The Journey Back Page 3

  They winked at the soldiers. “In soon days wait you here, we speak.”

  I put the bundle down. Silly, to have been so frightened. It had been nicer before though, on the road, when there were just the two of us.

  I leaned against the wall of the church. I could hear Sini talking and laughing as if she had all day! I was going home by myself. I knew the way. I did not need her. “Sini.”

  She did not hear me. I took a few steps. Whispering, coming from the back of the line. Heads turned.

  “Poor thing. Look at her. What this war hasn’t done to us!”

  “How can she even walk on them. So spindly.”

  “And crooked.”

  My legs wouldn’t stay this way. I should tell them. I was going to go to a masseur, Sini said, do special exercises. They’d get straight again, just the way they used to be.

  With my eyes fastened on Sini’s back I waited. Near me were farmers with pails of flowers for sale. “Beautiful daffodils, jonquils. Look ’ere. …”

  Sini started to turn around. I smiled, raised my hand a little. Come. She did. As I stuck out my hand and took a few more steps, I saw a notice on the café wall. “Nightly Dances,” it read. “The Canadian soldiers cordially invite you.”

  Quickly now, through the Misterstraat, past streetlights without glass, past a store owner who was tearing down a shed, so he’d have boards to put across his empty window frames, too, and his neighbor who begged him for a plank, just one, for the window of his store.

  One more street, the short one with the cobblestones. There, we were already on it, passing one little house after another. They were not damaged, not even the windows. Ahead of us was the railroad crossing, and there was the road—ours.

  It was a straight road and long, with poplars on either side, poplars so tall that you had to bend your head way back to see the beginning of the leaves. Beyond the trees were ditches, then meadows and farms—small ones. Only one house wasn’t a farmhouse—ours.

  We couldn’t see it, not yet. Soon, though, part of it would be visible—the chimney, painted white like the rest of the house. In the meadow to our left a cow was grazing around molehills that stuck up like tiny black dunes. There was a piglet, too, all pink, and some sheep. A woman was tugging at the barbed wire on which fluffs of wool had caught. She must have heard us. She raised her head. We stopped.

  “Hello, Vrouw Droppers. How have you been?” we said, and went a little closer. Maybe I could ask her about Frits. We were about to cross the plank. We didn’t. She was staring in such a funny way and shaking her fist at us.

  “Why did you have to come back?” she yelled. “You should’ve been killed. It’s all because of you. …”

  What did she mean? Fast, away from her, whatever she had meant. Part of our house was in view now, the chimney and one whole side. I held tightly to Sini’s hand as we hurried on.

  “Girls!”

  Was that her? Coming after us?

  “You didn’t even see me you’re in such a hurry. It’s me, Maria!”

  Sheepishly we laughed. Sure, we remembered Maria, the woman who always had a goat with her.

  “It’s nice to see one Jewish child back,” she said to me. “Ja, ja, it’s been a bad time for a lot of people. Take your neighbors, the Droppers. They lost their oldest son. You remember ’m—Hans. He tried to save a Jew’s life by pulling him off a train before it left for Poland. A stranger yet. The Germans saw what he was doing and shot him right at the station.” She paused. “The Droppers may not be very friendly,” she warned. “They hate all Jews now. Well—” Maria changed the subject. “You girls must wonder where’s the goat. Ja, she’s gone. I go faster without her.

  “That reminds me, I have to hurry. I never handed in my radio as others did. It’s old, like me, but we both work.” She beamed. “I just heard we’ll have no trouble getting food next winter. The first freight trains are already being hauled home and will be running again by Christmas, for sure.” She started to leave. “People are counting on me. They even stop me in the street to ask, ‘Maria, what’s going on?’ No newspapers. That’s why, I guess.” Briskly she walked toward town.

  We were in front of the house, on the path that led to the back door.

  “Father and Rachel will take care of you now, Annie.”

  What? Sini didn’t want to any more? What did she mean? But there was no time to ask. The door opened, and out ran Father and Rachel. We hugged, we kissed, we cried. We were back again—at last.

