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?’
‘A very long way. You’d get too tired if I took you there now. We’re going to visit a very kind old gentleman first, we’ll have a rest there. His whole house is full of birds’ feathers, red ones, green ones, blue and yellow ones. He’s got feathers from all sorts of different birds. You won’t believe your eyes!’
They went over the bridge and started down Oudezijds Achterburgwal.
They were a few houses away from Uncle Bart’s when he heard someone tapping on a window, more loudly than the way whores usually tap on their windows. Osewoudt stopped to look. From a basement window a whore signalled urgently to him. She had stood up from her stool.
Osewoudt took a few steps towards the open basement door. The woman came out, drawing her coat tightly around her with one hand.
‘You’re Mr Nauta’s nephew, aren’t you? Are you on your way to your uncle’s?’
‘Yes. Why d’you ask?’
‘Listen! You want to get away from here as quick as you can! The Germans were here earlier and they took your uncle away. They ransacked the place, took everything away in a big lorry. I thought I’d let you know!’
Without waiting for a reply, the woman scurried back to her basement.
‘What did she want?’ Walter asked.
‘Never you mind. Come along now. We’re nearly there.’
Nearly where? He didn’t know, hadn’t a clue. He had meant to leave the child with Uncle Bart — on reflection a ridiculous idea anyway. He had to get rid of him somehow, the sooner the better! If only he could chuck him in the canal with a heavy stone round his neck.
He set off at such a brisk pace that the boy could hardly keep up. Osewoudt did not look up at the windows when he passed Uncle Bart’s house. He kept his eyes on the pavement as he strode on. Here and there he saw a stray red feather lying by the side of the canal.
‘What did that lady say?’ Walter asked.
‘Things that don’t concern you.’
‘Why not?’
‘Oh, come on, Walter, pipe down, will you?’
‘Why?’
‘If you’re a good boy I’ll take you for a ride in a cart. Look, like that one over there. We’ll go for a ride in one of those little carts!’
They had reached the turning into Damstraat, and were waiting to cross when a light metal cart came past, drawn by an emaciated horse.
‘What a nice cart!’
‘Yes, very nice. Handy, too, now there’s no petrol for cars! When those carts were first invented they weren’t pulled by a horse but by a man on a bicycle. Isn’t that funny? But that’s not allowed any more. Goes against human dignity, you see. Don’t you see? Not to worry! We’ll go for a ride in one of those carts, it’ll be fun.’
He went down Damstraat towards Dam Square, pulling the child with him.
By the small archway leading from Dam Square to Rokin he stood still and said, giving Walter’s arm a tug with each word: ‘You stay right here in this archway! Do exactly as I say. Don’t budge. I’ll nip over to find us a cart, and then it’ll come here to pick us up. Got it?’
He let go of Walter and sprinted towards Rokin.
He jumped on to the open platform of the first tram that came past.
Looking across the way, he noticed that Walter was not quite as obedient as he had hoped. The little boy had gone through the archway, no doubt driven by curiosity, and now stood with his hands in his pockets surveying the quiet side of Rokin, where no fewer than three carts were waiting. It was as if the carts were lined up there solely to increase the child’s bewilderment.
Five minutes later he got off the tram at the Mint Tower. It was exactly half past six. The clock in the tower began to strike.
He saw Marianne at once. She was wearing a new summer frock. She saw him coming and smiled. He thought she was beautiful, and it felt as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened all day.
‘Hello darling!’
She pinched his cheeks, he took her in his arms.
‘You’re very punctual,’ she said. ‘A man who keeps appointments — I like that. Where are your glasses?’
‘Consumed by the flames of my ardent desire.’
‘What did you do today?’
‘A couple of errands. I also went to see Mr Nauta, you remember, Bellincoff Ltd. on Oudezijds Achterburgwal. He’s been arrested by the Germans. They ransacked the whole house!’
‘Really? Do you think that Elly woman had anything to do with it? Or that nephew-cum-son-in-law of his?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What did you do to your coat? The front’s all dirty. You look as if you’ve been climbing a pole.’
‘What?’ Osewoudt looked down at himself and began slapping the dark streaks made by the telegraph pole. ‘Must have been leaning against something,’ he said. ‘Everything’s filthy these days. Nothing gets cleaned any more. The country’s going to the dogs.’
‘It looks like tar, or creosote!’
She reached out to grasp his raincoat and bent to sniff it.
‘Don’t!’ he cried, pushing her away. ‘You almost tripped me up. Where do you want to go?’
‘Guess what! I went and bought two cinema tickets. Don’t worry, not a German film. It’s Czech, and it’s called Praeludium.’
‘Which cinema?’