The Darkroom of Damocles (16 page)

They sat him in the waiting room. They fastened the handcuffs behind his back. He was surrounded by four policemen and a sergeant. They nodded to everything he said. They offered him a cigarette, but he refused. His voice dropped almost to a whisper, but he kept talking.

Half an hour later two Germans came to fetch him in a small lightly armoured car.

Hands still tied behind his back, sitting bolt upright on the wooden seat of a badly sprung vehicle, his entire body quaked all the way to The Hague.

Osewoudt sat on a hard-backed chair. There were two desks in the rather smoky room, and two Germans bustling about with files; a third sat idle on a similar hard chair in the corner, one leg crossed over the other. A pistol was within his reach, but he didn't look at Osewoudt.

Osewoudt said nothing, asked nothing. His nerves still jangled from the shaking of the car. It was strange to see these uniformed Germans going about their business as if they were ordinary office clerks. It was even stranger to see them without their caps on while in uniform. It was as if he had never seen a bareheaded German before.

The German in the corner stood up, holstered his pistol and left the room. No sooner had he gone than a stocky little man entered, posted himself in front of Osewoudt, mimed a kind of comical amazement, and said: ‘Herr Osewoudt! Have they given you a cup of coffee yet?'

The little man had left the door open and called out into the corridor: ‘Coffee!'

Then he crossed to one of the desks, repositioned the office chair so that it was directly opposite Osewoudt, and sat down.

‘Well now, Herr Osewoudt! I am Kriminalrat Wülfing. How nice to meet you at last!'

‘Where is my mother?'

‘I was just coming to that. Your mother is very well indeed! There are a variety of options, Herr Osewoudt. You could go
and visit her, no objection whatsoever, we might even have no objection to letting her go – none at all! But first you must appreciate our position!'

He glanced at the door and called: ‘
Jawohl!
'

The door opened and a uniformed corporal entered with two cups of coffee on a tray.

Osewoudt took a sip of his coffee and half rose from his chair to set the cup on the desk. Kriminalrat Wülfing blew and slurped by turns, then puffed out his cheeks and blew hard.

‘We are the subject of much slander, Herr Osewoudt, but, as I am sure you understand, it is not in our interests to behave like executioners or barbarians! What use would that be to anyone? We respect you as one respects an enemy on the battlefield! However, it is time you realised that, as far as you are concerned, the battle is over. It is time for you and me to have a talk! Man to man! Is there anything more pleasing in this life than conversation? Indeed, I wonder if there is any greater divide between man and beast than the ability to converse. And we are men, after all! Among men it is not the inescapable fate of the loser to be devoured! Cigarette, Herr Osewoudt?'

The German proffered a packet of English cigarettes. Osewoudt was almost certain they were his own.

‘But among men,' Wülfing went on, ‘among men of true humanity, battle is followed by conversation!'

He raised both hands in a gesture of modelling the conversation in the air. Then he drew on his cigarette, blew out the smoke and suddenly lunged forward.

‘Kleine Houtstraat 32, Haarlem! We know everything! It's all come out! All parties involved have confessed! Where did you first meet Elkan?'

Osewoudt shrugged.

Elkan? The name meant nothing to him.

‘There were three of you! We know everything! Who were the others?'

‘I've never even heard of that address.'

‘My dear Herr Osewoudt, don't talk nonsense. You were there from the beginning to the end! 23 July, 1940! Elkan, Osewoudt and Zéwüster empty their pistols into a number of individuals they had arranged to meet in a boarding house in Haarlem – at Kleine Houtstraat 32! We know everything! Who gave the orders for the shooting?'

‘I don't know anything about it.'

‘Why do you think we brought you here? Why do you think we found accommodation for your mother? Are you mad? Or do you think we are?'

Osewoudt thought to himself: he said there were three of us. Does he think Dorbeck's name is Elkan? Either he doesn't know everything, or he's setting a trap.

‘Maybe you're the one who's mad,' said Osewoudt.

The German leaned forward, leaving his right arm extended behind him. By the time his right fist swung through the air Osewoudt had ducked. But an instant later he received a blow on the nose from the left fist. He had to fight down the urge to grab hold of the fist and wrench the arm out of its socket, but thought: then they'll know about my judo, and I might get a chance to use it to better effect later on. He sat up straight and resigned himself to snorting up the blood trickling from his nose.

