today the guests themselves, asking for others’ pity . . . !
“There’s always a safe house for urgent cases.”
“Surely it’s . . .” His voice was still bitter. He started wandering around the room again. Suddenly he stopped in front of her. “You’re right.” He sounded calmer; he had come to his decision. “We have to leave right away. Right away . . . Neither of us thought of the number, it was nighttime, the room was so dark. I didn’t either, and I helped her dress him too . . . Well, it doesn’t matter. But still, you’re careful for a whole year, stay alert like a policeman in your own house, everything goes fine, and then, right at the end . . . It’s almost enough to make you laugh!”
“You’ll come to my house first,” Coba began. “I’ll pass you along later.”
“Good, Coba, we’ll go with you.” He had fully regained his old calm and collected attitude.
It was just such a shock! “The whole thing could turn out to be nothing. Our police are almost all good, they’re on our side. Who knows?” he concluded. Yes, there was still a chance. Wait and see. “It’s just the chief, he’s on the other side. Well, we’ll see. We’ll go with you.”
“You can go by bike; Marie and I will take the streetcar.”
“Where’s Marie?”
“She’s upstairs, packing.”
When he walked into the bedroom, Marie was just picking up the towels from the floor and putting them away. She was crying.
“I didn’t think of it either,” Wim said even before she said anything. He wanted to make it clear that it was a problem for both of them together. “Not to mention the doctor. I mean, he doesn’t leave his business card in someone’s stomach when he operates on him . . .”
Marie had to smile at that last comparison. “What now?” she said timidly. “Did Coba tell you? I’ve packed everything.”
“We’ll leave the house right now. I’ll bike, you take the streetcar.”
“Don’t you need to go to the factory?”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“I’m done.”
“Let’s go,” Wim said.
“I cut out the other laundry numbers, as many as I could—”
Wim interrupted her. “Don’t bother. They have a list at the laundry anyway, and some of our other clothes are still there too. Come on, let’s go.”
While the two women put on their coats in the front hall, Wim walked through the rooms of the house again, to quickly make sure there was nothing else lying around that could compromise them. That was pointless too, in truth, because if the one thing came out it was more than enough to snare them.
When he walked by the little table in the front room, where the vase stood, the thought flashed through his head how quickly, when it’s necessary, people can leave behind all the things they possessed in happier times. Exactly as fast as a settled person becomes a refugee. And he heard Nico’s voice in his head, telling him how he had left his own apartment.
“. . . it was just a two-room sublet, with morning light. I didn’t own much furniture that was worth saving. I gave a picture and a few books to a colleague.”
“‘You can keep them if I don’t come back . . .’”
“‘I’ll keep them safe for you.’ ”
And Nico went on: “Still, it was painful, like a little twinge. After all, I had lived in that apartment more than ten years. But then I left. I had my suitcase . . .”
Coba stuck her head through the half-open door:
“We’re leaving. See you at my place.” They left.
Wim was alone. The voice kept speaking: “. . . at first I thought, before it happened, that I would not survive it. But then I left. It was fine. As for whether I’ll ever be back?” . . . The voice broke off.
Wim understood it better now. He waited a little longer. Then he left. He shut the house door quickly behind him. As for whether they’d ever be back? His bicycle stood there, leaning against the wall of the house, just how he always left it when
“There’s always a safe house for urgent cases.”
“Surely it’s . . .” His voice was still bitter. He started wandering around the room again. Suddenly he stopped in front of her. “You’re right.” He sounded calmer; he had come to his decision. “We have to leave right away. Right away . . . Neither of us thought of the number, it was nighttime, the room was so dark. I didn’t either, and I helped her dress him too . . . Well, it doesn’t matter. But still, you’re careful for a whole year, stay alert like a policeman in your own house, everything goes fine, and then, right at the end . . . It’s almost enough to make you laugh!”
“You’ll come to my house first,” Coba began. “I’ll pass you along later.”
“Good, Coba, we’ll go with you.” He had fully regained his old calm and collected attitude.
It was just such a shock! “The whole thing could turn out to be nothing. Our police are almost all good, they’re on our side. Who knows?” he concluded. Yes, there was still a chance. Wait and see. “It’s just the chief, he’s on the other side. Well, we’ll see. We’ll go with you.”
“You can go by bike; Marie and I will take the streetcar.”
“Where’s Marie?”
“She’s upstairs, packing.”
When he walked into the bedroom, Marie was just picking up the towels from the floor and putting them away. She was crying.
“I didn’t think of it either,” Wim said even before she said anything. He wanted to make it clear that it was a problem for both of them together. “Not to mention the doctor. I mean, he doesn’t leave his business card in someone’s stomach when he operates on him . . .”
Marie had to smile at that last comparison. “What now?” she said timidly. “Did Coba tell you? I’ve packed everything.”
“We’ll leave the house right now. I’ll bike, you take the streetcar.”
“Don’t you need to go to the factory?”
“I’ll take care of that.”
“I’m done.”
“Let’s go,” Wim said.
“I cut out the other laundry numbers, as many as I could—”
Wim interrupted her. “Don’t bother. They have a list at the laundry anyway, and some of our other clothes are still there too. Come on, let’s go.”
While the two women put on their coats in the front hall, Wim walked through the rooms of the house again, to quickly make sure there was nothing else lying around that could compromise them. That was pointless too, in truth, because if the one thing came out it was more than enough to snare them.
When he walked by the little table in the front room, where the vase stood, the thought flashed through his head how quickly, when it’s necessary, people can leave behind all the things they possessed in happier times. Exactly as fast as a settled person becomes a refugee. And he heard Nico’s voice in his head, telling him how he had left his own apartment.
“. . . it was just a two-room sublet, with morning light. I didn’t own much furniture that was worth saving. I gave a picture and a few books to a colleague.”
“‘You can keep them if I don’t come back . . .’”
“‘I’ll keep them safe for you.’ ”
And Nico went on: “Still, it was painful, like a little twinge. After all, I had lived in that apartment more than ten years. But then I left. I had my suitcase . . .”
Coba stuck her head through the half-open door:
“We’re leaving. See you at my place.” They left.
Wim was alone. The voice kept speaking: “. . . at first I thought, before it happened, that I would not survive it. But then I left. It was fine. As for whether I’ll ever be back?” . . . The voice broke off.
Wim understood it better now. He waited a little longer. Then he left. He shut the house door quickly behind him. As for whether they’d ever be back? His bicycle stood there, leaning against the wall of the house, just how he always left it when
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