Osewoudt tried not to show how ill these words made him feel. If words could kill, he would gladly have dropped dead, but he did not: he saw Ebernuss’ grim expression, heard everything Ebernuss said.
‘Fine. So Zettenbaum didn’t do it. It was you. Don’t worry about it, we’re not worried either. We can’t go around checking every particular! But there’s one question we would like to resolve. Who did Roorda meet? We have no reason to assume that Roorda is lying. In fact we can prove he is not. So if that man is not lying, he must have met someone. Who was it? It wasn’t you. So who was it?’
‘I wasn’t there, as you said yourself. So how should I know who Roorda met?’
‘You don’t need to know. The solution is obvious: it was someone who looked like you. Who looked very much like you. Not your twin brother, because you don’t have one, but still someone so like you that it’s nigh on impossible to tell you apart. Same height, same shape, same mug, and so on and so forth. Well, there is one difference I suppose: he has black hair and yours is fair. It would be too much if he had no more beard growth than you, though that hardly seems likely, ha, ha. A man who shaves, then. Right. Who is that man, what is his name?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘But I do. His name is Dorbeck. If he actually exists, then his name is Dorbeck. And you know him. Why else did you dye your hair black? You were acting as his double.’
‘That’s not true. If I’d known about somebody in the Resistance who looked like me I’d have been more likely to dye my hair red.’
‘Don’t give me that.’
Nevertheless, Ebernuss hesitated: what Osewoudt had said sounded reasonable enough.
‘Come on,’ Ebernuss continued, after a pause, ‘let’s stop beating about the bush. There is evidence that this man exists, and that he’s in Holland. There seems to be some sort of clandestine club in Amsterdam for underground heroes. They meet in the attic of a canal house. The place is run by a theology student. His name is Moorlag. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of him, because you know him. He was your lodger in Voorschoten.’
‘Moorlag?’
‘Well then. Now you’re reminded of Marianne again. I have a proposition to make. We take you to that club in a day or two. You go in, you have a chat with Moorlag. You pay close attention to their reactions. They might address you as Dorbeck, for instance, or say something like: hey, what’s going on? We thought you got here a quarter of an hour ago.
‘That’s all you need to do. Plain sailing. I won’t go with you, none of us will, you can be sure of that. All you need to do is have a drink in that attic. You won’t be betraying anyone. And if you do as I say, I promise you they will release Marianne Sondaar and issue her with a genuine ID card, without the J on it. Think it over!’
He thought it over. Day in, day out he thought it over. Evidently they wanted to give him ample time to think it over, because Ebernuss did not send for him again. Could they be waiting for him to ask one of the guards to tell Ebernuss he’d thought it over and had agreed to do it …? Was that their way of getting him to collude of his own free will, so to speak, so that they could take it a step further and say: look here, you said you’d cooperate, you agreed to get us into that attic Dorbeck visits from time to time … so what’s the difference if you lure him away under some pretext and play him into our hands?
The prison was overcrowded, most of the inmates were five or six to a cell meant for two, but he was left alone, no company for him. The cell next to his was usually vacant, too. His was situated at the corner of the building, so there was only an exterior wall on the other side.
What would be the best course for him to take? If he refused to do as Ebernuss asked it would certainly be the end of Marianne. But if he agreed to do as Ebernuss asked Marianne might survive the war, and even if it looked as if he was in league with the Germans, the chances of Dorbeck being fooled were negligible. Dorbeck! He’d tip him a wink and Dorbeck would see through it all at once. What was the risk for Dorbeck? None at all. They’d sort it, one way or another!
One week of solitary confinement was enough for Osewoudt to make up his mind, but no one came to enquire.
A month later he thought: maybe they’ve managed to get hold of Dorbeck some other way. In which case they don’t need me any more, I’m of no further use to them, so they won’t be doing me any favours to have me cooperate. Marianne’s been deported to Germany. She may well be dead. Everybody’s dead, except me. It might even be an act of kindness on Ebernuss’ part to keep me here and leave me alone. Once the war’s ended I’ll be released anyway. I may even receive an honour.
He could already picture himself behind the counter of his tobacco shop with a ribbon on his lapel. The window would be filled with cigarettes, cigars, shag and pipe tobacco. The best brands. All imported from America and the Indies. Yes, sir, all available again!
His clientele would expand by leaps and bounds. Everyone would want to buy cigars and cigarettes from the decorated Resistance hero. Suppose he had the shop refurbished and came up with another name for it? ‘The Underground Tobacconist’? No. ‘Cigar Emporium “Loyal Through the Ages”’. That was more like it.
The cash register would ring out. But for whom? Not for his mother, at any rate. For Ria? He leaped up and hammered the wall with his fists. Never, never, never.
What would it be like without Marianne, without Dorbeck, without Labare, without Meinarends, without Moorlag? No one would need him any more, everyone would go their own way. Maybe somebody would drop by every six months or so, to have a cigar and reminisce about the bad old days of the war. But even that would peter out over the years. What would he be? A nobody stuck behind the counter of a tobacco shop, a beardless youth in the clutches of a washed-out wife who helps herself to the till without asking. The glamour of his decoration would fade, and the new-found patrons would go back to their old suppliers. His unprepossessing appearance would not favour making conquests of any kind.
Ebernuss came to deliver the letter in person.
Dearest Filip,
I was released from the camp at Westerbork four months ago. I’m living at my old address again, but I now have a proper ID card without the J. So I’m as safe as houses. I’ve written to you at least twenty times already, telling you how it all happened, but never had a reply to my letters. All that is behind us now, so I won’t go into it again. I just want you to know that I am fine. My dearest darling, I have some news to tell you, really new news that will never go stale, on the contrary, it’s getting newer by the day. Darling, you’ll never guess, but I am soon to have your baby! I’m so thrilled. Even if I never see you again I won’t have lost you for ever. Forgive me, I’m sitting here crying as I write and I can hardly tell whether it’s because I’m happy or sad. Oh my dearest Filip, sometimes I actually dare to hope we will be together after the war, but at other times I think: no, that’s too much to ask, that’s wanting it all, like a little girl getting applause for her role in the school play and thinking she’ll be a star when she grows up.
The war can’t go on much longer. They say the Germans are planning to flood the whole of Holland at the very last minute. But if that happens, you can be sure I’ll reach dry land in time, and I’ll take little Filip with me in a boat which I’ll get someone to make from a wooden chest. Finding a chest won’t be easy, though, because people chop everything up for firewood. Is it very cold in your cell? Oh my poor darling, how thin you must be if you have to get by on the standard ration of one slice of bread and three potatoes a day. Can you imagine, I’m actually entitled to extra rations because I’m pregnant! How about that? So don’t you worry about me. Goodbye my darling. Someone said there might be some way of smuggling a note to the outside, from you to me …