The Journey Back Page 5

  They were coming over. All of them? Yes, all six. What did they want? Were they going to chase me, shout Jew in my ears again, hit and kick as kids had done years before?

  I walked faster. They did, too. Their voices. That close already? I still had a good distance to go before I’d be home—more than half.

  They were right next to me now. In a second, they’d begin. Please, no.

  “Were you really hidden as people say?” one of them began.

  I stopped. “Yes.” Nervously I licked my lips.

  “Did the Germans ever catch you?” “You escaped?” “Any shooting?” “They hit you?” Curiously they pressed closer. “What was it like?” “What did you do?”

  “Nothing,” I whispered.

  Unbelieving, they looked at me. “Nothing? For all that time?”

  “The Germans had their local headquarters in the downstairs of the house I stayed in.” My voice sounded a lot louder now. “It was scary.”

  “Did they catch you then?” one of the boys demanded.

  “Well—no,” I confessed. “But don’t think it wasn’t dangerous. I had to stay in bed all the time, so they wouldn’t hear me, and once —”

  “What?”

  “A soldier saw me,” I said triumphantly. But, no, nothing had happened then, either. Ashamed, I dropped my eyes.

  “Let’s go back,” I heard one say. When I looked up, they were already doing that.

  But wait. One of the girls had turned around, the older one. “What school will you be going to?” she asked.

  “The M.U.L.O.,” I said proudly.

  “That’s where we’ll go,” she said. “You can walk with us.”

  I laughed and nodded. Sure, I’d love to. Whistling, I continued on my way.

  What a pretty day! The goldenrod along the ditch could not have been yellower, and the flower parts of the thistles as purple as could be. I was not the only one who had thought of a walk this afternoon, those two people had, too. Luxuriously they were strolling along the grassy edge of the road, the sun peeking at them through the trees, making their hair shiny—even the tops of their shoes, where the leather had not cracked.

  I was going to sit down right here, in front of our house. As soon as I saw Sini, I’d tell her what had happened. “I talked to a lot of kids,” I’d say casually as if this was the fifty-fifth time in a week. And then, when she had already begun to look pleased about that, I’d say, “I think I’m making friends, Sini.”

  Yep. She was not the only one who was. Me, too. And I had been back only— Let’s see … six weeks.

  Sini had found a job, in a home for children from Winterswijk whose parents had been traitors and were now in jail.

  How could she, said the people who gathered at the tree. “A Jewish girl working for them? What’s the matter with her? Doesn’t she know how many of us they helped send to concentration camps?” Their fingers shook as they went down the lists again. “No … no. … There’s not one other Winterswijk name here.”

  “It was the parents who did those things,” Sini protested. “The children are innocent. My God, some of them can’t even talk yet, they’re so little.”

  Father and Rachel were glad about Sini. “At last she’s doing something useful with her time,” they said.

  They weren’t thinking of those poor children. Not easy having to put up with Sini, six days a week yet. Well, it was fine with me. I was busy. I had lots of things going on.

  There was the masseur at four, and the kids I had met. Sometimes when I passed them now, I walked over to them. They smiled, said hello, and the older girl, Jannie, always reminded me that I would be walking to school with them. School—that was another place I went to almost every day, to see whether the soldiers had left and the roof been fixed. Plus I did errands for Rachel. I wouldn’t have had much time anyway for what-was-her-name-again, Sini. It was just as well she had a job. But right after I told her so, I turned away. She didn’t have to see my face.

  *

  7 *

  Some nights it rained. I could hear it clattering against my window and on the roof. Bong, bong. The sound of the bell in the church clock was very faint, as if it came from the next town over.

  Not Rachel, though. She was loud, night after night, walking around downstairs, talking to herself. “A cow with hoof-and-mouth disease. Fine story. Who does he think he’s kidding? And Sini only home to eat, then off again. … What am I waiting up for? To let them in? As exhausted as I am. I must be crazy!”

  Very loud now. It came from the hall, near the front door. “No more. Let them remember their keys. And if they don’t—that’s too bad!”

  Click, the lock. Through the rain I could hear something else. A dog, barking—not Bobbie.

