The Journey Back Page 9

  “Ja, I’m fancy,” Johan said, looking at his shoes,too. “You never saw them on me, I guess, because Dientje and I didn’t go anywhere when you lived with us. They’ve gotten smaller, I think.” He loosened his shoelaces. “There,” he sighed, leaning back. “Now tell me what you’ll be learning in school.”

  I didn’t yet know exactly, but I said, “Languages, math, physics.”

  “Physics?” Johan repeated. “What are those?”

  I didn’t yet know that either, but it had something to do with formulas.

  “Formulas?” Delighted, Johan slapped his leg. “That’s what I give the calves. Don’t tell me I’ve been doing physics all my life, and no one ever even taught me.

  I’m not surprised though. I was good in school, Annie, especially at subtracting. ‘Does Johan Oosterveld know the answer?’ the teacher always asked. I’m not kidding. Every time something difficult came up. While the other kids were still figuring things out on paper, I already knew it. I loved school, Annie. Couldn’t wait to put my good pants on in the morning and run down the road. Well, here we are.”

  He sighed. He looked over at Dientje. She was still standing by the table. “I think I can say what I want to say without her, Annie.” Quickly he began. “We want you to be happy, Ma, Dientje, and me. Don’t forget. But if things don’t work out—they will, don’t worry—but if they don’t, you come to us. Because that’s what our house is. Home for you. Always. You hear?”

  “I know, Johan.” Beautiful, this room. The pinks and browns and greens, the flowers—everything. And Johan and Dientje were here.

  Near us Father and his friends were discussing leather goods and woolens. Business was getting better, but slowly apparently. “That Max, he was shrewd, beginning again in scrap metal. You know how much of that’s around.”

  “No wonder he had to leave; he doesn’t have the time.”

  “Before we know it, Ies, he’ll be shipping old iron to America and bringing back brand-new cars.”

  “I wish that man could ship me a tractor, Annie. Wouldn’t that be something? What I could do with one of those!” Johan said.

  “Annie.” From the back of the room came Mother’s voice.

  I got up. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, Johan,” I promised.

  Absentmindedly he nodded. I took a few steps, then looked back. Johan was beaming. Maybe he was imagining himself already sitting on a tractor. He saw me, and waved. “Don’t take long, Annie. Eh?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry, Johan.”

  Did Mother know I was there? She kept on talking. “It wasn’t easy to get Nel into that school, let me tell you. They don’t take just anyone. Difficult courses they give. Household management is one of them. …”

  Bettie nodded enviously. “I hope she learns to run a household better than I do, Magda.”

  “Embroidery, intermediate French, plus fancy cooking as soon as the ingredients are available. Right, Nel?” Now Mother knew I was there. “I’ll be needing you soon, Annie. Nel, tell Bettie about your roommate. …”

  I hurried back to Johan. His face had changed, I saw. He wasn’t beaming any more. He must be thinking about the money a tractor would cost. “C’mon, Annie,” he said, looking up. He patted the empty chair next to him. “I was wondering where you were.”

  Father’s group had gone on to talk of something else, I heard—silks.

  “In a way I hate to be here today,” Johan said, after I had sat down. “But I’m glad to have a chance to see you again. That’s what really matters to me, Annie. Who knows when it’ll happen again? Eighty kilometers a day on the bike is a lot in the kind of weather we’ll be getting. And the bus station in Enschede doesn’t know a thing yet. I had Sini ask. We live in the wrong part of Holland, they said. If it was Amsterdam, it wouldn’t be a problem; there’d be a bus.” Frustrated he looked at me. “I can’t win.”

  Silently we watched Dientje move away from the table. She saw us and came over. Smiling apologetically, she sat down.

  “It was getting about time, woman,” Johan said. “Hanging around all that stuff. She won’t like what we’ve got at home any more, Annie.” He laughed. “She’ll want to buy things, too, eh?”

  Dientje winked at me.

  “Annie.” Mother beckoned. “Come.”

  “What are you jumping up for now,” Johan complained. “We just got settled.”

  Yes, yes, I know. But Mother needed me.

  “Don’t take so long this time,” Johan said.

  It was though—taking long. Every time I passed Johan and Dientje, they asked, “Aren’t you done yet?”

