‘Thank you, you are very kind.’
Osewoudt said goodbye and crossed the road diagonally. Helmeted troops now began to form a cordon, but they let him through. Even the sentry at the barracks gate did not stop him. Skirts flapping, he strode to the main entrance, climbed the steps and went inside. He was confronted by three soldiers with white braid on their chests and a sergeant with a barrage of shiny medals.
‘Sergeant …’
‘What can I do for you, Sister?’
‘I have to speak to the commander. It’s urgent. I have an important message for him. Osewoudt is the name. Just tell him Osewoudt is here.’
‘I’ll go and check, Sister.’ The sergeant swung round and vanished into the building.
Osewoudt smiled at the soldiers.
‘Nice day, isn’t it, Sister?’ one of them said.
All three soldiers now began to pay him attention. They stepped forward, and the one nearest to him said: ‘Nice weather for a swim.’
He looked Osewoudt up and down, grinning and squinting, gauging what the nurse would look like in a bathing costume. He was the tallest of the threesome, and bent low towards Osewoudt’s face.
‘Nice weather for a sunbathe, too, on the lawn by the pool.’
‘A bit early in the season for me,’ said Osewoudt. He turned aside and looked out across the forecourt to the road. What was that? Indeed, the doctor’s car. The doctor must have followed him. Driving very slowly, he poked his head out of the window to scan the approach to the barracks, without, apparently, spotting Osewoudt. But then it was quite dark in the vestibule compared with the forecourt.
The cordon of troops tightened their control. An old-fashioned military policeman on horseback, in blue dress uniform complete with sword and fur cap, approached the car. He leaned down, motioning the doctor to drive on. A moment later the car had gone.
Then footsteps sounded in the corridor. It was the sergeant, hurrying towards him with an officer in tow. The sergeant signalled mysteriously to the soldiers as he advanced, and the lieutenant, who was lame in one leg, swung his good leg further forward than people who have the use of both legs do, so that it landed each time with a loud thud. In his right hand he held out a file card from an index system. He was as pale as plaster, and his bulbous eyes shifted from the card to Osewoudt and back again. He was now very close.
‘Osewoudt! Osewoudt!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is this Osewoudt? Can this be Osewoudt?’
There was a photo glued to the filing card.
‘Yes, I am Osewoudt. Do you know who I am?’
‘Arrest him! Take him into custody! Search him! The man’s dangerous! You stupid fools! He’s no nurse, he’s a spy!’
Two of the soldiers promptly seized him by the arms and twisted them behind his back. The third, who only a moment ago had wanted to go swimming with him, frisked him gingerly with one hand, as if he thought Osewoudt might be carrying dynamite. Finally he pulled off the veil.
They marched him down the corridor, or rather, they propelled him by the elbows, as if he were a dressmaker’s dummy. They came to a hall with rows of low benches occupied by the guard of honour, sitting up straight with their rifles between their knees. Osewoudt was conducted down the aisle between the rows; he kept silent. The third soldier, who was leading the way, opened a door. The other two soldiers let go of Osewoudt, or rather, flung him inside. The door banged behind them and bolts were slid home.
The wall dividing this space from the hall was very thin. Voices were raised on the other side of the bolted door. ‘Silence!’ barked the lieutenant, and a hush descended.
Osewoudt stood by the door, his heart thumping. He shook his half-dislocated shoulders, passed his hand over his now capless head. He noticed that his teeth were chattering and his knees quaking, as if he had climbed to the top of a tower at the double only to find himself in a boarded-up belfry.
Yet it wasn’t dark in the cubicle. There was a window, tall and narrow, like all the windows in the barracks. It was covered on the outside by a web of barbed wire.
He listened at the door. He could hear talking in low voices in the hall beyond, but couldn’t make out what was being said. His eyes wandered round the small space. There was a bunk, a low table on rusty tubular legs, a rusty metal chair, and a wooden washstand with an enamel basin.
The noise from outside now reached him. He crossed to the window, which he could raise easily. There was so much barbed wire that not even a child would be able to poke its arm out without getting hurt. But it was easy enough to see through.
The window overlooked the forecourt. He was about half a storey above ground level. The woman had been right, he would have a grandstand view of the queen! Clenching his jaws to stop his teeth chattering, he fetched the chair and set it in front of the window. He sat down, put his hands on the sill, propped his chin on his hand, and gazed outside.
The road was now closed to traffic. The carriageway was completely clear, and lined on either side with infantrymen posted in front of the onlookers, alternately facing the road and the crowd.
Loud stamping sounded from the guardroom next door. A few moments later the guard of honour emerged in the forecourt to the accompaniment of drums. They marched four abreast, shouldering their rifles with bayonets fixed. At the gate the column split in two, each half describing an arc until they came to a halt on command. They now stood in two facing semicircles, with rifles grounded.
It was quiet for a moment, then in the distance the cheering started. Six motorcycle outriders came past in succession, rolling slowly over the carriageway. The cheering mounted. A flurry of waving hands and flags rippled above the heads of the expectant crowd. An open car drew up and stopped.
A military policeman opened the car door and the queen stepped out. She wore a grey costume with a fairly long, flared skirt. On her feet she wore sensible brown shoes. The officers saluted, the cheers became deafening. Osewoudt sprang up from his chair.
The old lady advanced slowly across the forecourt. In her left hand she held a small bouquet wrapped in paper, probably the offering of a child in the crowd. She held her right hand level with her temple, with the palm turned to her face. She made stiff little bows left and right, fluttering her raised hand in a gesture of fanning her royal aura towards her subjects. She smiled benignly.
‘Hurrah! Hurrah!’ Osewoudt shouted.
At that moment the queen happened to glance in his direction. He let go of the barbed wire he had been clinging to, and bowed. He had the impression the royal hand gestures were meant specifically for him. No doubt the queen, too, had a soft spot for nurses! Then the old lady’s gaze moved on.
‘Hurrah!’ Osewoudt shouted once more. But his voice was drowned out by the cheering crowd, and no one looked up at his window.
Then there was some commotion on the other side of the partition. The door opened slowly.
Osewoudt had shut the window and was sitting on his chair by the washstand. He did not move.
A soldier put his head round the door.
‘Christ! Is that him?’
The door was pushed to, and he heard the soldier say: ‘I’d have sworn he was a girl!’
The door opened again, and another soldier looked in. His lips were smeared with whipped cream. In one hand he held a spoon, in the other a saucer with strawberries.
‘Strawberries and cream!’ he crowed. ‘But not for dirty faggots like you!’
The door slammed and Osewoudt heard him say: ‘Damn! There was me thinking: nice bit of stuff! A blonde bombshell! Damn!’
The sun was already setting when the door opened once more. A tall colonel entered, followed by the limping lieutenant and a corporal. Osewoudt got up; he stood facing the colonel.
‘Colonel! This is an inexplicable misunderstanding. My name is Osewoudt, I’m from Voorschoten. I slipped through the German lines last night, and I …’