I closed my eyes. Was that singing outside? I jumped out of bed, opened the window. Men’s voices, faint. Coming closer. … It was the song of Winterswijk’s soccer team: “Hand in hand we go,friends,/For our team can’t be beat./Words won’t do, scoring we want/And that is—” Without waiting for the song to end, someone began all over again: “Hand in hand—” Another voice tried to stop him. “Ten Riet, not yet. We’ve got to stick together.”
*I leaned farther out. Six yellow beams of light were zigzagging on the road, lighting up wooden shoes. Six pairs, clump-clumping close together. Dark shapes on top of them, zigzagging a little, too, while they finished the song, “What we ge-e-e-e-e-e-t.”
“I’d better stop singing, fellows. The wife doesn’t like it any more when I’m noisy. Reminds her too much of the son. I don’t want’r hearing me.
“Ah, Droppers.” Ten Riet’s voice was comforting. “Tonight the wife won’t mind. It’s New Year’s, and the first time in ages we’ve been able to celebrate. What d’you care anyway. Who’s she, I say. Eh? Here we go all of us, “Hand in—”
“Ten Riet.” Mulder’s voice interrupted him again. “You’re not the head of the group now. I am. We just voted, remember, when we were in the café. It was unanimous.”
“But next January—”
“So, Ten Riet.” Mulder interrupted. “I’m the one who tells you when to begin, when I say ‘Now.’ But don’t make it too loud. We’re almost in front of Mrs. de Leeuw’s house.”
“Wait a shecond.” The Geerdes father must have a full pipe in his mouth. “I don’t have my dzjacket on right. My arm znot in it, I don’t think. Ow, Ten Riet, I pricked myshelf on your neck. What’ve you got on.”
“Beats me,” Ten Riet said. “Ja, ja … ja, ja, ja, ja, I feel it now.”
I laughed softly.
Five flashlights shone on him. “It’s a Christmas wreath, Ten Riet. You must’ve fallen against the café door. When we came out, maybe. And all you had was the one drink! What’re we going to do with you when we can get more? You tripped over your klompen, too.”
“Pa, when they’re making ’em again,” a Geerdes son said longingly, “we’re going to get some. I got such holes in mine.”
“How about chairs,” Mulder yelled, “so you can give’m a break once in a while. Stop it, Geerdes, you’re bumping into me again.”
“Get wives, I say,” Ten Riet shouted. “How old are the boys? Forty-nine and fifty? Eh? Eh? Eh? Sure. They’re the right age.”
“Where would they sit?” Mulder bellowed. “Wives these days don’t want to stand on their feet all the time.”
“They could do what Ies did. Have her bring’r own.”
“They shay it’sh different inshide, not as when we shaw it.”
“She may even have something under the cork.”
“Let’s wish’m a Happy New Year.” “Dammit, who’s she? I say.” “Let’sh ring the bell.”
They shouldn’t, they shouldn’t. Mother wouldn’t understand their fun. Wooden shoes rattling toward the front door. … Good. I laughed again. Mulder was calling them back.
“I wasn’t the one telling you to go. As your new chairman I say when. Not this year, we’re not going. We wait until the next.”
There was Droppers’ voice, for the first time in a long while. “But I’m not coming, not to that Jew’s house.”
“We know, Droppers, we know. C’mon, don’t cry, not tonight.”
They were leaving now. I wished they wouldn’t. Not sorry about Droppers though. … “All right,” Mulder called out, “we can’t be held up by Geerdes’ arm any more. We’ve overwaited as it is. Flashlights straight, toward the ditch. Let me get up front. Let’s go. Back to the wives and mothers. Tell ’em what a good time they missed!” And his voice rang out, carrying everywhere, “Hand in hand we go, friends. …”
Farther away now, all the voices. Gone, the clump-clumping. Stillness again, just as before. Nothing left to see outside. No moon, not tonight; no stars.