  *

  2 *

  Still holding on to one another, we walked inside, talking, asking about things but not waiting for answers. “How are you?” “Fine.” “And you?”“Fine.” And out of the kitchen. Sini and I had to see the rest of the house, “Come,” we said, laughing shyly and pulling each other along.

  There was very little furniture, though, and the floors were bare. I tried to tiptoe. Still, the living room looked beautiful. There, as if they had never been away, were the old sofa and the chest with the tea cozy perched on top, a little bit of the teapot showing. And in the middle of the room, where they always used to stand, were the chairs with the plush seats that scratched your legs.

  “Annie, put on something longer,” Mother used to say, “or don’t sit on those chairs.”

  I had anyway, telling her it was fine, but secretly I had put my hands underneath my legs and wondered why Mother loved those chairs so. I was glad they were back, though.

  I had not thought about Mother for a long time. I stood there for a minute; then I rushed up the stairs to catch up with the others.

  My room was much bigger than the one at the Oostervelds, gigantic almost. I bounced on the bed— perfect. Then I went to the window. Sure, just as I’d thought. Through the treetops I could see the clock on the church tower.

  In Rachel’s room there was something new—wooden plaques with Biblical sayings painted on them. Funny, we never had those in our house before. She must have made them herself. They were pretty, with curlicues and flowers everywhere.

  “Come, Annie.”

  Yes, yes. I stepped out on the balcony, too. The road stretched out ahead of us. There was the Droppers’ farm. Then, a little farther away, Mulder’s, Ten Riet’s and Geerdes’, where the vanes of the windmills were going around and around. I could even see Maria’s cottage at the very end of the road, and behind it, the woods, a long dark shape. Not safe. Might be mines there. …

  There. I smiled. Old Geerdes and his two sons—one tall and one short—were rushing off to work, their shovels across their shoulders, exactly as they always had. “They never stop working,” Father used to say. “Maybe that’s why they have no furniture in their house. It would only tempt them.”

  “Hurry up, boys,” old Geerdes was shouting. “We don’t want your mother to be the first one digging.”

  Back in the kitchen we kept offering each other chairs, but only I sat down. The others were too restless. They were talking, talking, talking—about the rubble on the other side of town, how lucky Father was to have a bicycle with real tires yet, how tall the weeds in the garden were when Rachel first came back.

  “And the house”—Rachel’s hands pointed everywhere—”filthy, Sini. Those traitors who lived here while we were gone must never have cleaned. The dirt on the floors and walls was an inch thick. There’s no soap. You can’t imagine how hard I worked.” She showed Sini her nails. “And it doesn’t even look as if I made a dent. Those Judases must have expected to go to jail, too. Everything was gone from the house—dishes, pots. Not even a spoon was left.

  “I borrowed a handcart, visited everyone we had stored our furniture with. ‘Please,’ I said, ‘we’re back.’ Those Droppers cried when they saw me, but not from happiness. They threw a few things out on the road, then slammed the door in my face. Some other people returned nothing. I wanted to go to the police, to complain, but Father would not let me.”

  “How could we prove it was ours?” he said. “I did not ask for a re
ceipt.”

  He was afraid, Rachel said angrily; that was why.

  “Didn’t want people in town to think badly of us.”

  “Don’t forget, I have to begin my business all over again. I can’t afford to start with trouble. ‘Look at that Ies,’ they’ll say, ‘barely back and a big mouth already.’ What if they continue to do business with the people they used while I was gone?” Impatiently, Father walked to the door.

  Would he take me with him? Yes, yes, I had been right.

  “Let’s go, Annie.”

  Quickly I followed him outside and climbed on the back of his bicycle.

  Rachel rushed after us. “Button your sweater,” she cautioned. “I don’t want you to catch a cold.”

  A cold? In this weather? Okay, if it was that important to her. I let her button it. Now we could leave, right?

  “Make sure you stop plenty of times to rest, Father.

  Yesterday you came home exhausted.”

  “Stop bothering about me, Rachel. I have to go.” Father’s voice sounded a little edgy.

