Everyone turned to look.
Ebernuss and Moorlag were approaching, Moorlag holding two stone bottles of Bols genever.
Ebernuss was introduced as Naaborg, after which he sat down.
Moorlag remained standing and gave Osewoudt a nudge on the shoulder.
‘Come with me, you can help with the glasses.’
‘Right. I’ll be happy to!’
Osewoudt stood up and followed Moorlag to the back, where the candlelight barely penetrated.
‘You’re very well provided for! Genever!’
‘We deserve a treat. Don’t you agree, Henri?’
‘Why are you acting so strangely to me? I’ve been through so much, a week wouldn’t be enough for me to tell you. My mother died in prison.’
‘The glasses are in there. Just open the door.’
Osewoudt saw a luminous rectangular outline in the gloom.
He fumbled, felt wood, then felt a doorknob, and opened the door.
The door opened into a sort of kitchen area, with crockery stacked on shelves along the walls. Beside the sink an acetylene lamp spread a blinding light. Despite the glare he could make out a figure turning away from the sink. He too wore a jumper, but it was black and round-necked. He was the same height as Osewoudt. He had black hair and a small pointed black beard. He twisted his head back, keeping his body still, and fixed Osewoudt with green eyes.
‘Dorbeck! I didn’t know you were here already!’
Dorbeck put down the reservoir of an acetylene lamp, which he had filled with tap water, and took a step towards Osewoudt. He gripped him by the elbows and continued to stare at him.
‘There isn’t time to talk now, Osewoudt. You’re here with a German who’s had you behind bars for the past nine months.’
‘No. He’ll do anything for me. He wants to desert!’
‘We don’t need him. Look!’
Dorbeck drew a tobacco tin from his pocket and took out a packet of Rizla cigarette papers. He put the tin away again, and opened the packet. But instead of cigarette papers, it contained a small quantity of sparkling green crystals.
‘Put this in Ebernuss’ glass. Wait a quarter of an hour, then you can leave. Here are the glasses.’
‘But Dorbeck—’
‘I realise you have a lot to tell me, but not now. Don’t ruin everything by arguing now. So far you’ve done very well. You’ve been my surest ally. Just do this one more thing for me. Don’t believe what Ebernuss tells you, he’s a liar, he’s playing games with you. The sooner he’s got rid of the better. Liquidating Germans isn’t such a good idea, generally speaking, but this one knows too much. The glasses are up there.’
Dorbeck reached up to the top shelf and lifted off a tray with eight stem glasses.
‘Don’t put it in yet, you might make a mistake setting out the glasses. Wait until his third or fourth drink. See you later.’
Osewoudt took the tray with the glasses and went through the door, which Dorbeck held open for him. Picking his way with difficulty in the dark as he crossed the attic towards the table, he felt tears welling in his eyes.
‘Damn,’ he muttered, not understanding the cause of his tears.
He thought: I’ve gone soft in prison.
The young folk round the small table were passing his Leica around. Simon had already raised one of the stone bottles to his mouth for a quick swig.
‘Let’s take a picture,’ he drawled, handing the stone bottle to the boy wanting to sell Rilke. ‘Good souvenir for later! Here, pass me that Leica, will you?’
‘No, it belongs to that gentleman,’ said the girl.
Osewoudt took the glasses from the tray and set them out on the table, after which he sat down. Ebernuss took the other stone bottle and poured the liquor with an unsteady hand. All the glasses were filled to overflowing, each stood in a small puddle.
Now the girl was fingering the Leica.
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said Simon. ‘Out with your matches, everyone. A bundle of matches is as good as flashlight.’
‘That’s a fact,’ said Moorlag.
Ebernuss topped up the glasses while everyone searched their pockets for matches.
‘I don’t seem to have any,’ said Osewoudt. He knew he had no matches, but fished about in his pockets anyway. He felt the Rizla packet containing the green crystals. He withdrew his hand from his trouser pocket, hiding the small packet in his palm.
A fair number of matches now lay before them. Simon gathered them into a bundle with all the heads at one end. He secured the bundle with an elastic band and set it upright on the table.
The boy wanting to sell Rilke reached for the Leica.
‘All right if I take the picture? I’ve done it before.’
‘Go ahead,’ said Osewoudt. He stole a glance at Ebernuss, who was sitting beside him, but Ebernuss made no move to avert his face from the camera.
‘Ready?’
The Leica was positioned on top of the pile of Rilke. ‘Better not have the lamp on!’ said Moorlag, and blew out the flame. Simon struck a match and held it to the bundle on the table, which hissed as it caught fire, all but went out, hissed again, and finally flared into a blinding light.
Swathes of green lingered in the gloom. The camera gave a loud click, as though gulping down the image.
Osewoudt held his hand above Ebernuss’ glass, crooked his middle finger to open the Rizla packet, waited for the crystals to fall out, and put his hand in his pocket. Simon relit the paraffin lamp, while everyone coughed from the sulphur in the air.
‘God almighty, what a stink! So much for Simon’s bright ideas!’
‘Drink up, drink up!’
‘I hope my camera isn’t ruined,’ spluttered Osewoudt, taking the Leica from the pile of books and coughing even harder than before.
He got up, said: ‘It’s so stuffy in here!’ and ran off, hugging the camera to his chest.
There was no one near the stairwell. No one was looking. Noiselessly, he went down the steep stairs in complete darkness.
‘Is that you, Osewoudt?’
‘Yes. Are you down there?’
‘Yes, you’re almost at the bottom now.’
Dorbeck opened the front door and stepped outside. Osewoudt went past him and down the five steps to the street. Dorbeck reached behind him and quietly shut the door. Dorbeck wore a long, dark raincoat, under which he was obviously hiding something quite large.
‘Did you manage all right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I have the Rizla packet back?’
Osewoudt gave it back to Dorbeck along with the key to Ebernuss’ car.
They sprinted along the canal, turned the corner, and got into the car.
‘Here,’ said Dorbeck, drawing the large object from under his coat. ‘If anyone tries to stop us, just use this. Open the window on your side.’
Osewoudt laid the Sten gun across his knees and wound down the window.
It was close to half past six, day was breaking. People began to appear in the street, staring after the car, which was a rare sight in the starving city.
Osewoudt looked at Dorbeck, who sat hunched at the wheel, careering round bends with tyres squealing. In through the open window came a blast of morning air, mixed with the sour smell of refuse which lay heaped in the gutters.
‘Been in England again?’ Osewoudt asked.
‘Not lately. My contacts are down south now, beyond the rivers.’
‘What’s life like there, in the liberated provinces?’
‘Same as here: blackout. Waiting for the end of the war. I don’t notice much, I mean about how people live. I’m restricted to army quarters, mostly.’
‘But surely people can go out and about at will now, and they have plenty to eat?’
‘Not plenty. Some things are available. They’re already beginning to grumble, just like before the war.’