  A week went by. Then one morning Sini did not come down for breakfast. Father ran upstairs to get her. “Sini, get out of bed,” he yelled. “You have to go to work.”

  When he came back downstairs, he said she couldn’t. He looked frightened. “I don’t understand, Rachel. You go and talk to her. I’m late already.”

  But Rachel came back downstairs alone, too. Sini was exhausted and nauseous was all she said.

  Instead of going to work, Father rushed off to town for a doctor. An hour later he returned with one. Anxiously we waited outside Sini’s door. When the doctor came out, he said she had jaundice.

  “But the vomiting this morning,” Father said nervously. “Are you sure she’s not— Go and get the doctor a clean towel, Annie.”

  I got halfway to the closet. Again the doctor said it was jaundice. “Positively, Mr. de Leeuw.” He began to sound irritated.

  “If you’re sure then—” Father wiped his face. Gratefully he shook the doctor’s hand.

  All day I tiptoed in and out of Sini’s room. “Rachel wants to know what you want.” No? No oatmeal? Sini only wanted to sleep? That was all right. I wouldn’t force her. I’d be back soon. Maybe then she’d eat.

  Sometimes Rachel came, and stayed. Then the three of us talked. Not about cleaning, not about religion—about us. Nights were special, too. Even Father was home, and we all sat by Sini’s bed.

  “Remember, Father, when she was little,” Rachel said, “how she used to stop everyone in the street a few days before her birthday? ‘Hey, you, c’mere a minute. See that house over there? ’S mine. In two days I’ll be four,’ she’d shriek. Two days later perfect strangers would come and ring the bell, Annie, holding a present. ‘Give this to the little girl who has a birthday today,’ they’d say. ‘We think her name is Sini.’ Mother would be so ashamed.” Rachel was wiping tears from her eyes, from laughing as well as crying.

  “‘Sini’s not like other people,’ your mother used to say.” Father got up from his chair and bent over Sini’s bed. Clumsily he smoothed her pillow. “Go to sleep now,” he said. “It’s late. Come on.” But his voice was soft, not angry—nice.

  July was turning into a wonderful month, and not only at home. “Isn’t it amazing,” everyone said and looked at the sky with smiles on their faces. “We just can’t get over it. We haven’t had a summer like this since before the war. Not a cloud—How many days does this make now?” And they’d hurry on, still smiling.

  Then it changed. No, not the weather—Sini. Every day she became a little better and stronger, which was good, of course. But she was angry. Almost every time I came upstairs, she began: “Look where I am. In bed, missing out on all the sun. I’m becoming as pale as I used to be. I want to get out.” Furiously she sat up. “If that doctor says I have to stay here much longer, I’m sure I’ll lose my job. And the soldiers will have been sent home. Then what will I do? Hang around the house day and night? For what?” She flopped back onto the pillow.

  Silently I plucked a piece of thread off her blanket. It was an old one. It even had little holes in it.

  “And where are Johan and Dientje? Why haven’t they visited us this summer?” Sini asked.

  That’s exactly what I wanted to know. I got up. Sl
owly I went downstairs, looking I didn’t know for what. Maybe I’d keep Rachel company for a while. She was sitting at the kitchen table with three books in front of her, open, every one of them. She was doing her work for the minister, for when she got baptized. For a second she looked up.

  “I want you to ask the masseur something,” she said.

  What! Going once a day was not enough?

  “See whether he’ll let you ride a bicycle, Annie. And make sure you ask whether you can ride a lot.”

  What was the matter with Rachel? The only bicycle in the house was Father’s, and he was always on it. Crazy people, all three of them. It was all the same again, just as it was before Sini’s sickness. She should not have gotten better. There—I slammed the door as I left—that would show them.

  *

  8 *

  The next morning Rachel called me to come outside. “Hurry up, Annie. I have a surprise for you. You’ll never guess what it is.”

  I rushed out. She was holding a bicycle, with tires that looked almost new, a bell, and just a little bit of rust here and there.

  “Do you like it, Annie?”

  “Yes.” Who was it for? Me?

  “Try getting on it, and let me see if it’s too high.”