Wülfing leaned back, knees wide, ankles crossed.

‘Herr Osewoudt! Is it really necessary for us to lose our tempers as we sit here speaking man to man? Where is Elkan?'

‘I don't know anyone called Elkan.'

‘You spoke to him only three days ago.'

‘I don't know him!'

‘You met him at the entrance to Vondel Park in Amsterdam! Just off Leidseplein!'

‘I don't know him.'

‘You spoke with him at 3.30 p.m., at Vondel Park. Not only with him, either. There was a third man! Who?'

‘Don't know!'

‘But I do. He's here in this very building, in custody. He's called Roorda!'

‘I've never heard that name either.'

‘Perhaps so. His name is Roorda. Aliases: Steggerda, Heemstra, van Norden, Vervoord. You still don't know who we mean?'

‘No.'

Wülfing reached over to the desk and pressed a button. Osewoudt felt in his pockets, but even his handkerchief had gone. The German understood what he was looking for, opened a drawer in his desk and gave him a small crepe-paper napkin. Osewoudt wiped the blood off his face.

Roorda stood in the room, with the policeman who brought him in holding him by one handcuff. Roorda showed signs of mistreatment. His suit was rumpled, all the buttons were missing, he had to hold up his trousers with one hand, the tieless shirt was soiled and torn.

‘Who's that man, Roorda?'

‘That's Henk Osewoudt.'

Henk? Who had ever called him Henk?

‘Are you sure you recognise him, Roorda?'

‘Yes. I saw him last Sunday afternoon at the main gate to Vondel Park in Amsterdam.'

‘Well, Osewoudt, what have you to say to that?'

‘I've never seen him before.'

‘Who else was present on that occasion, Roorda?'

‘Elkan.'

‘What did you talk about?'

‘The arms drop that was going to take place. Osewoudt said
he hoped there would be detonators with the stuff, because he was short of them.'

‘That will do! Take him away!'

Roorda was dragged out of the room by the handcuff, like a dog.

‘So you see, Osewoudt, we know everything. Why go on pussyfooting around? Let's get down to business. Then I shan't trouble you any more. It won't take long, half an hour and we'll be done. After that you can have a nice long sleep.'

‘I don't know that man.'

‘Not a thought of your mother, then?'

‘I have never been to that address in Haarlem, I didn't do anything! I'll tell you something else, though. This evening I saw—'

‘What did you see?'

‘Nothing.'

‘Yes you did. You were in the cinema! We know exactly what you saw! You saw yourself on screen, larger than life, that's what you saw! 500 guilders reward, it said! Your name too. And what did you do? You ran off! You left the cinema although the film had barely begun! Is that normal behaviour for someone with a clear conscience?'

‘It was so smoky in there, I didn't feel well, I needed some fresh air!'

‘
Quatsch
! It was not smoky in the cinema. Smoking is forbidden in cinemas for the duration of the German occupation! See? Pussyfooting around again.'

‘I'm saying as little as I can!'

The German stood up.

‘You forget that we have every means of making you talk.'

Not wanting to draw attention to his judo, Osewoudt did not duck this time. The blow landed on his cheek.

‘Ach!' exclaimed Wülfing. ‘What's this I feel? Such soft cheeks!
Wie ein Mädchen!
'

With the back of his hand, he felt the cheek he had punched, from chin to ear.

‘Well I never! A nice bit of crumpet for Obersturmführer Ebernuss! Ha, ha! Like a girl!'

Osewoudt heard a rattling noise, then felt cold metal on his wrists as his hands were clamped together behind the back of the chair. The German sat facing him again.

‘Let me give you some advice. When Obersturmführer Ebernuss arrives, stick a champagne cork up your arse, or you'll live to regret it! But what I was going to say is: we've been chatting for the past hour without getting anywhere. Who ordered you to go to Kleine Houtstraat 32 in Haarlem? We know everything; if you refuse to talk the consequences will be unpleasant only for you, not for us. We have plenty of time.'

‘I have never been there.'

