The Darkroom of Damocles (14 page)

‘Help! Help!' yelled Osewoudt.

The kitchen door swung open and Lagendaal took a step into the passage. Osewoudt fired instantly. The whole passage lit up as if by lightning. But Lagendaal did not collapse. He ducked back through the door. Osewoudt sprang after him, and found him standing in the middle of the kitchen. Osewoudt fired again, but Lagendaal took another step. Osewoudt fired two more shots. Lagendaal fell but did not crumple up, his torso remained upright. One leg was doubled under him, the other kicking savagely across the floor. Osewoudt went up to him and, bracing his right elbow with his left hand, emptied
the pistol into Lagendaal's back. Lagendaal keeled over, his head crashing on to Osewoudt's shoes. His mouth sagged, his eyes had stopped moving. Osewoudt looked up. Ribbons of blue vapour drifted towards the open kitchen door. He put the pistol in his pocket, stepped over Lagendaal and walked directly to the shed. It was not locked. Inside was a man's bicycle. He wheeled it out, slammed the shed door, and mounted. He set off, but braked almost immediately, got off the bicycle and left it lying there. He ran back to the kitchen and snatched the pliers from Lagendaal's clenched hand. Then he blew out the paraffin burner.

The two farmers, hands in pockets, were still chatting beside the cow. One of them stepped forward, patted the animal's rump. Then he stepped back and resumed his conversation with the other.

Cycling over the bumpy terrain was not easy. Osewoudt went past a rudimentary gateway made of two large stones painted white. He twisted round for another look. They had black letters on them. One said
D E
and the other
H A Z E N W A L
.

He rode on. He saw the telephone wires suddenly end and then begin again. He couldn't remember exactly where they had left the murdered youth leader. Standing up on the pedals he made quite rapid progress. Soon he was on the asphalt road. He sat back down on the saddle, relaxed, and rode on with one hand on the handlebars. He looked about him and whistled a tune: ‘
Mit dir war es immer so schön
'. There was the letter box, red and shiny as ever.

Then a heavy rumble sounded in the grey sky. Not far away field guns fired salvos of three shots at a time. A huge aluminium bomber hove into view, low over the trees. Osewoudt saw the glint of gun turrets, he even saw the circular shimmer around the four engines. Above the aircraft puffs of dirty brown
smoke appeared, from bursting ack-ack shells. With his free hand Osewoudt waved to the bomber until it disappeared from sight.

He parked the bicycle against a tree by the station and made for the waiting room. There sat Hey You, with the little boy in front of her. The waiting room was a narrow space with a single bench running along the side, no refreshment counter. Not a soul about.

‘Hey You! How are you doing?' called Osewoudt.

‘Shake hands with the gentleman now!'

‘I'm Walter,' said the little boy, putting out his hand.

‘That's a very smart outfit you're wearing, Walter,' said Osewoudt.

He sat down beside Hey You.

‘That's because I'm going away,' said the boy. ‘Anyway, I like wearing my best clothes. Some children don't like wearing their good clothes, but I do. I like being neat and tidy.'

The boy was about five years old. His eyes were dark and his eyebrows thick and joined in the middle. The image of his father. Osewoudt tried unsuccessfully to remember what the mother had looked like.

‘Did you find out when the train leaves?'

Hey You looked at him. She was paler than ever. She seemed to have difficulty opening her mouth.

‘In half an hour. We just missed the last one.'

‘I'm glad I'm going to Amsterdam,' said Walter. Holding on to Osewoudt's lapels for support, he got his right knee up on the bench.

‘I'm a born traveller, you know. I think I'll go and live in Russia when the war's over. I want to have a big estate.'

‘Since you're such a keen traveller, why don't you go and
see if there's a train coming? I can hear an engine. Go and take a look, I bet it's a goods train.'

The child let go of Osewoudt and wandered off through the open door to the platform.

‘So how did it go?'

‘Fine. The pair of them.'

‘The woman too?'

‘Yes. She was in the kitchen.'

‘Any cognac on the premises?'

‘Don't know. I didn't look, not for papers either. It didn't go very smoothly. But it's done.'