  Rachel stepped back. Father put his leg over the bar, and off we went. It was wonderful, even more so than I had thought it would be. We whizzed along the road, leaving the poplars, the cow, the sheep, and the piglet behind us. Vrouw Droppers was gone. It did not matter that Father had no car. I could sit much closer to him this way. Contentedly, I rubbed my face against the back of his jacket. Even the sky was beautiful, with only a few clouds now, streaky ones, lacy almost, going east and rushing along fast like us. Which farmer would we go to? I had not thought to ask. Maybe to one who lived hours away.

  Oops, the cobblestone street. We were slowing down.

  A-bump, a-bump, we went.

  “Hang on, Annie.”

  I could not hold Father more tightly than I was. We were really slowing down. Maybe I should get off for a few seconds. “Father?”

  He had already stopped. Drops of sweat were running down his face. “I’ll have to leave you here, Annie. You won’t have too far to walk home. I can go faster alone. The cow may already have been sold if I take too long to get there. But I’ll come home as soon as I’ve finished.” He kissed me, then continued down the street. Not quickly though, and his back was still bent.

  In a couple of weeks, it would be better. When he was stronger, he’d ask me to go with him again. Then we’d get there, all the way.

  Slowly I started home, across the rusty railroad tracks and through the weeds that had grown up all around them, past the poplars, the same ones, with the skinny trunks. Look, though! I bent down and put my hand on the ground right next to a tree. Moss, like velvet almost it was that soft, was growing against the bark. I bent down even more and smelled it. Musty but fresh, too.

  I heard a dog bark. I struggled to my feet. Bobbie? No. It might have been though. He had run away from the people who were taking care of him, Father said. Sure, that was a few years ago. Still. … Calling his name over and over again, I walked toward the house.

  It had been a strange afternoon. Rachel never stopped bustling around; Sini sat, in a daze; I yawned. The light that came into the kitchen started to grow dim. It was falling now only on what was close to the window. The table, set with the four plates. Father. For the first time since our return, I studied his face. It was thin, with many more wrinkles or with deeper ones; I didn’t know which. Almost all his hair was gray.

  Rachel looked different, too—pinched, pale, older. They were like strangers almost, both of them, not like family. I was glad Sini was here. I did not have to turn my head to know what she looked like—pretty.

  “Father, Sini, Annie, come to the table,” Rachel said.

  We sat down. Such a good place I had, right opposite the window. I could see almost a whole meadow, and anyone going by. It was very silent though. It had been for a few hours now, with only Sini and me doing a little talking, in whispers. Ssht, Father was going to say something.

  He started a few times, got out “I’m a happy man tonight,” and that was all. We could begin to eat, I guessed. I picked up my fork and stuck it in a potato. Confused, I stopped. What was the matter with Rachel? Her head was bent, her hands folded. Ssht.

  “Bless this food, O Lord. …”

  “Not again,” Father muttered. “Enough.”

  Then, except for the clinking of our forks, it was silent. Maybe Father would say something else? Or Sini? Or Rachel? Or me? What though? Just anything? I stared at my plate. It had been nicer in the Oosterveld kitchen. Much, much. There had been laughter and noise.

  “Get your butt off the chair and pour me another plateful of that pudding, woman,” Johan would say. “Why d’you think I married you, eh? No, Ma, you sit. It’s Dientje I’m talking to.”

  Was it only this morning that Sini and I had left them? How could that be? It didn’t make sense that we didn’t live there any longer. I forced another bite down, and another, till my plate was empty.

  Instantly Father pushed his chair back. It scraped across the tiles, but not so loudly that I couldn’t hear what Rachel was saying: “… not for our sake, but for the sake of Jesus. Amen.”

  She opened her eyes and leaned toward me. Before her hand could touch mine, I got up.

  Plop. Suddenly the electricity went on. Rachel had expected it and had already turned the switch. What now? Would we play a game? We used to, on special nights. The one where we all got eight cards? Maybe, maybe.

  Father was putting a hand in his pocket. Yes? Yes? There, he had pulled out a piece of paper. He pulled out a pencil stub. He licked the point. He began to write. But not our names, the names of cows.“Marietje, red and white, two years old.”Prices—of cows, rows of them. Additions and subtractions—cow ones.

