No Greater Love (17 page)

“I met her when I went to the States, to the Roswell Park Cancer Institute. I stopped to see an old friend, Carl Ahren, and she was there.”

“Oh, I remember Dr. Ahren. He was part of the family that adopted Janan. She called him Uncle Carl but there was no real relationship.”

Not knowing how to respond, Pieter reached for his wineglass.

“Dr. Ahren helped us prepare to take the Nursing State Board Examination. He grilled us over and over.” She smiled at the memory and then directed a sharp look to Pieter. “When did you say you met her?”

“About a year ago.” He kept his eyes on the chicken and rice on his plate.

“For the last several months, my letters to her have been returned marked ‘no forwarding address.’ Do you know where she is now?”

“Leiden,” he choked out. “She’s in Leiden.”

“How could that be?” Emine’s voice wobbled with hurt. “So close, and she has not contacted me.”

“There must be a reason, my dear.” Marc’s voice was soothing.

“Is she living there alone?” Emine asked, leaning across the table to meet Pieter’s eyes.

Pieter swallowed hard. “She has been living there with her husband.” He glanced at Mina and modified the words he had been about to utter. “She became a widow yesterday.”

“Is she all alone?” Emine asked in a voice that trembled.

“No, not all alone.” Pieter forced himself to go on. “There is an older housekeeper and her husband . . . and a young woman, a refugee, who helps with the babies.”

It was Mina who broke the shocked silence that followed his words. “Babies?” Mina’s smile lit up her face. “Real babies?”

“Yes, twins.” He managed a smile for her. “A baby girl and a baby boy.”

Mina had slipped off her chair and was now standing beside him with her hands gripping the arm of his chair. “What are their names?”

“The baby girl’s name is Barina and the baby boy’s name is Tomas,” he said in a hoarse voice.

“Have you seen them?” Mina asked intently.

“Once, for just a minute.” Pieter struggled to keep his voice steady.

“Have you held them?” Mina arms cradled an imaginary baby.

“No.” Pieter’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “I’ve never held them.”

“She named them for her mother and for her brother,” Emine murmured and then her voice sharpened. “You said that she is a widow. Who was her husband?”

Pieter winced. “Carl Ahren.” He forced out the words and heard her shocked gasp. He directed his next words to Marc. “He was her husband at the time of the birth of the babies.” Pieter knew by Marc’s slight nod that he had understood the information that he was trying to convey. According to Dutch law, the husband would be considered to be the legal father of any children born during a marriage.

Marc moved to Emine’s chair. “I think, my love, that it’s Mina’s rest time”—he motioned to Nehls to take Mina upstairs—“and time for us to move to the library.” He caught Pieter’s eye. “If you would assist Mevrouw Beatrix, we will have our coffee in the library and you can tell us the whole story.”

Setting his coffee cup down carefully, Pieter turned to Emine. “I called Marc because I had no one to ask to be with Janan tomorrow at Carl’s funeral. She will be the only family mourner. I will be a pallbearer but she will be alone, all alone in the right front pew of the Synagogue on Levendaal.” He studied each of them in turn. “I couldn’t bear thinking of her having to go through a funeral in a foreign country with no family and no friends.” His hands tightened on the arms of his chair. “Then, I remembered her telling me that she used to speak Turkish with a friend but that friend had married and moved to Amsterdam.” He leaned forward in his chair. “For some reason, I had jotted down the name that she had told me and then forgot about it.”

“How did it happen that she married Carl?” Emine asked in a cool voice.

A well-constructed psychiatric question,
Peter thought wryly.
Not a single ‘why’ in it that might assign blame.
He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward.
There is no way out. I am going to have to tell the whole story and she will think me the most contemptible of men. “
As I told Marc, I met Janan when I went to the States . . . for evaluation at the Leukemia Center in Buffalo.”

When Marc raised an eyebrow, Pieter continued. “Yes. I know there are many excellent Leukemia Centers here but I wanted to hear the diagnosis from my friend, Alan. He is on the staff of Buffalo’s Roswell Park Cancer Institute.” He lifted his shoulders in a slight shrug. “We had trained together and I wanted to hear it from him.”