‘Be sensible, boy. Obersturmführer Ebernuss will be here in an hour, because then I'll be taking a nap. And if you won't say anything to Obersturmführer Ebernuss, Obersturmführer Galovsky will take over eight hours from now. He will stay for another eight hours. And if you still haven't said anything by then it'll be me again. And so it will go on, day in day out, for as long as it takes. We have plenty of time, we'll be getting all the sleep we need, but you won't. No food for you either, for he that does not toil shall not eat, in other words, he that does not cooperate goes hungry. We could use the stomach pump for starters, but we're too kind. Nothing to drink either, no need for that, for he that keeps his mouth shut is not thirsty. Makes sense, doesn't it? Where was I? Ah yes, tell me where Elkan is.'

‘I don't know anybody called Elkan.'

‘Don't you now?'

When Obersturmführer Ebernuss came in, Osewoudt was lying on the floor. The handcuffs had been removed, but he had no idea when. He held his stomach with both hands, there was blood pouring into his eyes from a gash in his left eyebrow, and he kept spitting out the blood trickling from his nose on to his lips and chin. He could no longer open his eyes fully, nor could he shut them because of the pain. Ebernuss was a ghostly presence pacing the floor. Osewoudt thought: at least I haven't said anything.

Ebernuss switched off the desk lamp. Beyond the windows the sky was no longer pitch-dark. Dawn was beginning to break.

Then Ebernuss squatted down by Osewoudt's head and said: ‘Look here, dear boy, I dare say you honestly don't know where Elkan is. How unkind of them to slap you about like this. Can you stand up?'

He smelled of violets.

Osewoudt shook his head, without stirring his limbs, without demonstrating his inability to stand up. I can, he thought, but I'm damned if I will.

‘He can't even stand up!' cried Ebernuss, rising. ‘Shocking, that is.' He switched the desk lamp on again, lifted a telephone and waited, holding the receiver to his ear.

At last Osewoudt was able to get a good look at Ebernuss: a pale face like his own, but much plumper, and no doubt he had a beard, a black one, since his hair was black, but he was
remarkably clean-shaven. He's the biggest villain of them all, Osewoudt thought. Someone came on the line and Ebernuss began to speak into the phone in an affected voice, albeit with a menacing undertone. Then he replaced the receiver and picked out two cards from the papers on the desk. He put them on top of each other, held them side by side. One was the identity card made out to Filip van Druten, the other was the German police card bearing the same name and photo. Ebernuss unfolded the identity card and held it up to the lamp, then did the same with the police card.

Two policemen came in with a stretcher, which they put down beside Osewoudt. Then they grabbed him by the shoulders and feet and laid him on the stretcher. As they carried him away, Osewoudt saw Ebernuss place the two cards on the desk with an air of bemusement.

No one asked where I got those papers from, thought Osewoudt as he floated down the corridor on the stretcher. Why didn't Ebernuss ask about that? Why beat me to a pulp to find out what I know about Elkan, someone I've never met in my life? Why wheel out that Roorda fellow to say he knew me? What do they hope to achieve with that? And not a word about my forged papers!

The policemen rested the stretcher on a bench in the vestibule. One of them stepped outside, leaving the door ajar so that Osewoudt could see him look about in the gathering light, as if expecting a car to arrive any moment.

All at once Ebernuss was standing over him again.

‘Osewoudt …' Ebernuss said in a low voice, almost whispering. He bent down low, his face no more than a hand's breadth away from Osewoudt's. The scent of violets was unmistakable.

‘Osewoudt … don't you worry about a thing. You're going to hospital now, you can have a nice rest. It's a scandal the way
they've manhandled you. I shall report the matter to Berlin at once, you can count on that. I am ashamed of my colleagues, please accept my sincere apologies. And while you're in hospital I advise you to think about the questions we've been asking. Consider how much easier things would be if you made a clean breast of everything. What have you got to lose? The game's up, you know, it's all kaput. Why not be sensible so you don't go kaput yourself? Come, shake my hand, and the best of luck to you.'

Osewoudt kept his arms quite still, but Ebernuss reached for his hand, drew it out horizontally by the fingers and patted it amicably with his free hand before turning to go. Just then a car pulled up.

No sooner had Ebernuss left than the two policemen hoisted the stretcher and went outside, dumped it on the pavement, and bundled Osewoudt into the back of the car. This was more painful than anything he had endured yet. Nevertheless, he took care to notice the view from the window as the car moved off. He could tell they were at Binnenhof, by the Parliament buildings, although he didn't recall actually having seen them before. To think he had posed as an agent working for the German police headquarters in this very place!