  Rachel sat down on the chair opposite him. Her lips began to move, too. Once or twice Father scowled at the Bible in her lap. Rachel did not notice. Leaning against Sini’s chair, I watched. Row after row. Page after page.

  Startled, I looked up. The doorbell was ringing. At this hour? Who could it be? Father went to look.

  “Evening, Ies.” Country voices.

  And Father’s happy one, answering, “Come in, Ten Riet, Mulder, Geerdes, Geerdes, Geerdes.”

  “Ah, but just for a minute, Ies. We know this must be a celebration for you.”

  Ten Riet stepped forward. “Ies, Rachel, Sini, Annie, now that you’re home again we want to welcome you officially back into the neighborhood. It’s different from greeting you out on the road as some of us already have done. We’re glad. Only not that Mrs. de Leeuw wasn’t allowed to see this day, and that Droppers refused to come along—I asked ’m—and that our womenfolk couldn’t; they’re busy with the work.” He pulled a rumpled handkerchief from his overalls and wiped his face.

  He must have forgotten something. Mulder was nudging him with his elbow. “Oh, ja. And we came because it wouldn’t ’ve been right not to, now that we know you’re back. They made me the neighborhood chairman, Ies,” Ten Riet complained, starting on his face again. “I hate to talk, but what can I do? I was picked, and now I’m stuck.”

  “Only till January first, Ten Riet,” Mulder reminded him. “Then we’ll vote again.” He snapped his suspenders.

  “Look at him! He thinks he’s already got it,” the short Geerdes son said, laughing.

  Rachel went into the living room and came back with chairs.

  “Not for the boys and me, Rachel,” the Geerdes father declined. “Once we sit, we won’t work.” He took his pipe out of his mouth and peered into the bowl. “I can’t wait till there’s tobacco again,” he grumbled. “I’m tired of sucking air.”

  “Only another month,” Mulder comforted him, “and you’ll be all right again. An ounce a week, Maria heard.”

  They weren’t leaving, were they? Anxiously I watched Mulder give Ten Riet a signal. Good, Ten Riet had not noticed. He was too busy listening to Father talk about cows. “Ja, ja. Ja, ja, ja, Ies. …”

  Mulder gave the signal again, a bigger swe
ep with his head.

  I smiled. Again it had not worked. Of course not. Father knew so much about cows. “Ja … ja, ja … ja. …”

  “Ten Riet,” Mulder warned, “don’t bother Ies with your stories tonight.”

  Hastily Ten Riet got up. “Ies, Rachel, Sini, Annie, we’ve got to go, which is only right. It’s your first day back. But we can tell our wives and mothers that you all look well. We saw.”

  Led by Mulder, they hurried toward the door. The last ones to leave were the Geerdes sons. They could not take their eyes off the empty chairs. Then they were gone, too. “In half an hour the lights must be off,” Father ordered. Then I heard the door to his room close. I looked out my window. The lit dial on the church clock said nine. I took off my clothes and put them on the chair. Actually the room in Usselo had been a little cozier than this one, now that I was taking a better look at it. I quickly crawled into bed. Footsteps coming up the stairs. I smiled. They were Sini’s. She must have forgotten what she said this morning, about not wanting to take care of me any more. Quickly I made room on the bed for her to sit by me.

  “I miss Johan and Dientje,” she began the minute she came in. She closed the door. “I don’t like being here. It’s not what I dreamed it would be. I had hoped Rachel and I would get on as we did before, but all she’s interested in is work and her new religion. And Father isn’t any better. I know it isn’t easy for him, but the few times he stopped to say something to me tonight, he ordered me around as if I were a child—’Do.’ ‘Don’t.’ Doesn’t he know I’m twenty-three years old? And my friends. …” She bent her head. “I don’t want to see them, Annie, not after what happened with Gerrit. He must have thought I wouldn’t make it back, the way he looked at me. I have to do something. I want to have fun, and have it fast. I’ve lost so much time already! I can’t sit around here waiting!”

  Awkwardly I patted her. Father and Rachel would not always be this busy. This was only the first evening. It was going to get better, maybe even as soon as tomorrow. And then we could do things, all of us. Besides, she should not forget that she had me, which was as good as having a friend. Better.