Authors: Tina Boscha
The Kuiper farm, again
, she thought.
Time to plant the bulbs. It was going to rain
. But instead her answer was, “I want to go.”
“I told you not to ask again,” Pater said. He told her that every day. He’d repeated himself every day for nearly two months now.
“I didn’t ask, I just said it,” Leen said. She would say it tomorrow and the next day and the day after that. Persistence had gotten her past his anger, past her own reticence.
From the rear of his jaw his face hardened. “Leentje,” he began. He picked up a half–eaten piece of bread. “You have to accept that it was not meant to be. God wants to keep us here.”
“I’ll apply for the papers myself.” Already she had started saving money, had almost $50 guilders. She’d save until she had enough.
Pater stood up and cleared his own plate and cup, leaving behind his knife for her to use. “You’d defy me like that? What has happened to my Leentje? You never used to push this hard.” He walked away.
“Well, you’re being a stubborn old ass,” she said. She shoved the knife into the butter, putting far too much on the blade.
“What did you say?” His voice rang out, but then, he began to laugh. “Old ass, is it?”
Leen exhaled. Pater came back to the table but he did not sit down. He took out his tobacco.
“Why do want to leave so badly, girl?” he asked, looking at his busy fingers as if he was talking to them, not her. “Don’t you want to stay here? Start a family? Give me more grandchildren?”
She looked at him. She would have children. Of course. But she was eighteen. She hadn’t even lived yet. “You sound like you want me to get married tomorrow.”
He shook his head. “
Nee
, not for a while,” he admitted.
“I just don’t think this is for me anymore.” She turned around. He hadn’t lit his cigarette yet.
“This?”
“Everything,” Leen said. She did not how to explain it to him. She looked out the window, onto the street, saw the Boonstra’s front yard, the dike behind it. There was beauty to her home, she knew that. Everything neat, orderly; there was never a time when the grass was not green. The rain and sea air never dried anything out. There were those who would never leave, because everything anyone needed was there. Work, family, food, shelter. She thought of the drunken fights that often erupted at the goodbye parties at the café, farewell arguments that came down to this question: After going through everything they had, all of them, all of Friesland, how could you leave it behind?
This was her answer: After all that had passed, beginning with the dog, no, farther back; beginning when Wopke was lost and the war filled his absence, after all that had happened, she didn’t find herself clinging to the scene in front of her. Something had ended, like doors had closed, and she was standing on the other side of them, waiting for the next to open. And she had put herself there. She had stepped over the threshold and let the latch catch behind her. She needed to keep walking. Otherwise, she’d be still, just outside, living on the boundary. That terrified her. Leaving, that she did not fear.
“You can’t run away,” Pater said. “Would you be running away?”
“No,” she said. “I can’t explain it,
heit
. It’s just not for me anymore,” she repeated, but when she looked over her shoulder, all she saw was a trail of blue–tinged smoke.
“Where’s Pater?” Leen asked.
“He’s looking at another blasted tractor,” Mem answered crossly, jerkily shaking a sizzling pan.
Leen quietly made herself a cup of coffee. Mem was not happy using their saved money for another farm machine, big and heavy and costly, and had hardly lightened when Pater promised that along with it he would buy a machine – an actual machine, not a kettle, not a brush – that washed clothes. The first in all of Wierum. Already he’d purchased an old army jeep once used by Canadian troops. Leen liked driving it, even though it was a windy endeavor, as the roof of the jeep – a Dodge – had a hole in it the soldiers had used for their machine guns.
Mem set down a plate of hot eggs in front of Leen, banging it against the edge of the table. Leen shoved in a spoonful. The pan had been too hot; the whites brown on the edge and tough, not tender the way she liked them. Leen spooned the eggs over the bread, rolled it, and took a large bite. She was running late.
“Swallow first. You don’t need to be in such a hurry to go,” Mem said, sighing. She sat heavily down across from Leen. She rubbed her eyes. She looked tired but the day had barely begun. “It would’ve been nice, all of us together,
ja
?” Mem said, voice breaking.
