The Upstairs Room Page 7

  “I thought of that. One of us’ll always be around the house. And most searches are held at night anyway. Now, girls, you show how well it works.”

  Sini went first. She stuck her head in, then her shoulders. The rest of her followed. She moved to the side and left the opening free for me. If Sini could do it, I could. This hiding place wasn’t under the ground. No earth could fall on me. It was just inside a closet, a clothes closet. It even had some pretty material in it. Slowly I got in.

  But this hiding place was pitch-dark, too. “Sini,” I whispered. Where was she? I felt around with my hand for her. I didn’t have to stick it out far.

  “Can you sit sideways?” Johan called.

  We tried. We just could, as long as our legs were alongside each other.

  “Don’t try sitting down facing the room,” Johan called. “You’ll get yourselves stuck. Okay, come out.”

  I went first. Boy, what a big room we had. And it was so light.

  Every day we’d have to practice getting in and out, Johan said, until it took us no time. “Not a bad hiding place for a dumb farmer, eh?”

  “No, Johan.”

  It got dark early. Real winter afternoons. Sometimes I could hear a car pass. The person in it must have been dressed for going out. In a coat. With a scarf, maybe. I put my hand on my throat. I used to wear a scarf in the winter. Where was it? Where? I clenched my fists.

  What if I knew where the scarf was? What would I do with it? Tell me. What?

  Darker. I stared at the stove. It gave off a red glow, the only point of light in the room. Once in a while a coal dropped. Thud.

  6

  GIRLS, is this what you meant?” Opoe walked in with a calendar in her hand.

  We almost grabbed it from her. Yes, that’s what we meant. The year 1943. Sini took a pencil and rapidly crossed off day after day. Most of January was gone… for good.

  Opoe watched Sini with a puzzled expression on her face. “What are you doing, messing it up?”

  “We’re marking the days off.”

  “What’s that supposed to do?”

  “So we can see they’ve past.”

  Opoe eyed us suspiciously. “Well, that’s new to me. Days go fast anyway. Take me. I’ll be seventy-one on Sunday.”

  “This Sunday?”

  “Yes, sure. Crossing off days. What’s next?” She was still shaking her head when she went downstairs.

  We had been living there for almost a month? But I didn’t even know what the house looked like.

  “Johan, do you have a picture of the house?”

  “A what?” he said. “Why would I want a picture of it? I can see it every day. When you go through the gate, you come to a little garden where Opoe grows flowers… geraniums. That’s right in front of a couple of rooms you haven’t been in. I’ll show them to you after the war. They look out on the street. In between those rooms is the front door. But nobody uses it. They go past the side of the house right into the kitchen.”

  “I know. That’s where we came in, too.”

  The house was red brick with green trimmings, Johan told me. I tried to memorize what he had said. It was silly to live in a house and not know what it looked like.

  We still had nothing to read either. And he had promised.… “Johan, when can Dientje go to the minister to borrow books?”

  “Tomorrow,” he said.

  The next day I finished my math fast. It was a bore, a b-o-r-e. Why did Sini make me do a page every day? She wasn’t my teacher. I scribbled an answer down. Fast. I’d have to be ready when Dientje came back, so that I could read.

  Here she was. Jubilantly she opened her shopping bag. “A book. And look what a fat one. Are you glad?”

  Yes. But there was only one. How come?

  Sini took the book out of the bag. “War and Peace” she read. “Dientje, thank you. What did you tell him?”

  “Well, when he opened the door, I said, ‘Reverend, Johan’s bored evenings.’ ‘Come in my study,’ he said. ‘Well, I said, you know my Johan’s really a smart man.’ ‘I know,’ he said. And then I had to come out with it. I said, ‘Reverend, he wants to read a book.’ ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Does he have a special one in mind?’ ‘Well, no,’ I said. ‘I don’t want you to think that we don’t want to go out and buy a book. But we don’t go into Enschede too often these days, and I wouldn’t know what to look for.’ Then I started looking at those walls. ‘How about that one?’ I said, pointing at the fattest book. ‘Fine,’ he said, ‘and I’d like to talk about it with Johan after he’s read it.’ Of course, that’s the bad part about it. ‘No rush,’ he said, ‘he can keep it all winter.’ And then I did a smart thing, I think. I said, looking at the title, ‘Reverend, a book with this title he’ll read in a few weeks. Can I bring it back then and get another one?’ ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Goodness, Johan must really be bored.’ I had to put it in a bag, so nobody outside would see me with it.” She chuckled. “Me coming out of there carrying a book.”

