judith takes a wavering breath before answering. “The essentials, at least. One bag of things, and I’m wearing most of my clothes.” No wonder she’s sweating. I should have noticed Judith looked heavier than usual. Her coat buttons are strained and at least two other skirts peek out from beneath the one she’s wearing on top. “Do you have my place ready?”
Ollie nods. “It’s too close to curfew to take you tonight. You’ll stay with Willem and me tonight, and you and I will go tomorrow or the next day, whichever is safer.”
“Where?” Sanne asks. “Where are you taking her?”
“He can’t tell you,” Judith says, at the same time that Ollie shakes his head. “Not until I’m safely there. The fewer people who know, the better. You know the rules.”
“Judith, what about Mina?” It’s the first time I’ve spoken in this conversation. It’s a horrible question: Is your cousin, the one with the bubbly laugh and the dimples in her elbows who takes secret photographs of German atrocities—is she now a prisoner of the same theater she worked so hard to rescue people from?
“Mina is safe. She got her notice today, too. It was waiting for her when she got home. I took her to her hiding place just before I came here; Ollie already had it set up. Her parents and brothers will go to theirs tomorrow. It’s been planned for weeks. Just in case.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. I’m apologizing for so many things with that sentence, but she doesn’t look at me again.
In no time at all, it’s almost curfew. We need to start leaving now, in groups of two. Sanne and Leo gather around Judith, embracing her and whispering things in her ear. When she’s said her good-byes, Ollie takes her tapestry valise and puts his hand on the doorknob. “Are you ready?” he asks quietly.
“I’m ready,” she says, and then he takes her out into the night.
SIXTEEN