Pater was home when Leen arrived back from work. Before she had a chance to take off her shoes, Pater called to her. Inside, her parents sat next to each other at the table, neither of them in their usual spots, Mem with a cup of tea, Pater with a cup of coffee, and a bottle of
nobeltje
open between them. Both were smoking. There was an envelope on the table.
“Mail?” Leen asked. She pulled off her kerchief. “From who?”
Pater handed her the envelope. It was from Den Hague, from the immigration office. The space for the addressee was blank. There was no postmark.
She opened it, finding an official letter written to her and several other folded sheets. Her name occupied a single line. It began, “Dear Leentje De Graaf.” There was a word: approved.
“Pater,” she said. She held the letter out and she stared at it. She touched the envelope. These were papers. She was holding her papers.
“I went to Den Hague today, drove all the way there and back.” He put his hand over Mem’s and his voice was soft. “We talked about it last night, stayed up later than we should’ve–”
“Someone from this family should go,” Mem interrupted. Her voice was loud with effort and decision. She made a fist and bumped the tabletop lightly to emphasize her words.
Leen sat down. She spread each page out and looked them over, making sure the words hadn’t rearranged themselves, hadn’t done a little dance and tricked her eyes into reading only part of it. Something else must be there that said no. Leen turned the envelope over, pressing it between her fingers. It had traveled with Pater, all in one day, in the windy Dodge. She looked at her mother, her father. Their faces were the same, wan smiles, happiness coming through but also
hertsyk
. Heartsick.
“
Ja, ja
, you should go,” Pater said, five quick staccato syllables. He nodded, patting the table just as Mem had. “
Amerika
,” he said, and when Leen lifted her eyes away from the crisp paper that had been typed and folded hours before, she watched Pater take out a yellowed handkerchief and wipe his eyes.
“I’m not as stubborn as you think,” he said.
26.
“There’s
ús
Leen. Are you ready?”
Looking at the full breakfast table, it was hard to tell who had spoken to her. Everyone was there; Pater next to Renske, Mem cradling Woppie with one arm while she poured tea with her other. On the opposite side of the table Hilke sat close to Tine, hunched over both of their plates.
The beats of her heart seemed to echo with her excitement, yet her breath hurt when she thought about the day. Her head was clear, thankfully; she’d refused a party at the café, wanting to spare herself and her family the embarrassment of a sparse attendance. Still, everyone knew she was going and constantly commented to her about her plans. It reminded her of the winks and shouts she’d gotten after she killed the dog, except this time the remarks carried less delight over her actions. “That’s a long way for a girl to go on her own,” Mrs. Boonstra said, and even though she slipped Leen a few guilders so she might send her something back from America, she heard the inflection in her voice that echoed what she knew everyone was saying about her:
That Leentje De Graaf, you know she was driving when she was barely big enough to see over the steering wheel?
Ja
, I know. I suppose she might have driven herself if there was a road on the water. You do know she’s going alone, don’t you? A girl, she is, leaving her family behind.
Ja
, I did. I can’t imagine what she will do all by herself in
Amerika
.
Leen stood in the doorway. She knew she must look awkward and nervous. “I think so,” she finally answered.
“Come on
famke
, you need to eat!” Hilke said. He nudged Tine to take another slice of gouda on her toast. He was always pushing food, believing that pregnancy and breastfeeding merited far extra amounts of cheese and milk and butter, and it was becoming evident in the new pouches pushing up against the back of Tine’s waistband. It made Leen smile, thinking of how much her brother–in–law ate just by himself during workday lunches. Tine must constantly be cooking, she thought. But in a way that excess of spirit was why she liked him. He filled up another space at the table, and little Woppie would grow and she would take up another.
The only seat available was where Pater usually sat, at the end with his back to the counter. Sitting there, she could see everyone before her, spread out, eating their toast and soft–boiled eggs and slices of cheese and ham. Mem had made a nice breakfast. She was hungry and she tried to eat but it was hard to keep her head from shaking when the food approached her mouth.