  No. So many things had to be taken care of. Salt, eggs, mustard, napkins, and plates, of course. It was nice, passing things around. Everyone looked happy when they saw me. “Thank you, Annie,” they said. “You’re wonderful.”

  Of course I wasn’t, but it made me smile anyway, hearing that. It would have been even nicer if Mother had said so. But it was too soon for that, I knew. I had to have more patience.

  And on I went, carrying the tray the right way— out and a little up—exactly as Mother had shown me. “Thank you, Annie,” people said, “thank you.”

  What did Johan want now? I shook my head. No, I was still not through.

  “Come here a minute anyway, Annie. Isn’t Nel going to help you?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Annie looks awfully tired, Johan. She can’t do it all by herself.”

  “I know, woman. Why d’you think I asked?”

  Well? Was that all? Impatiently I walked away. I wished Johan had not said what he had about Nel though. I glanced over at her. Talking with Mother … still.

  I went to the table for another set of plates, with flowers, too, around the borders. And on to the next person, tray just right. “Have some, Mrs. van Gelder?” But it was not the same now. Johan had spoiled it.

  “Johan.” I touched him on the shoulder.

  He looked up. “Are you through?”

  Firmly I nodded. Yes.

  “Well then.” He laughed. “We can talk about a lot of things. Eh? Here I’ve been so busy sitting I’ve forgotten to give you Opoe’s regards. She’s fine. She’s wondering when she can see you. You should hear her, Annie, when Sini comes. ‘That could be our Sini,’ and laughing! She would have come today just to see you if there’d been a bus. And you know Opoe; she doesn’t leave the house easily. Last wedding she was at was ours, Dientje.”

  “Ah, that was not the same.”

  “It was raining then, too, woman, worse than this. But it didn’t matter, Dientje, did it? The house looked beautiful, even from the outside. Remember the greens over the kitchen door?” Grimacing a little, he swallowed the rest of the egg he was eating. “Bah,” he said, “sardines and eggs don’t go together.” Quickly he went on. “Remember the cow your mother gave us, Dientje? Ha, ha, I got it out of her, didn’t I? That cow was a beauty, Annie. You should have seen her coming down the road with the neighbors. A string of flowers around the horns, a mirror in between them, and they were all singing. You could hear it all over Usselo. ‘Fui-fui,’ Opoe kept saying when we got to the house, ‘just for a wedding. No, that I can’t see.’ Those crazy neighbors stopped off first at the baker’s, and before he knew what he had on his hands, she had helped herself to a loaf of whole wheat. ‘That’s the cow for Johan,’ everyone hollered. ‘She’s got plenty of spunk.’”

  “Not so loud, Johan.” Anxiously Dientje poked him in the side.

  “Leave me alone. I didn’t ride this far to whisper. They put us on a chair, woman, remember?”

  “Paper flowers around the back of it, Johan—”

  “And they lifted us. High and low, and high and low, we went.”

  “I had to pull my skirt down, hold it to the chair; it was that wild.” Dientje giggled.

  Me, too. Just as I had the first time, I heard Johan tell the story.

  “And while we were doing the waltz to the accordion and singing, ‘Had I bu
t never wed, would not have any regret,’—but it was already too late—everyone was twirling paper ribbons around us. After a while, I had trouble moving the feet.”

  “I was scared, Johan, I had ‘em twirled around the throat—”

  “Ah, you always scream for nothing. And the food we had! Remember, Dientje? Plenty of beer and a juicy piece of pork?”

  “And beef, Johan.”

  “You’re damned right. Two kinds of meat, potatoes, green beans, and a dish of chocolate pudding at the end.”

  Dientje defended Mother. “But Magda couldn’t do that. Don’t forget, Johan, you still can’t get everything.”

  “It’s time to come back, Annie,” Mother called. She sounded impatient.

  I followed Johan’s eyes to the table, to the platter with cookies, the coffee cups, saucers, sugar, milk, spoons. Slowly I got up and looked for the tray. With both hands I carried it away, but only a little up.

  The guests had left, all of them, Johan and Dientje last. They had stood in the doorway for a long time, silent, their collars up. The bicycle path would be muddy, and slippery with leaves that had been coming down for days. The leaves would wind themselves around the tires— splash—get stuck, fall off. … Slowly the rear lights of their bicycles were moving away. Opoe would still be up when they got home. She’d rush to the door, ask.