Where was the First Chamber? And where the Second? He thought: if only the old codgers from before the war were still here, deliberating for the public good. That would have saved me a lot of grief. Grief? Pain, rather. Gingerly, he flexed each limb in turn. All he longed for at that moment was for someone to wash the crusts of dried blood from his face. Cold, wet air blew into the car, and his teeth began to chatter. What had become of Marianne? Had she stayed in the cinema until the end of the film? He couldn't remember where he had said he was going. In any case, by now she would have gathered what
had happened. She would have simply gone back to Leiden, to her room over the hairdresser's. She would have stayed up late, hoping to hear from him, but she hadn't. What would her reaction have been like?

Osewoudt pictured her lying fully dressed on the bed, her heart pounding, the bedside lamp switched on. She would have waited for it to strike eleven and then thought: eleven o'clock, everyone has to be off the streets now.

The car stopped. They had arrived at Zuidwal hospital.

Two male nurses took him to the first aid room; one of the German policemen accompanied them.

A young doctor came in and examined Osewoudt at once. The German sat on a chair in a corner.

‘Doctor,' whispered Osewoudt, ‘could you do me a favour? Could you telephone 22575, in Leiden? Ask for Marianne Sondaar. Tell her that Filip has been caught by the Germans, and that he's in hospital.'

‘Of course I'll tell her. Leave it to me, I'll phone.' He smiled: ‘You're lucky to be here. There are no serious injuries.'

‘No. But Doctor, I feel very ill. You may not be able to find anything serious, but I'm in a terrible state.'

Osewoudt screwed up his eyes and thought: now he'll go and tell the Germans there's nothing wrong with me!

He felt much better now that the blood had been washed off his face.

The gash in his eyebrow was stitched.

He was bathed and put in a clean bed in a small room all to himself. The curtains were drawn but the light came in nonetheless. He was served ersatz tea and toast. The nurse told him there was a German guard in the corridor, and that the room he was in was on the second floor, so it was no good trying to jump from the window.

‘You must be joking,' he retorted. ‘I'm too ill, you can't
imagine the pain I'm in. Please give me a sleeping pill. I didn't sleep all night and I'm still wide awake.'

‘The doctor didn't say anything about a sleeping pill. Try and relax, then you'll fall asleep of your own accord. There's nothing seriously wrong with you, some bruising and a bloody nose, that's all. Those stitches will hurt for a bit, but they can come out in a couple of days. We won't tell the Germans there's nothing wrong with you, you needn't worry!'

She smiled, stroked his cheek, then looked at him very earnestly while allowing her hand to linger on his face, as if she were trying to make up her mind about something. Finally she made for the door.

‘I'm Sister Angela,' she said as she left. The name almost sounded like an alias. Her name might not be Angela at all, any more than Marianne's is Marianne Sondaar. How many people are still using their real names? Who can you trust? Perhaps the doctor is in league with Ebernuss, maybe the Germans are even now busy matching the telephone number I gave the doctor with the address, maybe Marianne will be arrested in the next half-hour. Maybe they only brought me here to see whether I'm witless enough to tell the doctor and the nurse everything they want to know.

Who can be trusted? Everyone's deceiving everyone else.

He wondered what had happened to the boy. How long would young Walter have stood there watching the horses and carts? Perhaps he'd grown tired after an hour and had sat down on the pavement, still hoping that ‘Uncle' would reappear and take him to the children's home, and that he would get his knife with
Meine Ehre heisst Treue!
engraved on the blade. But he'd have become upset eventually, he'd have spoken to some grown-up, or some grown-up would have spoken to him: what's your name, little boy? Where are you from? Lunteren? Where are you going? To a children's home with Uncle? Did Uncle
leave you all by yourself? What does Uncle look like? How did you get here? With Uncle and Auntie? By train? Where's Auntie now? Went off with two men in leather coats, on the train? And Auntie wore a uniform? A black astrakhan cap with an orange top? Uncle not in uniform then? What sort of uncle can he be, leaving you stranded in the middle of Amsterdam?

They go to Lunteren to investigate. They call the German police. In the meantime Hey You has told them everything she knows, which isn't much, but then maybe they've shown her my photo, which they're bound to do if they're showing it in the cinemas … The bodies of Lagendaal and his wife are identified, possibly in Walter's presence. The bullets are extracted. Where is the pistol that fired the bullets?