‘I was afraid he'd come all the way to the station with us. I was telling him: you'll catch your death without a coat in this weather. You'll be laid up tomorrow if you're not careful. It's very cold for the time of year!' She did not smile as she said this.

The goods train came past, blocking out most of the daylight in the waiting room.

Osewoudt put his hand on the nape of the girl's neck and said: ‘Come on, try not to think about it.'

‘When he left I forgot to say
Houzee
.'

‘What does it matter? It went pretty well, all things considered.'

‘I wonder if the Germans will shoot hostages in revenge.'

Osewoudt felt his knees begin to quake. He asked: ‘Where did you leave that bike he lent you?'

‘At the left-luggage office. He said he'd come for it later. Why do you ask?'

‘I've been a bit careless. I came here by bike too – I took his – but I left it outside. If anyone recognises it …'

‘So what? It won't mean anything to them unless they've already been to the bungalow and have seen …'

‘Damn, I wish that train would come.'

‘Relax, will you. Even if someone has found out already,
why would they think of checking whether Lagendaal's bike was left outside the station?'

‘No, but still, whoever finds out is bound to go straight to the village, in which case they'll go past the station.'

Walter came inside.

‘I say! It was a very long train! Seventy-seven carriages! I expect it's going to the Eastern Front!'

‘Yes Walter, to the Eastern Front, taking warm clothes for our soldiers.'

‘I'm for the Russians,' said Walter. ‘All us boys are for the Russians.'

In the train they sat the child between them, so there was no need for them to talk to each other. It was a carriage with a corridor from end to end.

The train stopped at Barneveld-Dorp and two women entered the carriage; all the seats were now occupied.

The train rode on. Outside, the drizzle was drawing thin streaks of wet on the window.

The train stopped again at Barneveld-Voorthuizen. The door opened and a large woman with a basket on her arm hoisted herself up.

‘No seats left here?'

‘No, all taken.'

Osewoudt stood up and pointed to his seat.

But the woman glared first at him, then at the child, and finally at the fake youth leader.

‘No, thank you. I wouldn't take your seat if you paid me.'

‘Good for you!' said one of the women who had got on at the last stop. ‘People like that are best left alone! Get them used to being in solitary later on!'

The whole compartment laughed. Osewoudt sat down and looked out of the window.

The train set off again. Almost immediately, two men in long leather coats came in from the corridor.

‘
Polizei! Ausweise bitte
.'

‘Not that too!' said the woman who'd made the remark about being in solitary.

‘Identity cards please,' said the man in front, extending his hand. The other man stayed in the corridor and kept looking left and right.

Osewoudt handed over his card. The man slipped it from its celluloid sheath, unfolded it, clapped it shut again almost at once, held it up with an air of complicity and gave it back.

Then the woman who preferred to stand handed over her identity card.

When everyone had shown their papers it was the youth leader's turn. The German smiled as he took her card, unfolded it, then frowned. He studied it closely, including the back. The second man peered at it over the first's shoulder, after which the first one folded the card and put it in his pocket.

‘
Da stimmt was nicht. Kommen sie mal mit
.'

Something was wrong. As if expecting this, Hey You rose from her seat and went with the leather-coated duo. She did not look back.

Chuckles sounded in the compartment.

‘Well, I don't mind sitting down now,' said the large woman, and sank on to the vacant seat.

‘That's all right, but when Auntie Marchiena gets back you'll have to get up again,' said Walter.

The woman stared stonily ahead. The grins on the faces of the other passengers faded. They were puzzled. A leader of the National Youth Storm, a traitor, being led away by the German police? How was that possible?

After a pause one of the passengers burst out with: ‘Plenty of gits among that lot too! Black market, who knows?'

‘Where has Auntie Marchiena gone?' Walter asked.

Everyone grew still.

It took a tremendous effort for Osewoudt to tear himself away from the view through the window. All eyes were on him when he finally muttered: ‘Hush now, Walter. We'll be arriving in Amersfoort soon, and then Auntie Marchiena will join us again.'

He checked his watch.