  No, it was just right. Now what? Confused, I looked at her.

  “Would you like to go to Usselo?’ she asked.

  Did she mean it? “Rachel?” She did. I put my arms around her neck and kissed her. And I had almost not asked the masseur!

  “Practice as much as you can,” Rachel said, “and on Monday, after the doctor comes to look in on Sini, he’ll take you in his car as far as Haaksbergen. He’ll let you off there, and you can ride the rest of the way.”

  “I wish I could go with you.”

  I looked up. Sini was standing at the window. Well, she couldn’t come. She was still a little sick. Besides, Rachel had only borrowed one bicycle—for me.

  Carefully, I sat down on the seat. For a second I raised my hand and waved. “Good-bye, Rachel.” Slowly I began to move. Look, how I was riding—very straight, nowhere near the trees. Oops, careful, that was a little close. But look now. The road was becoming shorter and shorter … behind me already. I raced across the tracks and onto the cobblestones without even slowing down. Too bad the kids weren’t there to see me. Maybe later, when I’d be out practicing again.

  It was crowded along the main road from Winterswijk to Enschede, even now, this early in the day. There were almost more people on the road than there had been in May.

  “Can you take us?” shouted the ones who wanted to go in our direction.

  The doctor had to keep shaking his head, no.

  I leaned forward. In a couple of hours I’d be there.

  Sure, it was not that far. Usselo came long before Enschede, and at our speed. … Johan and Dientje would be so surprised to see me, they’d probably think they were dreaming. “Can’t be.

  Our Annie can’t have ridden forty kilometers,” and they’d rub their eyes and go back to work. I smiled; I couldn’t wait.

  The car stopped. “This is where I’ll let you off,” the doctor said.

  Haaksbergen already? It had come awfully fast.

  “Ready, Annie?”

  Sure. I had to laugh myself. I took the bicycle from him.

  “Meet me here on Friday, at noon.”

  “I will.” Carefully I studied the house he was walking toward. Then, with my body bent over the handlebars, I took off. I could go fast, too. Just give me a minute until I really get going. Yes, like that. Not bad, right? Almost like a racer. That’s what I think. Down, legs, down. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon. Down, down, down, down, past one white stone marker after another that said how much farther to Enschede. Better not forget to subtract all those kilometers for Usselo. Still, that many more to go? Six? After all of this? Maybe I’d take a rest soon. I’ll do it right now. Panting, I got off and sank down on the grass. I was going to take it easier after this. Even my head hurt. For a few minutes I lay perfectly still. There, I had started to feel better. Now I could see where I was. A nice spot I had chosen, right by a mass of broom brushes. I touched one of the yellow puffs—silky.

  Through half-shut eyes I saw two other people who were sitting nearby jump up and begin their dash to the middle of the road. A car must be coming. Yes. With a screeching sound, it came to a halt.

  “Step right in,” the driver said, grinning. But he did not mean them. He meant another couple who were strolling toward him from another spot on the grass, a loaf of bread in their hands.

  The two people who had reached the car first but empty-handed began to walk away, complaining that there was no justice.

  I checked the watch Sini had let me take. I’d better move on. I got to my feet. Down, and down, and down. Soon I’d be there. Around the next bend, maybe? No, not yet. Then around the next one. …

  Behind me I could hear horses’ hooves, clattering closer, and the sound of wheels. The wagon was loaded high with potato peels. Maybe the man was going to deliver them to the farms in Usselo. Then I had to be very close.

  Down, and down. Slowly I pushed my way past another stone marker. Wasn’t I there yet? Please! Down, and down, and down.

  There was the turn, at last. I could see the farms and a few other buildings, the café, Spieker Diena’s dry-goods store, and a little bit of rubble that was still there from the bakery and parsonage. In between and beyond were the fields, one square of yellow after another. Here and there farmers were working in them, cutting the rye. Steadily they swung their arms back and forth; their backs, in the black-and-white striped shirts, bent. They moved their feet carefully so the wooden shoes would not flatten any of the stalks their sickles had not yet reached.