  All of a sudden she looked less elated. “I wish I could’ve brought you two books, but that would’ve made him suspicious.”

  “We can share it. You’re wonderful, Dientje.”

  It was almost embarrassing to see how happy she was.

  “Annie, this is really not a book for a ten-year-old,” Sini said after Dientje had left.

  “You forget, I’m almost eleven,” I answered haughtily. She just said it because she didn’t like sharing it. Well, I didn’t either. “You think this is too grown-up for me? Ha, you don’t even know what I’ve read.” There. Let her worry.

  But Sini laughed. “Okay,” she said. “We’ll take turns.”

  Sini settled in front of the stove with the book, her feet on the first rung of the chair, left hand under her head, little finger in her mouth. She bit it constantly. The skin would get red, raw.

  “Sini,” I said urgently.

  “What?”

  “Don’t bite your finger. It’ll start hurting.”

  A little while later, it was back in her mouth. I looked away, at the watch. I still had another half hour to wait before it was my turn. I picked up the poker and furiously drew designs on the linoleum with it.

  In the middle of Sini’s third turn, Johan came and said he was going to listen to the news. “C’mon, girls, get off your butts, or are you too busy now?”

  Sini immediately closed the book. She had not been in such a hurry when I told her, her time was up! Sulkily I walked behind them.

  I should have stayed upstairs. I could’ve gotten in ten extra minutes of reading. Why had I come? Johan and Sini were standing on a chair, their heads almost in the hole, near the radio. That’s what Father was probably doing, too, if he had the chance. Nothing was any different from when I was six. Sini would never miss me. Look at that. Her head was practically on Johan’s shoulder. Dientje would yell at Opoe if she saw them.

  The chair started to squeak. They were dancing on it, their feet going up and down. “God almighty,” Johan said in an excited voice. “Guess what, the Germans have lost in Russia, in Stalingrad. They’re running around in circles, trying to get away from the Russians, but they can’t, the guy said. Here, I’ll let you listen, too.”

  He lifted me onto the chair. I pushed my ear against the radio. I didn’t know it could say nice things, too!

  “Is that so,” Opoe said politely when she heard the news. “And they’re running? Poor things.”

  “But, Ma, they’re Germans.”

  “I know, I know. But they’ve got mothers,” she said. We all laughed; Dientje, too. It was easy to laugh that night.

  It was, but not now. I couldn’t sleep, so many planes were going over on their way to Germany to drop bombs. Even the daily newspapers mentioned it. A disgrace they called it. Disgrace. Pooh, Opoe would say.

  I burrowed my head deeper in the pillow and stuck a finger in each ear. Ooh, what a horrible noise. Please don’t drop bombs here. Please. They could, Johan said. Enschede had fac
tories that made equipment for the German army, and the English and the Americans had bombed those in other Dutch towns.

  Opoe came in. “As if I don’t sleep poorly enough.”

  “I’m going to have someone build me an air-raid shelter,” Johan yelled over all the noise. “I’ve got just the place for it, on the walk between the house and the stable.”

  “But what if the war’s going to be over soon?” Dientje said.

  “Eh, nonsense. I don’t really think so. In the meantime we could all get killed here in bed.”

  After a while I stuck my head out from under the covers. The planes were flying higher now. The siren blew again. It was over.

  “If Hendrik knew. God-o-god-o-god, what a person doesn’t have to live through.”

  Who could Hendrik be?

  Still I couldn’t sleep. Sini was tossing and turning, too. I crawled out of bed. “What’s the matter with you?” I whispered.

  “Nothing.”

  “Yes there is.”