The first free New Year. …Last year, what had I done then? Sat upstairs, but with Johan, Dientje, Opoe, Sini. We told each other stories, laughed. Rachel? I hadn’t known about her. In her room probably, too, with her ‘family.’And now? Maybe she was in church. She went all the time now, not just once a year, to a special room, in a wheelchair, women up front—not allowed to look behind at the men in wheelchairs, as the head nurse kept reminding them.
And Sini, where would she be now? Don’t know. Opoe, Dientje? Must be home. Johan? On the road with his friends, definitely. Walking into his house, too, now. “Fui-fui, Johan,” Opoe would say, shaking her head, “all the noise you made. And just for New Year’s. No, that I can’t see.”
Opoe, Dientje, Sini, Rachel, Johan. “What’s Annie doing now?” Were they wondering?
“I’m here,” I whispered. I hadn’t really thought about them for so long. Hadn’t written either. I would, now. Yes, yes. I closed the window, turned on the light, got out pencil, paper. Wrote.
*
8 *
“You pay in life for everything,” people grumbled. “Who needed such a mild summer if it gets followed by this kind of winter?” Their faces were worried as they checked the sky. “More snow coming, I don’t care what the paper says. That’ll be the fifth storm this winter.” And they hurried on, newspapers in their shoes. The soles they had been able to get were thin, and standing in line took a long time.
When they came home, there were other things to worry about. Their roofs, doors, window frames, were repaired, but look at the way it was done, with parts from destroyed houses. Could fall apart any day. … Already they could feel a draft. And the coalman came rarely, never brought enough.
“Don’t worry,” the government comforted everyone. “There will be enough to last all winter. In the meantime here is some advice. Ration your coal at home. It’s better to be a little chilly all winter than to freeze before the end of it.”
Obediently people put on all the sweaters they could find and huddled closer to their stoves at night, plopping in only a few coals at a time, just enough to keep the fire going.
“Winters don’t last forever,” they comforted each other—and themselves.
We sat by our stove, too. Father so close that his feet rested against it. Mother’s, in slippers, were resting on the footstool. Her elbows were buried in cushions. I smiled. I had put a scarf next to her, neatly folded, for a little later, when the fire went out and it really got cold. She had not seen it yet. She was too busy with the magazine on her lap, turning one page after another, looking at the pictures.
“Annie … ”
From the other end of the sofa I looked up, hopefully. Had she noticed it? “Yes, Mother?”
“I’m so glad I sent Nel all those warm things, before I even knew it would get this cold. She must be nice and snug.”
I nodded. Yes.
“The fun she must be having. Leave it to her. She knows what she wants, and what really counts.” The hand stopped. “She’s getting it, Annie. That’s wonderful. How many people can say that?”
Only one pale yellow flame was left in the stove, slowly licking at a single coal.
“Annie … ”
“What?”
“At least life is turning out to be exciting for one of us. It’s lucky she’s the one.” A little edgy now. “And it doesn’t matter to me that she has no time for other things or even other people. That’s all right, I guess. That’s the way it should be.” Noisily Mother exchanged the magazine for her nail file. “This wind, it has not stopped howling for weeks. In Amsterdam you don’t have to just sit and listen to it. You don’t notice those things when you have somewhere to go.”
Gray and dusty, the coals; powdery, the ashes. The room was getting chilly. She could use the scarf now. I pushed it closer to her. “Here, put it on.” Anxiously I watched her. She didn’t want to? No. She was giving it back.
“Don’t you know wool scarves never go on sofas? I didn’t
teach you that. You only wear them when you’re outside.”
I blushed, quickly got up, put it back in the hall. So hard to know what to do these days, or to say. Like the other evening, when I’d mentioned that Sini hardly ever wrote, either, or telephoned, just like Nel. It wasn’t the same, Mother said. She’d been angry.
I sighed, checked the clock. Five more minutes. … Should I go to the kitchen now? Maybe she’d like that. Then Father would stop reading sooner. No, I’d better go at exactly the right time.
Perhaps now it was time. Quietly I went to the kitchen, turned on the faucet, held the kettle underneath it.
No more walks at night, after the book. Too cold. Tea instead, all three of us. With talk about cows, money, what we’d do with it.
“I’ll buy a car, Magda, so I can do more business.”