  I took a deep breath. I didn’t have to look at the road sign; I knew. I was in Usselo. One more second— Stiffly I got off my bicycle and walked through the gate. Opoe’s little garden, beautiful. Behind it was the house, red brick with green trimmings. I stepped over the apples that had fallen into brownish piles and the swarming wasps that were buzzing around them and digging in. If I wanted to, I could close my eyes, keep them closed, and know exactly what I would see: milk jugs, four of them, waiting to be used, right outside the kitchen door; the tree that grew practically against the wall of the house, the—ssht, don’t get so excited—windows with white curtains, the begonia plants on saucers. Remember me, all of you? I’m back. No, not to hide— to visit!

  Well, let’s see. No point going into the house at this hour, but someone would be out by the chicken coop. Laughing softly, I tiptoed over. Sure, someone was— Opoe! But who was that ugly fat dog that was walking next to her? What was he doing here? Maybe he did not belong.

  I ran the last few feet. “Opoe, look who’s here!”

  Her face wrinkled up with laughter. “God-o-god-o-god, that could be our Annie.”

  “Opoe, it is.”

  “Isn’t that something? You came all by yourself!” She stepped back to look at me. “My Annie. I’d better get busy right away. You must be hungry—and thirsty, I bet. Sure, after such a trip. Fui-fui.” She rushed off to the kitchen, followed by the dog. “Stop barking, Vlekje. She’s family.”

  I approached the stable. There were two people inside. I threw open the door and marched in. They heard nothing. They saw nothing either. Not now, no. Carefully I took another step—

  “Goddammit, Dientje, look!” Johan shouted and dropped the pail he was holding. “That’s our little Annie.”

  “Johan, what’s the matter with you?” Dientje shrieked. “Let go. You’re crushing her. Johan!”

  But her hug was just as hard. At last she let me go.

  “We would’ve come to see you, Annie. You and Sini weren’t mad, were you?” They looked at me. Something had happened to Dientje’s knee, Johan explained. “She fell and hurt it. We tried getting her on the bike a couple of times, but she couldn’t get going.”

  The kitchen was busy. Johan was washing his face at
the pump, splashing water on everything—the dog that was still there, the wooden shoes lined up by the door.

  “Watch what you’re doing,” Dientje screamed from in front of the stove. “I’m standing right where I get it.” But she was laughing, like Opoe and me.

  “Hey, Annie, did I ever show you how well Ma can dance? Ha, ha, Ma, look at Annie’s face; she doesn’t believe me. C’mon, just you and me.” He pulled Opoe off the chair. “How d’ you like it, Annie, eh? It’s a waltz.”

  “Johan, what’s the matter with you? My legs won’t go.”

  “Nonsense, Ma. You’re doing fine for an old woman.” And he kept on singing and taking back-and-forth waltz steps in his socks, while all the time trying to keep them out of the dog’s mouth.

  “Fui-fui.” Opoe laughed. “That Johan. He’s so happy you’re here, Annie. He hasn’t acted this way since you left.”

  I hadn’t either. I was rocking back and forth in Opoe’s easy chair, doing a little dance of my own. Listen to Johan; he was yodeling now. A waltz, too? I kept still for a minute to think. Yes, it was. There, I began rocking again.

  But Dientje had had enough. “Stop acting up, Johan,” she yelled. “You’re giving me a headache, and it isn’t even noon yet.”

  “That late?” Opoe looked shocked. She sat down and pulled a basket of potatoes onto her lap. The dog immediately curled up against her legs.

  “What d’you think of him, Annie?” Johan asked.

  “Very cute,” I said. But was the dog staying with them forever? Yes, he was. That’s what Johan was telling me.

  “Opoe was so homesick for you. ‘Where’s that giggly one,’ she kept asking. Right, Ma? All the time. It got so bad, Annie, we had to get her a dog.”

  “Ja, ja. But it’s not the same thing, Johan,” Opoe protested.

  That made me laugh again. Of course, it was not.

  In front of a rusty piece of mirror, Johan was combing his hair. It wouldn’t stay flat. It kept springing up like brown and gray rubber bands. He must have been out in the sun a lot, for his face was very red, especially his nose and ears.