At Marc’s understanding nod, Pieter continued. “Carl had been a mentor for me as I went through my training and so I visited him in the village where he had retired.” He pushed the vision of the first time he had seen Janan to the back of his mind. “I met Janan.” His voice was reverential. “She was working a fulltime job, trying to sell her house, taking care of Carl, and protecting him from harassment by a nephew.” He shook his head. “Somehow she found time to spend a day driving me to the hospital and waiting for me.” He frowned. “I tried to tell her that she did not have to wait but she told me exactly how it was going to be, and, at the end of a day of tests, I was very grateful for her help.”

Emine gave a slight nod. “In the last letter I had from her, she said that she was eager to sell the house, her adoptive parents’ house. She said that it was too expensive to maintain.” She added thoughtfully, “She never said where she planned to live after she sold the house.” Her gaze became more intent. “I know that she spoke Dutch but I’m sure she never mentioned any plans to move to Leiden.”

“When I was there, she said that she planned to take Carl home, to Leiden, after she sold the house,” Pieter mumbled. “She said that he was the only family she had left.”

“Is that what she did? Take him home?” Emine shook her head. “No. That does not explain why you say that he was her husband.”

Pieter clenched his teeth.
There was no way out of telling her everything but how could he bear to see the revulsion in the eyes of these kind people that was sure to come after they heard what he had done? “
I first met Janan when we were both trying to buy Jenever for Carl. I was a step ahead of her and bought the only bottle in the store. I won the Jenever but lost my heart. I fell in love with her at first glance and have never stopped loving her.”

“What happened?” Emine leaned forward on the sofa and reached for her husband’s hand.

“We had one evening and then I returned to start treatment at Erasmus Medical Center’s Leukemia Center.” He ground out the words. “I was so stupid, filled with false pride. I was determined to be a well man before I went back and asked her to marry me.” He shook his head sadly. “It didn’t happen that way. I had some adverse reactions to chemotherapy and was hospitalized several times.” He rubbed his face in frustration. “Later, I learned that Carl had written to me and had called me but my mother did not give his letters to me or tell me about his telephone call. She said that she thought I was too sick to be disturbed.” His voice broke. “If I had only known about the babies, I would have gone to her even if it killed me.” He jumped to his feet and moved to stand in front of Emine, the words bursting from him, “I am going to do everything I can to win Janan’s love, but for now, I implore you to be there for her tomorrow, to sit beside her in the front row.” He wiped away the tears sliding down his face with his fingertips. “Carl wanted me to be a pallbearer and I will, but I am powerless to help Janan.”

Emine rose and took his arm. “Of course I will be there for her. I will go to see her this afternoon.”

Mevrouw Beatrix cleared her throat. “Emine, perhaps you would like to ask Nehls to arrange for a condolence meal to be served after the burial?” She paused for a moment, lost in thought. “Does the child have proper mourning outfits?” She added tactfully, “She may not have been able to make any arrangements with the two little ones to look after.”

“You are very kind to think of it, Mevrouw Beatrix. I doubt if she does and she may not have . . .” He stopped unwilling to mention the cost. “I would be very happy to take care of any expenses,” he said with dogged persistence.

“No, no. It wouldn’t be proper. Don’t worry, young man. By the time a woman reaches my age, she has an ample supply of mourning outfits.” She raised a delicate eyebrow. “I do hope she is not one of those short little things?”

“No,
Mevrouw
,” Pieter murmured, “the top of her head comes just under my chin.”

At her dry cough, Pieter felt his face flush but he met her gaze bravely. “She’s perfect.”

Smiling slightly for the first time that afternoon, Emine came to his aid. “She is about my size. Perhaps an inch taller, her waist a little smaller, and her arms a little longer, but other than that we are the same size.” With her arm linked through her husband’s, she walked slowly beside Pieter to the door. “I know that it must have been very difficult for you to come to us but I am grateful that you did. I could never have forgiven myself if I had not been there to help Janan when she needed me.”

Stopping at the open door, Pieter said, “Thank you, Emine
hanim
.” He nodded at Marc as he shook his hand. “I am in your debt.” He stepped through the door way and then turned back remembering the wonder in Mina’s eyes as she had asked him about the twins. “Mina? Do you think she could go with you? To see the babies?”