“Visit Nel, Ies.”
“And see Rachel,” Father added quickly. “Annie could come with us.”
With Rachel we’d wait, Mother thought. “She’s not going to leave the sanatorium in such a hurry anyway.”
But we could not get a car, Father had said later, not for a long time. He had sounded a little relieved. There still weren’t enough for all the doctors, who really needed them.
It would have been nice to visit Rachel, to sit with her. … I suppose Mother was right though. I checked the water. Not boiling yet. I could do something else while I waited. I got out the pail, small shovel, screen, so Father could sift the ashes later and pick out the pieces of coal that were large enough to save, to add to tomorrow night’s fire.
It was colder, even more bitter than before. Icy winds blew, coming in through cracks in doors, window frames, roofs, penetrating through layers of clothing. “What have we done to deserve this,” people agonized. “No matter what we do, we freeze.”
The coalman hardly came at all. There was no wood either. When it was dark, many doors opened up all over Holland, just a little, and out sneaked people, saws in hand, to cut down trees, the way they had during the war. “What else can we do?” they whispered to each other, arms already moving. “We have to fend for ourselves. The government gives us nothing.”
Not only in Holland was the winter bitterly cold. Over much of Europe, it was the same. In Germany, in Nuremberg.
When the papers arrived with the latest reports of the twenty-one men, the people of Holland were furious. “Look at them,” they yelled, pointing stiff fingers at the pictures. “You don’t see them sitting with blankets wrapped around them. In shirtsleeves yet. Justice,” they sneered. “A waste of food and good coal—that’s what it is”
Many people were sick, and doctors had trouble making house calls. It was too cold and slippery for their bicycles, and there was not enough gas for those who had cars. The roads were empty. Only a few buses ran, to important cities. No, they did not stop in Usselo. The gas. …
Shivering, the people, stamping their feet. “Warm boots we need.” “Trying to pacify us with socks.” “Coats we want.” “Abundance, abundance. Whoever said that was lying. The only thing we’ve got plenty of is bad weather.” “Haven’t had a decent thing to eat since Christmas.” “Now’s when we could use it.”“A bowl of pea soup. …”
Then, one evening, the queen spoke. We should be brave, she said. “This winter will pass too, just as all the other unpleasant things have passed.”
“Well,” people said sheepishly, “if the queen says so.
…” They looked ashamed, almost.
With us, nothing had changed. Johan wrote. So did Rachel, and Sini, occasionally. There was school; going to the masseur. I was putting on too much weight, he said. But Mother still didn’t think I ate enough. I ran home, though, every afternoon.
“Did you see the mailman, Annie?” Mother would greet me from the sofa. “I might have missed him.”
She hadn’t. A new magazine was on the table.
“I’m happy, Annie,” she said. “I’m not worried, or I’d call. Nel can take care of herself. I taught her well.”
“Yes, Mother.” Carefully, I sat down, trying not to wrinkle the cushions. Mother was silent. She didn’t look as happy as she said she was. Maybe I could cheer her up. How? Put on the potatoes? A little early still. I could suggest it though. “Mother?”
No, not yet. Just as I had thought. But she smiled, a little. Nice.
And on the winter went, on, in the same way. Until. … “Annie, come here fast. The wonderful places she’s gone to, the things she’s done. I told you. …”
Look how happy she is, just holding Nel’s letter. Slowly I followed Mother into the house.
*
9 *
Already the air smelled different, lighter, and the wind had lost its bite. Each day more snow was melting. Grass … could see it again. Crocuses began to push up, green tips that grew, opened up, became purple and yellow. Birds returned, dots in the sky that grew bigger and bigger. They landed and began to sing the minute it became light in the morning.
In a small hollow outside a town somewhere in Holland, a fisherman saw the first plover’s eggs, four of them, spotted, green and black. And in age-old tradition they were given to the queen to show her that spring had come. “It took long enough,” people said, but they were laughing and spending as much time outside as possible again.
That’s where I would go—out—as soon as this class was over. Wednesday … only half a day of school. I took another look out the window. So blue, the sky, only a few feathery patches of clouds, puffy ones, that moved, moved.
