‘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!’