trooper was behind the counter, pulling papers from a drawer.
"We have business with Pieter Van der Berg. Where is he?" The officer tried to enter the storeroom, but I stepped in front of him. My uncle kept money back there, hidden in an empty sewing-machine housing.
"He's not here. He's away."
Too late I realized how I was dressed—my blouse half-undone, no slip, and no stockings. I crossed my arms over my chest, but the
Oberschütze
was staring. He was wide-shouldered and powerful looking, with bristly hair so short it looked almost shaved and a face flat and red as a cut of meat. His look frightened me, as if I were a prostitute sitting in a window in Amsterdam. I took a step away.
"When will he be back?" the captain asked.
"Oh, tomorrow," I lied.
And then the worst thing happened. I felt a wetness between my legs. Hot at first, then sliding down between my bare thighs and cooling. When I realized what it was tears sprang to my eyes, but I bit them back.
"Come back tomorrow," I urged him.
"We have an order here for six hundred blankets. Are they ready?"
The wetness slid farther down my legs. How much did a man leave inside a woman? Enough to give Isaak away? "He's gone to get a part for the machine. For your order. I'll tell him you were here."
The officer pushed past me and the trooper followed. I didn't try to stop them now. They suspected my uncle had taken their fabric to sell on the black market, and I thought if they saw it was still here, they would be satisfied.
The officer came back into the doorway carrying a bolt of wool. "Take the rest of it and pack it onto the truck," he ordered the other one as he left.
I was worrying whether they would notice two bolts were missing, and planning what I would say to explain it, and so wasn't prepared for what happened next.
The
Oberschütze
stood beside me and let the officer pass out of the shop. Then he dropped the wool he was holding and shoved his hand against my back, pinning me over the cutting table. His other hand pushed my skirt up and grabbed at my hip. He laughed when he found I had nothing on underneath, and began to grind himself against me.
I tried to twist away, terrified he would find the evidence I had just been with a man, and struggled to climb over the table—a pair of shears hung from a hook in the cupboard below. His hand dug into my neck and I smelled motor oil. I heard the clink of his belt buckle, the rip of his buttons.
I bit my lips so I wouldn't make a sound that might bring Isaak down and I dug harder and found the shears. I wrenched backward and jammed the open blade as hard as I could toward his throat.
"Bitch!" He knocked the shears away, drew back, and raised his hand over me.
Suddenly the officer was back. "Off her!" he yelled, pulling the trooper from me. "Animal! This one's pregnant. She's going to the Lebensborn."
The trooper released his grip and glared at me, his face sweating, red as a ham, pulling his uniform together. Then he picked up the bolts of wool he had dropped.
I backed up against the counter, not sure my legs would hold me. The officer leaned over and reached for me. "Are you all right?"
I pushed his hand away. He looked as though he expected me to thank him. He had told his soldier to respect me because I was carrying a German child, as if that were the only reason I shouldn't be raped. I would not thank him for that.
"Tell your father we'll be back tomorrow. He had better have that part." The officer straightened and motioned to the other one to leave.
"Wait," the trooper said. "Let's see her identification."
He reached for my neck. He saw me look down with disgust at his fingers, black with grease, and he smiled, then slowly wiped them down the front of my blouse, over my breast. I slapped his hand away and spat in his face. He reared back and raised his arm again, and again the officer stopped him, this time with his hand to his gun.
"
Nein,
" said the captain. "I know this one, I've seen her
"We have business with Pieter Van der Berg. Where is he?" The officer tried to enter the storeroom, but I stepped in front of him. My uncle kept money back there, hidden in an empty sewing-machine housing.
"He's not here. He's away."
Too late I realized how I was dressed—my blouse half-undone, no slip, and no stockings. I crossed my arms over my chest, but the
Oberschütze
was staring. He was wide-shouldered and powerful looking, with bristly hair so short it looked almost shaved and a face flat and red as a cut of meat. His look frightened me, as if I were a prostitute sitting in a window in Amsterdam. I took a step away.
"When will he be back?" the captain asked.
"Oh, tomorrow," I lied.
And then the worst thing happened. I felt a wetness between my legs. Hot at first, then sliding down between my bare thighs and cooling. When I realized what it was tears sprang to my eyes, but I bit them back.
"Come back tomorrow," I urged him.
"We have an order here for six hundred blankets. Are they ready?"
The wetness slid farther down my legs. How much did a man leave inside a woman? Enough to give Isaak away? "He's gone to get a part for the machine. For your order. I'll tell him you were here."
The officer pushed past me and the trooper followed. I didn't try to stop them now. They suspected my uncle had taken their fabric to sell on the black market, and I thought if they saw it was still here, they would be satisfied.
The officer came back into the doorway carrying a bolt of wool. "Take the rest of it and pack it onto the truck," he ordered the other one as he left.
I was worrying whether they would notice two bolts were missing, and planning what I would say to explain it, and so wasn't prepared for what happened next.
The
Oberschütze
stood beside me and let the officer pass out of the shop. Then he dropped the wool he was holding and shoved his hand against my back, pinning me over the cutting table. His other hand pushed my skirt up and grabbed at my hip. He laughed when he found I had nothing on underneath, and began to grind himself against me.
I tried to twist away, terrified he would find the evidence I had just been with a man, and struggled to climb over the table—a pair of shears hung from a hook in the cupboard below. His hand dug into my neck and I smelled motor oil. I heard the clink of his belt buckle, the rip of his buttons.
I bit my lips so I wouldn't make a sound that might bring Isaak down and I dug harder and found the shears. I wrenched backward and jammed the open blade as hard as I could toward his throat.
"Bitch!" He knocked the shears away, drew back, and raised his hand over me.
Suddenly the officer was back. "Off her!" he yelled, pulling the trooper from me. "Animal! This one's pregnant. She's going to the Lebensborn."
The trooper released his grip and glared at me, his face sweating, red as a ham, pulling his uniform together. Then he picked up the bolts of wool he had dropped.
I backed up against the counter, not sure my legs would hold me. The officer leaned over and reached for me. "Are you all right?"
I pushed his hand away. He looked as though he expected me to thank him. He had told his soldier to respect me because I was carrying a German child, as if that were the only reason I shouldn't be raped. I would not thank him for that.
"Tell your father we'll be back tomorrow. He had better have that part." The officer straightened and motioned to the other one to leave.
"Wait," the trooper said. "Let's see her identification."
He reached for my neck. He saw me look down with disgust at his fingers, black with grease, and he smiled, then slowly wiped them down the front of my blouse, over my breast. I slapped his hand away and spat in his face. He reared back and raised his arm again, and again the officer stopped him, this time with his hand to his gun.
"
Nein,
" said the captain. "I know this one, I've seen her
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