I stand still on the bridge from where I can see the flags in the village: a great day. I look for his tent, the last one, a small green triangle in the field, peaceful and remote. No movement, no feelings, nothing, only the piece of paper in my hand. When I walk on, the wet patch on my shirt feels unpleasant against my skin. I pull my stomach in as far as I can.
Hait is sitting by the window, a shadow looking out into the colourless night. Now and then he rubs his foot and says under his breath, ‘My oh my oh my…’ It has a contented and reassuring sound. The family is safely back in its home again, the celebrations over for the day. We have been eating as if we were dying of hunger: white and rye bread, bacon, milk. Now we are waiting for the bar of chocolate that lies invitingly in the middle of the table, I keep seeing eyes straying towards it, but nobody will touch it and the mysterious object remains intact. My arm is burning; a small dark red stain has appeared on the sleeve of my shirt. Every so often I try to touch the spot and soothe the burning without being noticed.
‘That was a lovely celebration,’ Mem says, ‘and a lovely sermon, I haven’t heard the minister preach like that for a long time. And so many people, they were spilling out of the church.’
Pieke leans against my chair and rocks gently to and fro. Darkness is spreading without a sound and enveloping us.
Diet puts the enamel teapot on the table and hands mugs around, the steam from the pot rising in grey wisps.
‘Are we going to have a piece of chocolate now?’ asks Pieke.
The soldier crouches over me like a beast, threatening and watchful. Frightened, I look at Hait.
‘You’ll have to ask Trientsje, the Americans gave it to her. She must decide.’
He moves his chair closer to mine at the table. Still I see the soldier, naked and large.
‘Ask, and it shall be given you, knock, and it shall be opened unto you,’ says Mem. ‘Asking, we’ve been doing that for a long time, haven’t we, Wabe? How often didn’t we ask God for an end to the war. And now it’s here!’ She drinks her tea with small, careful sips.
The finger moves from his prick to my mouth and rubs along my lips. I feel sick and swallow hard. ‘How did the minister put it again, that we have opened our hearts to our liberators, that they are guests in our souls?’
‘Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unaware,’ Meint says fervently.
I squeeze my legs together so as not to feel that movement between them any more, and tense my belly. I must think of something else. Hait looks at me. ‘And you, my boy, did you have a good day?’
I slide down from my chair, glad that I can move about freely, and go and stand beside him. He breaks Trientsje’s bar of chocolate into pieces and neatly wraps what is left into the silver paper. I make for the door.
‘I’m going to pee.’
The darkness outside descends upon me, an on-rolling ocean of muffled sounds; a voice calling in the distance, the short nocturnal cry of a lapwing.
The sheep are huddled against the wire fence in a grey clump, making human sounds, mumbling and coughing. In the distance are the small glowing spots of illuminated windows.
‘God,’ I say, and hope he can hear me, ‘let the soldier be my friend, let me always be with him. And don’t let anyone ever find out.’
I stand there, the cold spreading upwards from my feet. ‘I shall always go to church and always pray, I promise You. Please make him take me along with him.
I can hear a door opening in the house and a gust of speaking voices that wafts out and is quenched.
‘Jeroen?’ calls Trientsje.
I say nothing and crouch down in the dark. I put my hand inside my shirt and gently rub the sore place.
She takes a few steps outside and looks around the corner of the house, then steps into the cookhouse.
It hurts, I think, but it doesn’t matter if he stays my friend.
Suddenly I feel happy, he is probably lying in his tent right now thinking of me, or perhaps he’s at the table with the other soldiers, writing me a letter.
I feel the piece of paper in my pocket and clench it in my hand. Tomorrow he wants to go swimming with me, I shall be seeing him again, and I shall no longer be frightened. He is a liberator and he has chosen me, perhaps with God’s help. Thank You very much, God. With audible wing beats a silent shadow glides low across the meadow. I run to the ditch and look towards Warns. There is the bridge, there are the tents. I want very much to shout out into the dark over the still countryside, or to kneel in the grass, to do something.
When Mem calls me in an annoyed voice, I act surprised and innocent.
Shivering in the sudden warmth I get undressed and leap into bed before Meint has a chance to see my stained shirt and bruised arm.
I stare at the wall. His naked buttocks are so shamelessly close to my face that I hug them tight, a redeeming round shape that keeps me afloat…
The blood rises up inside me, beating in my throat and through my lips. Vaguely I hear Meint climb into bed and shut the little doors as quietly as he can.
Say nothing now, and don’t disturb my dreams…
Chapter 5
I hardly sleep that night. Every time I turn over I wake up with the pain in my arm, thinking of the soldier. A small shutter falls open in my head and I have a clear vision of all those things he did with me, as if it had all only just happened. Afterwards I can no longer close the shutter, I feel so guilty.
You must not kiss, kissing isn’t allowed, no one had ever kissed me, except at home, quickly and softly on the cheek. And there he had lain on top of me, naked, something that was completely forbidden. Suddenly I feel afraid: if I don’t go to meet him tomorrow, will he come here and take me prisoner?
My arm burns and my back is wet with sweat. I crawl over Meint to get out of bed and go to the privy. I pause at the back door; there are figures hiding everywhere in the dark, holding their breath, but I can sense their watchful presence as they lurk in the dark, waiting to pounce on me. I flee back to bed where Meint mumbles protestingly and turns over with a groan.
If you kiss a person, it means that you like him: Walt had held me tight in his arms, as if he wanted to squeeze the life out of me. Why did he do that, he didn’t even know me… I shut my eyes and try to sleep. Don’t think of ‘that’… Is it bad someone goes stiff down there? Diet says it’s a sin to talk about such things, but when it’s to do with an American it surely can’t be a sin; they only do what’s right and proper.
Just make the burning in my shoulder stop. He comes sneaking down on top of me and grins as he hisses at me to keep quiet, because no one must hear us. His hind legs are hairy and his tongue hangs pink and long from his snout. He is a dead cat…
I wake up with my head swimming. The mere thought of having to get up fills me with despair. Meint is already out of bed, yawning and stretching exaggeratedly, but curled up motionless I sullenly pretend to be fast asleep. I shall say I am sick so that they’ll let me lie in, life outside this bed seems bleak. There is nothing I want any longer.
In two minds I pull the blankets over my head; the hard patches on the bottom of my vest and the pains in my arm are problems I don’t want to face. But Mem flings the cupboard-bed doors open and whips the blankets off me. ‘Up you get, boy, this isn’t a holiday camp.’
Hait and Popke are still sitting at the table. It’s like a Sunday morning, everyone up late after the celebrations and still at home. Trientsje helps Mem clear the dishes and looks at my pale face.