Finally, the bell rang. I ran as the others were doing, not caring whether Mr. Klaver yelled, “Whoever is in a hurry comes back.” Outside the door I sighed with relief. He hadn’t.
Was someone calling?
“Annie, wait for me. No one else is going my way.”
Selma? Going home alone? Must be. She was saying good-bye to her friends. “See you later, everybody,” turning to this one and that. I’d stand right here, where she could see me. “Selma?” She hadn’t heard, but it didn’t matter. I wouldn’t let her go without me.
Where was she? Still at it, I saw. “Bye, Kees … see you … see you … see you.” Waving, walking backward. Well, she couldn’t go on forever. First time I’d be alone with her. Maybe it would be nice. She might be different by herself. Now I could get to know her better. Not just anybody either, Selma … popular. She was coming. I picked up my schoolbag, held it tightly. Now then.
Timidly I walked next to her. I should say something, shouldn’t I? She was used to that. About school, that would be easy. Did she think Mr. Klaver was mean?
“Uh-huh.”
“When he handed out those papers. …”
“Uh-huh, same with me.”
Peculiar answer. I glanced at her. She was smiling to herself almost as if she were miles away. “Selma, I thought we wouldn’t get that test till…”
“You won’t believe what’s happened to me. I’m going steady.” She paused.
“Going steady?” My goodness!
“It happened yesterday, at the post office, as I was about to go in for stamps. I said to him, ‘I can’t decide here on the steps. This is too big a decision; give me at least till tomorrow.’ He wouldn’t. ‘Two minutes,’ he said, ‘that’s all.’
“He kept looking at his watch; he really meant it. I almost fainted. So what could I do? I said yes. It’s a great responsibility though. I don’t know whether I’m ready for it. See you tomorrow, Annie.”
Baffled, I stared after her. She hadn’t even told me whom she was going steady with. Kees? Who knew? Could be anybody. I crossed the railroad tracks. They were no longer rusty. Too many trains going over, polishing them. It had been kind of interesting, what she said, I had to admit. She wasn’t any different though from when I had heard her with the others. Same Selma—boys, boys, boys. I couldn’t listen to that dumb stuff all the time. I had more important things to do. Home, quickly, into the garden; see whether the pink hyacinth had opened.
Mothe
r was in the garden. She looked very serious. I’d better not disturb her. She must be thinking of what else to plant when the gardener came. I’d go right in, bring the potatoes out, and watch. They were waiting for me on the sink, with the knife I needed.
I settled down on the grass, chose a potato from the pile, and began. Longer and longer the peel grew, curly, thin. We had gone shopping yesterday, Mother and I— for a skirt. We went as soon as we heard about them, before they were all gone.
“How are you, Magda?” Mr. de Wind had said,coming over to us immediately. And then he asked which one of the ladies he could help. Me! I almost rushed ahead of him to the rack. Skirts, a whole row of them. Beautiful … blue. I couldn’t wait to try one on.
Mr. de Wind measured me, handed me one. I stepped into it. So nice and soft. It wouldn’t button though, no matter what I did: hold in my stomach, stop breathing.
“I don’t understand,” Mother said to Mr. de Wind. ‘I never had that problem with Nel. You remember? It was as if the designer had her figure in mind. Hold your stomach in, Annie, and let me see.”
I tried on several more.
“Don’t worry,” Mother told Mr. de Wind. “It’s not your fault. We can’t expect them to make skirts to fit every size.”
We left. There was no point in looking anywhere else either, Mother said. We had gone to another store anyway, where they had material. Gray, but almost a little blue—if you looked at it a certain way. And we got other things—thread, buttons, everything. The skirt would be beautiful. Mother sewed well. She had already let out my clothes, couldn’t even tell where. She used to sew for Nel when they had nothing in the stores they liked. Mother had not wanted to make clothes again, didn’t enjoy it any more. But she was going to do it, though it would be a lot of work. She didn’t even complain about it, just said I didn’t have an easy figure. Kept changing.