  I hadn’t had a good time at the party, either. I had not liked seeing them sit there, arms folded, waiting. I sighed. Things would be easier tomorrow. No Nel. No Johan and Dientje.

  Two dots, the bicycle lights, tiny ones. Barely specks now. Then darkness.

  *

  3 *

  All over town, doors were opening, letting in the morning air, which was fresh and a little chilly. They closed again, behind people going to work and to shop, and behind hundreds of children, going to school. Rapidly I walked down the road. They’d be waiting, the kids, wouldn’t they? Had they forgotten? It had been a while since I had seen Jannie. I should have asked her exactly where—

  I smiled. There she was, in front of her house, with another girl—Selma—but she did not look as nice. “Hi,” I said to both of them.

  Well, aren’t we going to leave? What if we’re late? “Jannie?”

  “Not yet,” she said laughing. We had to wait for the others.

  I blushed. I had forgotten all about them. Worried, I looked at the other houses. C’mon, c’mon, we don’t have all day. There, three doors had opened, and out they came, kids with clean, pressed clothes. The boy Kees’s hair was so neat that the comb marks still showed.

  “Now,” Jannie said, and off we went.

  And talking! They couldn’t stop. “Hope the teachers are nice.” “Hope they don’t make us work too hard.”

  For whatever they hoped, Jannie had an answer, a good one. “Can’t wait, can’t wait,” everyone yelled.

  Can’t wait? I stopped. Was there something in my shoe? I took it off, held it upside down. No. So many new kids. They wouldn’t stare at me, would they? Say anything, about my legs? And I’d know as much as the others, wouldn’t I, not seem stupid? Sure, Sini had taught me things, especially math—but she had not always understood it herself. And never geography or history or—there must be other things. It had been so long since I’d gone to school—fourth grade. What if I had forgotten what to do? I’d watch the others. They would know. Where were they? Quickly I slipped my foot back into the shoe and ran after them.

  “The principal,” the kids around me whispered.

  “Come with me,” he said, but nicely. He took me to my classroom. The teachers knew how much school I had missed, he said. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll catch up. Even if you don’t do well for a while, don’t worry.” He mussed my hair. He was sure it would come, he said. “There, sit in the front.”

  Quickly I nodded. Yes, that would be better. Stealthily I turned around. Too bad Jannie was in another grade, a higher one. But Selma was in my class; she sat right behind me.

  So many teachers, and all in one day. I yawned, and slouched just a little bit. That would be all right? For a minute? Wearily I watched another teacher walk to the front of the room. He picked up a piece of chalk, wrote his name on the blackboard, and began to talk. I shot up in my chair. This one was speaking German. “Guten Mittag.”

  It’s a teacher speaking, Annie. Look at him. It’s not a soldier in the street, not Hitler on the radio. You don’t have to be afraid. No boots, no uniform. A suit.

  “Ich bin … du bist …”

  No. Tomorrow I’d listen to this teacher, not today. I would write to Johan and Dientje tonight, a nice letter telling them not to worry. Mother and I were getting along so well. We had a talk yesterday, almost the minute she came back from the station. And I had been afraid she wouldn’t even want to see me she had been so upset when she went to see Nel off. Of course she was still sad, just as I had been after Sini left, and Rachel. Maybe she’d like to sit down. “Here, Mother.” Then I did, too. Close, but just a little.

  “I feel lost with Nel gone, Annie. We have been together a long time, even in hiding. It seems unbelievable that suddenly she’s not here any more.”

  Solemnly I nodded. Yes. But she’d get over it. I’d better not say that though.

  “What I haven’t gone through! I often think how is it possible for one person to have suffered so much. Here I am in a strange house with people I hardly know. With Nel around, I didn’t mind. But without her. …”

  I stared out the window. Maybe we could do something special today. Not a celebration—of course not. But something. What? Startled I looked back at Mother. Had that to do with her suffering, too? What she had just said? That I had come to her knowing practically nothing? It must have. She looked so serious. “I even said to your father, ‘So many people took care of her and not one of them bothered to teach her anything. The result is that I have a lot of hard work ahead of me.’ You don’t even know how to make a bed properly.”

