He heard Marianne’s shallow breathing and drew himself half upright, gritting his teeth. She gave a moan and opened her eyes wide, as though showing him how to fight and die with eyes open.
Neither spoke for the next quarter of an hour. He rose from the bed, switched off the lamp, opened the curtains and the window. Hardly any light came into the room from outside.
‘Such awful things you’ve been telling me.’
‘Yes.’
He lay down beside her again.
‘That you’re married to an ugly cousin of yours who’s seven years older than you.’
‘Was that what upset you the most?’
‘Yes. Where is she?’
‘Arrested by the Germans.’
‘Is her name Ria?’
‘How did you know?’
‘Does her father live in Amsterdam on Oudezijds Achterburgwal?’
‘Yes. What of it?’
‘Then his name’s Nauta. Of Bellincoff Ltd. I went there and said: Henri sends his regards, and Ria’s been arrested. Don’t you remember asking me to do that?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘So you’re the Henri who left his wife and took a girl to spend the night with him at his Uncle Nauta’s?’
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘Where’s the girl?’
‘Arrested. Maybe dead. She was an agent from England.’
‘How did you know her?’
‘She had my address. I had to help her on her way. She showed me a photo to prove her identity.’
‘Remember the ID card you asked me to take there? I can just see it now, with her picture on it. Well, well.’
Osewoudt gave her a fleeting kiss.
Marianne sighed: ‘All those people getting shot.’
‘You don’t mind about that.’
‘Of course not. In fact, it makes you special. If only you knew how much it means to me to be with a man who’s actually done that kind of thing — me, a Jewish girl who’s obliged to bleach her hair and take a non-Jewish name. Oh, Filip, some-times I imagine you were only doing it for my sake.’
‘So I was.’
‘Then you got off to a very early start! But it’s sweet of you to say so.’
‘Maybe I wouldn’t even be caught up in all this if I hadn’t been destined to meet you.’
‘Now you’re exaggerating.’
She laughed. He laughed as well and rolled over on to his back.
Suddenly they heard cars approaching along the canal, slowing down and stopping at the house. It became light in the room; German voices sounded in the street. The beam of a spotlight came slanting upwards through the window and froze on the far wall, illuminating the ginger apes partially clothed as humans. Outside, heavy boots thumped on the cobbles. The spotlight remained fixed on the apes.
There was a commotion in the street, then the bell rang and someone started pounding the door with a heavy object.
Osewoudt slid off the bed, ducked under the light-beam and made for the straight-backed chair. He grabbed the heap of clothes, picked out his underwear, threw Marianne’s on to the bed.
Alarm bells began to shrill all over the house. Orders were barked in German, more pounding on the door. Then the sound of breaking glass.
‘Filip! They’re coming in through the window.’
‘Where’s your bag?’
‘Isn’t it there?’
‘Can’t find it.’
Wearing only his vest and pants he crawled over the floor, seizing clothes and tossing them aside.
‘Marianne, where’s your bag? It’s got my pistol in it.’
He searched the floor in desperation, even looking under the bed, but no handbag. No time to put on his socks and shoes. Barefoot, he opened the door and went out to the landing. He saw circles of torchlight sweeping over the walls. Voices came from the front room. Someone kept turning a switch on and off, click, click, but the light didn’t come on. Labare must have disconnected the current at the mains.
Osewoudt leaned over the banister and looked down. He saw the Germans going in and out of the rooms on the ground floor, torch in one hand, machine gun in the other. One of them opened the door to the basement and called to someone else to take a look behind it. Cackles of laughter. Osewoudt was surprised to see the door opened so easily, as the portcullis was supposed to prevent that. He started down the stairs, and when he was halfway put his hands up and shouted: ‘Don’t shoot, I surrender!’
Three torches were trained on him as he completed his descent.
‘I’m Osewoudt!’ he said. ‘I’m the one you’re looking for.’
As he reached the bottom he felt machine guns jabbing him in the ribs. He was too blinded by the three torches to see the Germans’ faces.
‘Stimmt. Ist der Osewoudt.’
They manhandled him into the back room, where another two Germans were waiting. These were not in uniform. They pushed him towards an easy chair, and he sat down.
One of the Germans in plain clothes pulled up a second low chair, which he placed directly opposite Osewoudt. He sat down, but jumped up instantly as though stung, looked at the seat, flung Marianne’s handbag into a corner, and settled himself on the chair. The bag hit the floor with a thud that sounded far too heavy for a lady’s handbag.
‘Why are the lights off?’ the German asked.
Osewoudt couldn’t tell him. The other German in plain clothes went over to the corner where Marianne’s bag had fallen.
‘Verdammt, Helmuth, come here with your torch, I need some light!’
Two torches remained fixed on Osewoudt, the third swung away to the corner where the German was crouching.
‘Who else is in this house?’ asked the man sitting opposite Osewoudt.
‘There’s no one, just me. Everybody’s gone. I don’t know where.’
‘Werner! Take a look here! Some dangerous lady’s forgotten something!’
Holding Osewoudt’s pistol by the barrel in one hand and the handbag in the other, he came forward to display them to the man sitting opposite Osewoudt. At that moment a German came in with an acetylene lamp which spread a garish glow. He set it on the table. Marianne’s handbag was turned upside down. They pounced on the identity card.
‘Marianne Sondaar,’ intoned the man called Werner.
‘The pistol isn’t hers, it’s mine!’ Osewoudt cried. ‘I can prove that!’
‘How interesting,’ said Werner. ‘We’ll give you plenty of time to furnish proof. Take him away.’
He slammed down the pistol on the table beside the empty handbag, a powder compact, a lipstick, some zinc coins, a screwed-up handkerchief.
Osewoudt stood up. A German in uniform grabbed his arm and walked him to the door. The others stayed behind.
Coming into the corridor, Osewoudt saw there was no one about. The door to the hall was open, as was the front door. Outside, there was a fair amount of light, although the spot-light was not aimed at the doorway. He felt coconut matting under his bare feet, then the cold stone doorstep. He saw the waiting police van.
Was it because the stones hurt his bare feet? He stepped to one side and at the same instant seized the hand of his German guard. He yanked at the hand, dragged the arm it belonged to over his shoulder and bent down, so the German’s feet were lifted off the ground. Osewoudt slung him away with all the force he could muster, twisting the arm until it was torn from his hands by the weight of the falling man. A cry sounded, like the squeal of a pig being dragged by the tail into a cattle truck. From behind the van another German came running, with hobnailed boots scraping the cobbles. Osewoudt dashed across the pavement, caught momentarily in the spotlight. Shots were fired and he ducked behind the vehicle, where the spot-light couldn’t reach him. Further along, another car engine sputtered to life. Osewoudt crossed the road and ran down the grassy bank of the canal, while a volley of shots rang out behind him. He felt no pain and reached the water safely. It was knee-deep. Bending over, keeping his head down as far as possible, he waded on. His legs tore against dead branches on the bottom, or perhaps they were shards of metal. The spot-light slid past him several times. Spray from the impact of bullets made him blink. Now and then he had to wrench a foot free with his hands, so he seemed to be advancing on all fours. He had no idea how quickly or slowly he was going; he felt he was making no headway at all.