I know where it is, thought Osewoudt, Marianne has it. I gave it to Marianne in the cinema. But I wouldn't be surprised if they've arrested her already. Everyone I have anything to do with gets into trouble. There's no hope for me either.

No hope for me – the last thought of a drowning man as he sinks to the bottom. He could feel himself sinking.

But he did not sink to the bottom. He woke up to find the doctor standing by his hospital bed and the sun streaming into the room.

‘I made that phone call, as you asked. Miss Sondaar told me to give Filip her regards.'

‘Didn't she say anything else?'

‘Yes! I know her family quite well, as it happens. They lived next door to us until I was about ten. She was a toddler when we moved away. They were very well-to-do. Her parents and her brother have been sent to Germany, because they're Jews.'

‘That is very sad,' said Osewoudt.

‘Look,' said the doctor, ‘I didn't like to mention any of this in the first-aid room with the German soldier there, but it's an extraordinary coincidence.'

‘My turning to you for help is even more of a coincidence.'

‘Yes. It seemed a bit rash, especially for someone who's just been beaten up by the Germans for refusing to talk. And then, suddenly, giving a doctor, a complete stranger, the telephone number of a girlfriend who urgently needs to be informed of his arrest!'

‘Who else is there for me to ask?'

The doctor smiled. ‘So you rely on the kindness of strangers.'

‘I don't have much choice. All my contacts are ruined. My sick mother and my wife have been arrested by the Germans. My uncle's been arrested. Two girls I know were arrested. There's no one left. You must understand, Doctor, they have it in for me. Chances are I won't get out of this alive.'

The doctor pulled out a chair from under the bed and sat down. He looked round at the closed door and said: ‘We'll have to think of something. It's always easier to escape from a hospital than from a police station or a prison. Patients have been known to abscond from hospitals, after all.

‘The stitches may still be painful, you may think you can't get up and walk, but believe me, there's nothing wrong really, no internal injuries at all. I'll lay it on a bit thick for the Germans so we can keep you here as long as possible, but it'll be more like days than weeks. As I said, it's a miracle they brought you here at all.'

Osewoudt remembered what Wülfing had said about Ebernuss' proclivities. But he was ashamed to think that that was the reason Ebernuss had wanted to spare him. He choked with rage at the idea. His next thought was: this doctor must have noticed immediately that I have no beard. What will he think if I tell him that's probably why the bloody Obersturmführer had them take me to hospital?

‘Look here, Doctor.'

‘Yes?'

‘I haven't done anything, really. I'm innocent. I'd rather be a hero, but as it happens I'm innocent. Apparently there's someone going around who looks like me, very much like me, in fact. It's that person's crimes they're accusing me of. The Germans confronted me with another prisoner. He swore he knew me. I had never seen him before. That prisoner said he had spoken to me only a week ago, at the main entrance to Vondel Park in Amsterdam. I have never been there in my life. He insisted that we had talked about arms from England being dropped by parachute. He said I asked him about detonators. But I don't even know what detonators are, and it was the first I ever heard of arms being parachuted in by the English. It was that kind of waffle the Germans beat me up for, Doctor! I'm not a hero, I'm a victim. They have me mixed up with someone else. Last night I was in a cinema. They projected a man's photograph on the screen, along with my name. The photo looked like me. Wanted for robbery with assault, it said, 500 guilders reward. I was scared stiff, so I ran for it. As I left the cinema the doorman recognised me. He called the police, the swine. That's how the Germans got hold of me. I didn't do a thing, nothing at all. Tell me Doctor, is it true that it isn't too difficult to escape from a hospital?'

‘Too difficult? That depends. You can't jump out of the window. And there's a German guard in the corridor.'

The doctor left and did not come back to see him all day. The nurse did look in at regular intervals to perform routine duties. Sister Angela. The last time was at half past eight in the evening. The sun had not yet set. The windows were open, letting in the moist heat, along with the smell of putrid canal water.

Sister Angela made to pull the door shut behind her and said, with her hand still on the doorknob: ‘Time for bed.'

But the door did not close fully. On the contrary, it was
flung wide open and three masked men burst in. Sister Angela stumbled, but didn't fall because she was seized by two of the men and dragged to a corner of the room.