‘Look, only another three minutes. We're almost there.'

Even before the train had come to a standstill he took the little boy's hand and held it firmly, ready to jump down to the platform.

Suddenly he realised that he had no ticket for the child. Of course Hey You would have bought him a ticket! Hey You still had it! He looked up and down the platform, but couldn't see her anywhere. Then he bent down to Walter.

‘Look here, Walter. You stay put for a moment, don't move! I'll be back before you know it. You stay right here. Be on the lookout for Auntie Marchiena, will you? There's something I have to do. But you're to stay here, understand?'

He let go of the little boy's hand and ran to a door with a sign over it:
THROUGH TICKETS
. There he bought a one-way ticket plus a child's ticket to Amsterdam.

From a distance he could see that Walter was doing as he had been told. He was still rooted to the appointed spot.

Osewoudt thought: what have I let myself in for? What am I to do with the kid? Where in God's name can I take him? I should have left him there and taken the train to Amsterdam by myself. Damnation, how do I get rid of him?

But then, as if buying that half-fare ticket had made it his moral duty, he walked back to Walter.

‘Well? Have you seen Auntie Marchiena yet?'

‘No. Did you?'

‘Yes, she's got an errand to run here in Amersfoort, some business to discuss with those two gentlemen. The train to Amsterdam will be here in five minutes. Auntie Marchiena will catch up with us later, she said. Take my hand, Walter, come along, let's go and find our train.'

Osewoudt led the child to the platform for departures to Amsterdam. The train arrived almost at once.

He found two seats.

‘Travelling by train is best,' Walter said. He laid his hands either side of him on the bench.

‘Is it? What else have you travelled on?'

‘An aeroplane. I didn't like it much.'

‘So where did you go on the aeroplane?'

‘To South America. It's very hot there, you know!'

An old man sitting opposite joined in the conversation.

‘That must have been before the war then, eh my boy?'

The old man winked at Osewoudt.

‘It can't have,' said Walter. ‘There's always been a war on.'

It wasn't until they arrived in Amsterdam that Walter started whining about Auntie Marchiena. ‘Can't we look in the waiting room, see if Auntie Marchiena's there?'

‘How could she be? Auntie Marchiena's still in Amersfoort. So she can't be in the waiting room. She'll be coming on the next train.'

‘I hate it.'

‘What do you hate?'

‘I hate it here. I want to go to the children's home with Auntie Marchiena, like Papa said. I'm getting a belt with a dagger. You're a stranger and I've got nothing to do with you!'

At that moment a loud crackling erupted from the loudspeakers hung along the platforms, and a hollow but hoarse voice announced: ‘Calling Mr Osewoudt! Mr Osewoudt! Will
Mr Osewoudt, believed to be arriving from Amersfoort, please report to the stationmaster's office to receive an urgent message. I repeat: will Mr Osewoudt, arriving from Amersfoort, please report to …'

Osewoudt felt as if he'd been dealt a violent kick in the groin. He had to swallow to keep himself from vomiting. He wished he could tie his handkerchief over his face. He squeezed Walter's hand. Walter said: ‘Why are they calling that gentleman?'

‘Because they need him, of course.'

He took out the tickets. He had three: the half-used return ticket for the Leiden-Amersfoort journey, the one-way ticket from Amersfoort to Amsterdam, and the half-fare ticket for the child. He examined each in turn, then put the first ticket back in his pocket and kept the other two in his hand.

‘What do they need him for?'

‘To give him a message, Walter. From his wife, I expect, or from his mother.'

‘From his mother,' Osewoudt echoed softly as they shuffled forward in the queue for the barrier.

‘What sort of message?'

‘Maybe he promised his mother he'd buy her a basket of cherries and didn't get round to it. Something like that, Walter, something like that, maybe.'

‘It's a funny sort of name. What does it mean? It sounds like the name of a wood. Is there a wood called Osewoudt, too?'

‘No, there isn't. Not that I've heard of anyway. It's just a funny name, that's all!'

Walter's eyes kept darting in all directions.

‘Is it still a long way to the children's home?'