Chapter 15

As they crossed the cobblestone street to enter the double black doors of the Synagogue with half-moon arched windows and brickwork of alternating thin headers and stretchers forming an intricate design, Pieter glanced back at the old tree with its smooth straight trunk and twisted branches carefully maintained in a small island of space between the cobblestone streets.
A silent witness to the plunder and destruction of the synagogue during the German occupation and to its restoration.

Inside, the windows let in enough light to make the soft yellow walls glow in contrast to the dark wooden floor and rows of wooden seats. Pieter took one black skullcap for himself and handed one to Maarten. It took a moment for Pieter to realize that the synagogue was filled with people, mostly men, young and old, and a few older women.

“It is as though the entire Jewish community of Leiden has come to honor Carl,” Pieter murmured to Maarten.

“Not just Leiden,” Maarten said. “The rabbis from Amsterdam and The Hague are here too.” At Pieter’s questioning look, he offered, “I’ve worked with them on a few things . . . from time to time.”

A moment later, Crispin appeared beside them and introduced the man with him as Rabbi Riskin from Utrecht.

“I will sit here with Maarten,” Crispin whispered to Pieter. “You need to go up front and join the other pallbearers.”

Taking the end seat of the front left row, Pieter murmured his name to the older man sitting next to him who introduced himself and another man as members of the Jewish community in Amsterdam. Pieter nodded as Rabbi Riskin introduced the other two pallbearers as members of the Jewish community in The Hague.

There was a hush as Janan, stiffly erect in an elegant black wool coat, black felt hat with a black veil, and black kidskin gloves, walked in alone to take her seat in the right front row.

Pieter felt the pain of failure grip him.
His visit to Marc van Etten’s home yesterday had been in vain. He had not been able to convince Emine that Janan needed her.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emine dressed in black slip into the right front pew and sit down beside Janan. He reached for his handkerchief and wiped the tears from his eyes.
Janan was not alone. Emine had come and Marc, wearing a black armband over the left sleeve of his charcoal-gray suit, was there to escort them both.

With the greatest effort, Pieter kept his eyes straight ahead but only one thought repeated in his mind,
What will Janan do?
He forced himself to concentrate as the rabbi opened the service.

“We are here today to commemorate the life of Carl Ahern, a child of Leiden, who grew up to be a most remarkable man. We have come together to honor a man who devoted his life to helping others—patients, colleagues, friends, students, and communities such as ours.” He paused and let his gaze travel over the people gathered in the room. “His life was not an easy one. In the fall of 1939, Carl’s father sent five-year-old Carl away from Leiden, to his uncle in the United States, in a desperate attempt to save the life of his firstborn son. What an agonizing decision for a father to have to make, but it was the right decision. Carl’s mother, father, and baby brother were sent to the German concentration camp at Auschwitz. They never returned.”   

Numb, Pieter listened to the eulogy
.
The rabbi did not know the last gift, the greatest gift Carl had given. He had given his name and all he had, subjecting himself to snide remarks in a community where he had once been revered, so that a young woman with no husband, no family, and no support could save her babies. He stood when the others stood and sat when they sat. All he could think of was Janan.
So near and yet as far away as if she were still on the other side of the Atlantic. 

At the end, the rabbi made a brief statement that after the burial they were all invited back to Carl’s house for a meal of condolence.

As Pieter took his place with the other pallbearers and escorted the wheeled casket toward the door, he was acutely aware of the erect, black-clad figure of Janan walking behind the closed casket with Emine at her side and Marc close behind them.

The service at the Katwijk Cemetery was brief—the rabbi leading them in the 23rd Psalm, the El Male Rachamim prayer with its comforting message that the deceased is sheltered beneath the wings of God, and finally the moving recitation of the Kaddish, praising God for life.

Emine and Marc had said that they would stay with Janan for a while after the last of the visitors had left, and Maarten had invited Rabbi Riskin, Crispin, and Dirk to come back to Amsterdam for drinks. It was the rabbi who started the conversation. “The widow is very young. Does she have any family in the area?”