  “All right, there is. For a while tonight I thought I saw the end of the war. That’s what’s the matter with me. It’s never going to be over, I know. I’ll grow old here, and ugly.”

  Clumsily I patted her head. What if Sini were right? Noiselessly I got back into bed. Had there really been an eighty-year war?

  Didn’t we have to give Opoe something for her birthday? But what? “Dientje, would you go to Enschede for us and buy her something?”

  Dientje laughed. There wasn’t anything in the city that Opoe would like, she said. “But we’re giving her some material that Johan’s bringing home from the bleachworks. Maybe he can get another piece that you can give her.”

  What would she do with it, we asked.

  “Nothing, of course,” Dientje said wearily. “She only wears those things her sister left her.”

  That night in bed Johan whispered, “Let’s all eat dinner together on Opoe’s birthday.”

  “Johan, I can’t carry everything upstairs.”

  “I didn’t mean upstairs. We’ll all eat downstairs.”

  “But, Johan, the girls.”

  “Them, too. We’ll eat early, and we’ll draw the shades.”

  “But, Johan, we never do that. Draw the shades during the day. And we always have company for her birthday. They could come any time.”

  “They don’t. Nobody ever came before three. Okay, I’ll tell you what. We won’t draw the shades; we’ll close the gate. That way we can hear if somebody’s coming or not, and it’ll give the girls enough time to go upstairs.”

  I snuggled deeper under the covers. Life was not as dull as Sini kept telling me. We did plenty of things. Now, take next Sunday, for example. We would eat downstairs, and not even after dark. Oh, no, during the day, just like everybody else.

  Contentedly I closed my eyes. Birthdays were wonderful.

  “Happy birthday, Opoe,” we said on Sunday morning.

  “Ja, ja, not so happy. Just a year older.”

  “But, Opoe, you don’t look older.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing. It’s how you feel.”

  “Are you going to get dressed up today?” I asked.

  “Me? O-god-o-god-o-god, dressed up. What for? I haven’t gotten dressed up for nineteen years. No, that time’s gone.”

  Not for nineteen years? I looked at Sini’s face. She seemed puzzled, too. It smelled good upstairs. Cooking smells. Johan had said he was going to kill one of their chickens. “If you hear one of ’em carrying on like crazy, that’s the one.”

  And now it was eleven o’clock. I fidgeted back and forth on the chair. The kitchen must be all steamed up, from the cooking. You’d have to wipe off the window if you wanted to see out.

  What was Sini doing, licking a finger and brushing it over her eyelashes? Up the top lid, down the lower lid. What did she need to get that dolled up for? It wasn’t her birthday.

  “Girls. Okay?” Johan called.

  Sure, okay.

  The table in the good room was set for five, with deep soup plates and spoons and forks. They were pretty plates, too, and there was one for each of us.

  “You’re surprised, eh? You didn’t think a farmer would have such fine things, right? I know. I can tell by your faces. Well, Ma, here’s to you.” Johan raised his soup spoon. “May you live to be a hundred.” We lifted our spoons, too.

  “Ja, ja, a hundred. I’ll be lucky if I’m going to live for another year.”

  Slowly Opoe ate her chicken soup. “Not bad, Dientje. A little thin, though.”

  Dientje winked at us.

  It was fun being downstairs and eating from a plate. Sini and I were sitting near the door that led upstairs. Just in case we had to run, we sat on the edge of our chairs. I looked around the room. On the big chest along the wall were several yellowed portraits, probably of relatives. On the wall opposite me hung an embroidered picture. In the middle was a brown horse, front leg raised. In each of the four corners there was a bird. Embroidered notes of music came from their bills. But how come the birds were so large? They were at least as big as the horse’s head. Birds weren’t that large? Were they a special kind?

  “What’re you staring at, Annie?” Opoe asked.

  “That picture.”

  “You like it?”

  “Yes,” I said hesitantly.

  “I made it myself about fifty years ago, when my eyes were still good.”

  “What kind of birds are they, Opoe?”

  “Eh, just birds.”

  “Is it a special kind of horse?”

  “No, just a colt.” A colt?

  “Very nice, Opoe,” Sini said.