  No? Dientje had always admired the way I did it. “What that Annie can’t do with a bed,” she used to say.

  “You even have trouble drawing open the drapes, so they hang right.”

  I checked. Stuck behind the chair again. But that could be fixed. There, already done, and I hadn’t been gone for more than a second.

  “Dust … do dishes. Your table manners, Annie,badly need to be improved. Please, watch me from now on. As to your appearance—”Mother sighed. “I honestly don’t know where to begin.”

  I studied my hands. The tips of my fingers were still wrinkled from having washed the wedding dishes.

  “All right, I’ll begin at the top. Your hair. It’s always messy. Pull it to the side for a minute, and let me see something. I was afraid of that. From now on, include your ears when you wash.” Her eyes moved down. “Of course, there’s your clothes—but I can’t do much about them yet. Manners and appearance are important, Annie, even though at this moment you may think they’re not. They tell what kind of a person you really are, and that’s not a peasant.” Mother looked around the living room, stroking the arm of her chair. “We now have a position in this town.”

  I puckered my forehead. Father had bought three cows last week, and he’d been very happy about it. Is that what she meant? Confused, I looked at her.

  “You’re still young enough to learn,” Mother went on, “which is lucky. Another year and I might have come too late. The best thing now is for you to forget the old and get right into the new. I hope you can do it, Annie. I get upset easily. That’s not good for me. Nel was always wonderful about that. She never gave me trouble.”

  I wouldn’t, either. She didn’t have to be afraid. I just hoped I could remember it all. There was so much— everything, as she said.

  I moved a little closer to her, but our talk must be over. Mother was getting up. Maybe I could do something for her, do it perfectly, show her I could learn fast. She gave me her coat to hang up. It had an especially big collar, a fur one, with a face, eyes, mouth, tee
th. Carefully I held the coat away from me as I carried it into the hall. I hung it on the first peg. …

  “Annie.”

  Frightened, I looked at the teacher.

  “I’m glad someone is interested in this class. You didn’t even hear the bell. You’re a good girl. Go home.”

  I got up. “Thank you,” I said politely. It had been nice, yesterday, sitting with Mother for so long, doing nothing, like a lady. I was going to write Sini and Rachel tonight, tell them not to worry either. But first … There were all those words I had gotten right today on the spelling test—more than half. “Hij bloedt” had been one of them. I had not forgotten to put in the “d,” even though the teacher had tried to trick us by accenting the “t” as he said it. But I wouldn’t boast to Mother, just mention it as if it were nothing special. … She was writing a letter as I hurried in. “Not now, Annie,” she said. “If I can finish this quickly, Nel will have it before the end of the week.”

  Sure. I sat down, waited, checked the clock. Such a long letter it was turning out to be. There, she’d sealed the envelope. “Mother—”

  Even her handwriting is beautiful, I thought, as I ran to the post office. Those spelling words? What of them? They had been easy, and I had gotten only half of them right anyway.

  *

  4 *

  At the end of October we received a letter from Rachel; not from the town she had gone to, from another one—Renkum—where the big sanatorium was.

  “Dear Father, I won’t be getting the teaching job I wrote you about after all. Something has happened. I had to have a physical, the last barrier, I’d hoped, before they hired me. It was a long examination; ‘no doubt because the doctor’s new in town,’ my ‘family’ said when I came home. The old one wasn’t so fussy. This one took X rays, too.

  “When I went back a few days later for the results, I was told”—Father stopped for a moment, then he read on, bending his head—”that I have tuberculosis. How did I get it? I asked the doctor. He’s not sure. But there has to be something in town that causes it, he said. People in other places have been undernourished and crowded together in small rooms. They don’t have tuberculosis. He has found it in three other applicants for the job. He suspects it’s the canal. Father, how could I have known that? I’ve been sitting there every night since I came back here. Sure, I saw people dump scrub water into it, and fill up their teakettles. It seemed dirty to me. But more—no. Maybe I should’ve known it was dangerous when I saw the fish come up for air. But I grabbed them, too, just like the others. No standing in line and no coupons, we all thought as we carried them home. I don’t know why that upsets me so now. I ate them during the war. Who knows what else is in that canal? Spit, and what not. I’ve done a lot of thinking since I arrived here. Working in that store didn’t help me either, I now see. …”