It was early and no one had slept well. Tine and Hilke had slept at the house for Leen’s last night. They were meant to sleep in Renske’s bed, with Renske joining Leen in Issac’s old room, but as Leen and Renske had settled in, Tine’s soft footsteps had approached the door and when she pushed the door open she immediately began to giggle. “Let me in,” she said, and Leen and Renske made room for her and the bed frame grated and gasped with their weight. Then the giggles stifled into stillness. Tine reached out and held Leen’s hand.
Pater gobbled his toast, leaving the table minutes after Leen sat down, and through the thin walls of the kitchen she heard him fumbling in the barn. Metal clanked against more metal. Tine cleared plates even though she hadn’t finished her own. Only Renske acted as she normally did, her face still red from washing, her shirt stiff and crooked around her arms, eating half of everything on her plate, then leaving in a rush for school. She stopped to give Leen a kiss.
“
Nee, nee
, not right now,” Leen protested. “I’ll come by
skoale
in a little bit to say goodbye.”
Renske ran out, her bag swinging behind her. It would not be long before she would be in school as long as Leen had when she had stopped going. She had grown so much in the last year, knobs of her wrists and ankles jutting past sleeves and hems, but her big eyes and the natural waves of her brown hair convinced Leen that Renske was the same little girl, despite knowing the next time she saw Renske she’d probably be a teenager.
“She didn’t even say goodbye to me!” Hilke said, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. Leen was grateful for the opportunity to laugh.
Mem barely looked up from Woppie, a bundle of sleep and gauzy sighs. Leen leaned over to look at her little niece and as she reached to touch her soft forehead a drop splashed on the baby’s cheek. Woppie lay tranquil. It was Leen who flinched.
“Oops,” Mem said. She wiped the baby’s face with her thumb. Leen stared at Woppie, blinking furiously. It was starting. She had been afraid of the goodbyes for days now. She started to clear her plate but Tine clucked her tongue and took it from her. “Go finish getting ready.”
In her room Leen put on her traveling clothes, a blue shirt tucked into a brown skirt, and her new brown leather shoes. The rest of her belongings she’d packed away two days ago. She washed her face and took a towel and dried it, running it quickly over her teeth. One of them, a molar on her left side, had been aching for weeks and she hoped it would not bother her on the ship. It would be cold on the sea, everyone liked to tell her.
You be sure to pack a warm coat
.
She put on her lipstick and blotted it against her handkerchief, then folded the handkerchief slowly into neat quarters and carefully put it in her pocket. It was fashionable now to wear bright shades of lipstick. She studied her lips; they looked nice. But one side of her hair was flatter than the other, and she took a comb and pulled it through, grimacing as the comb caught on the tangles at the dry ends of her hair. She attached a pretty clip Tine had given her, pulling back one side, always reminded of Minne when she did this. She and Hans, her soldier beau, were married and living in Oosternijkerk. She was not given an apology for her public humiliation, however, and Hans was given no help, just a pardon from being sent to the re–education camps. Leen had always wanted to stop by and say hello, offer her private congratulations. But she never did.
Leen stood back. She smiled and said to the mirror: Hell–o. She watched her mouth make the O, and said it again, trying to mimic the voices of the Americans she heard on the radio, the smooth sound of the L in their mouths, how it came out easy, like singing.
Hell–o. Hel–lo. Better. She forced a smile. “Oh,
doeval
,” she said out loud.
The door from the barn to the house slammed, sending a tremor through the walls, and Pater’s coughs followed. Leen’s insides seized to make a fist where her stomach used to be. Ever since Pater had arranged for her papers, Leen swore his hair had grown whiter, especially at the temples, and his boyish energy had dissipated – except at the dinner table. Then his voice would get firm and he asked her question after question, night after night, his forehead knotted and severe.
“You will write us a letter while on the boat, and then you will write us from Chicag–O?”
“Yes, Pater. Of course.”
“And you will obviously put the dates on the letters,” he added.
Leen nodded.
“And you will write us first and tell us when you will call us, because we have to know when we should be home and when to free up the line.”