  “Dientje, I’d like you to make me an apron out of the cloth the girls gave me. It’s real nice.”

  “I’ll use the piece we gave you last year. It’s just like the new one you got from them. It’s not good for all that material to lie around.”

  “No, I like this new piece better.”

  “But it’s almost the same pattern as the piece you’ve already got. When I gave it to you last year, you made a face as if you didn’t like it.” Dientje’s face was red. “You just don’t like anything I do around here anymore.” She nervously finished her soup. “Girls, don’t leave anything on your plate. I’m going to put the rest of your dinner on it. Johan, don’t just sit there. Can’t you help me bring in the pans?”

  “What, you want me to do everything around here?” But he got up and followed her into the kitchen. He came back with a big black pan.

  “Johan, don’t put the pan on the table till I’ve spread that newspaper over it.” Dientje’s voice was edgy. She turned to Opoe. “What would you like. A leg or what?”

  “Give me something that’s easy to chew. A piece of breast maybe.”

  Dientje put chicken, string beans, and potatoes on everybody’s plate. With a soup ladle she put brown gravy over the food. For a while nobody said anything. We ate. Johan kept one hand on his hip and crammed forkfuls of food into his mouth. So did Dientje. Only she stopped once in a while to nod at us. “C’mon girls, you’re so thin. Eat up.”

  Opoe had trouble chewing. No wonder. She only had a couple of teeth. How could she eat? With her gums? Stealthily I watched her. She picked up her piece of chicken, stuck it into her mouth, closed her lips over it, and pulled. The piece she held in her hand now was a little bit smaller than before. She chewed and chewed. I was afraid she’d catch me looking at her. I quickly turned my eyes away.

  “Mother, you should eat your beans, too. They’re good for you. They’ve got vitamins in them, or what d’you call them,” Dientje said. “Isn’t it so, girls?”

  Sini nodded.

  “Pooh, vitamins. What are they? Those beans are hard.”

  “Opoe,” I asked, “why don’t you get false teeth? A lot of people have them.”

  Sini stepped on my foot. Ow. What did she do that for? Maybe Opoe had never thought of getting false teeth.

  “At my age? That doesn’t make any sense. I’ve be
en chewing like this for a couple of years now. It’ll be all right for as long as I’m going to be around. False teeth. Hendrik should know. Want to feel how hard my gums are? Just like teeth. Here, give me your hand.”

  I shook my head. “No, Opoe, I can see.”

  “Nice chicken, Dientje,” Johan said. “I hadn’t thought she’d be this tender. After all, she was no youngster. How long had we had her?”

  “Couple of years, I think. No, maybe longer.”

  “She was a snippy one,” Opoe added. “Every time I’d come in to feed them, she’d be right there pushing the others away. I won’t miss her.”

  We all chewed. “Very good, Dientje,” Sini said. Dientje beamed with pleasure.

  “Yes, she can cook good,” Johan said. “She looks it, too. Don’t you, wife?”

  “Oh, Johan. Mother, why are you leaving all that chicken on your plate? It’s so good.”

  “It’s too tough.”

  “But that’s not true. The meat is so tender you could suck it. Look.”

  “That’s what I tried. Now don’t feel bad about it. I know you meant well. Is there any dessert?”

  “I made that pudding you like.”

  “I hope you let it get cold enough.”

  Opoe lifted her apron up to her face and wiped her mouth with it. Dientje did the same with hers. Johan carefully stuck two fingers in his pocket and pulled out a large red handkerchief. After he had wiped his hands and face on it, he passed it on to me. I turned it around until I found a dry part, then passed it on to Sini. She didn’t even look for an unused corner.

  “You wouldn’t think food was rationed,” Johan said, “when you look at us. In the cities people haven’t got it so easy. Those food coupons don’t buy much. Just enough so that you’re always hungry. I bet your father isn’t getting very much to eat near Rotterdam. What’s Mr. Hemmes again? A retired bookkeeper? Boy, I hope somebody’s giving them food coupons for your father. Otherwise they’re really in trouble. No, I’m glad I’m a farmer. I always say, drowning a fish and starving a farmer, that’s not easy.”