The Darkroom of Damocles (17 page)

The third man strode towards Osewoudt.

‘Get up! Where are your clothes? Put them on! Quick!'

It was a car powered by wood gas, and yet it was quite fast. Osewoudt kept looking back, but they were not being followed.

They were on the road to Leiden, which ran parallel to the blue tram line. Dusk was falling.

‘Shall we drop you at home?'

‘No, better near Leiden somewhere, if that's all right with you.'

‘It's all the same to us. Right, Cor? We'll drop him near Leiden.'

‘Plenty of time. We'll take him wherever he wants to go.'

‘Quite a turnaround for you in the last fifteen minutes, eh?'

Osewoudt made no reply. So the man at the wheel was called Cor. He hadn't come into the hospital with the others, he'd been waiting in the getaway car. The man next to him hadn't said a word, he was the one who had tied up the nurse with the help of the man to Osewoudt's right. The man to Osewoudt's left said he was Uncle Kees. It had been Uncle Kees doing all the talking; clearly he was the leader. He had the same type of square moustache as Hitler, his eyes were almost square too, his face was a crossword puzzle.

‘What did you mean, Uncle Kees, about dropping me off at home?'

‘I thought you lived in Voorschoten. Don't you?'

‘How did you know?'

‘It's been in all the newspapers. Your picture, too! Rotten
of the Krauts to say “wanted for robbery with assault”. If they'd said “wanted for murdering a traitor”, no Dutchman would touch those 500 guilders.'

Osewoudt fixed his eyes ahead, without responding. My picture in all the papers, complete with my name and all the rest. I disguised myself with a hat and glasses, but I no longer have either. Free again, but for how long?

When they reached the outskirts of Voorschoten he repeated his thoughts aloud.

‘Look here, Uncle Kees, what with my picture all over the papers and in the cinemas too, I can't show my face any more. I can't go anywhere I've been before, or they'll nab me again straightaway. I need to leave the country as soon as possible. Switzerland maybe, or Spain, and from there to England.'

The man at the wheel exploded with laughter: ‘Think we're running a travel agency, do you?'

‘Rescuing you not enough, then?' sneered Uncle Kees.

‘All right, so you can't get me out of the country, but surely you can fix me up with an address where I can lie low for a while?'

He had a lump in his throat as he said this. Just then they drove past the tobacco shop.
NORTH STATE CIGARETTES
.

He saw that the blinds had been raised, both of them, the broken one over the window too. Who had done that? He was mystified, then thought: I don't really give a damn, anyway.

‘He wants somewhere to hide, Cor!' said Uncle Kees.

‘Good old Osewoudt!' said Cor. ‘Wants it all handed to him on a plate! Listen, Osewoudt, kidnapping you from a hospital was risky enough, finding you a hideout doesn't come with it. We don't want anything to do with you, really, that's best for us, and for you too.'

He stepped on the accelerator.

The man on Osewoudt's right said nothing, nor did the man sitting beside the driver.

‘Best for me?' said Osewoudt. ‘Best for me to get caught again straightaway?'

‘Leave off, Cor,' said Uncle Kees. ‘Not everybody's as hardened to the job as you are. It's hardly surprising that he's looking around for help.'

Osewoudt leaned forward, so that his face was up close to the driver's shoulder.

‘There's no danger in helping me. I'm not the man they're looking for. They've got me mixed up with someone else. You must believe me, I saw the photo myself in the cinema, that's what got me arrested in the first place. But it wasn't a picture of me, the picture looks like me, but it's not me. No such photo of me exists. But you may have met the man they're looking for. I know he exists.'

‘How do you know?'

For the first time the driver looked over his shoulder.

Cor had dark hair with a heavy forelock, like a fire screen before the black embers of his eyes.

‘Steady on, Cor,' said Uncle Kees. ‘Don't ask too many questions. He's not asking questions either, he knows the rules. Hasn't said thank you either, come to think of it. Naughty!'

‘How do you know it was someone else?' Cor persisted, keeping his eyes on the road now.

‘Don't ask too many questions, Cor!'

‘It's all right, Uncle Kees,' said Osewoudt. ‘I have nothing to hide. The Germans confronted me with somebody who claimed to have met me at Vondel Park in Amsterdam. I've never been there, I'd never seen that man in my life.'

‘Didn't they ask about that shooting in Haarlem, Kleine Houtstraat 32, back in the summer of '40?'

‘I don't know about any shooting,' said Osewoudt and then, turning to Uncle Kees: ‘Cor knows more about it than I do.'

‘Oh, belt up, Cor,' said Uncle Kees. ‘We ought to be raising
a glass. He's just escaped death by the skin of his teeth, and there you go, pestering him with questions.'

‘If he hasn't done anything why should we find him a hideout? No need for that, is there? We risk rescuing him and it wasn't even necessary, is that it? He's as innocent as a lamb. No use to the cause then, I take it.'

‘I'm scared,' said Osewoudt. ‘I don't want to get caught again. You saved my life. Perhaps you'll understand when the war's over.'

‘Rubbish. Thousands of people who haven't done a thing get beaten up by the Germans. Which is unfortunate, but there's nothing we can do about it. We can only do things for people who matter to us. A question of economics. Poor sods who haven't done a thing aren't worth taking risks for, which again is unfortunate, but that's the way it is. Right then, where do you want us to drop you off?'

‘Don't be angry. This isn't my fault, it wasn't me who ordered my rescue. It's a miracle you succeeded. At least I hope you're not planning to take me back there.'

Osewoudt gave a forced laugh.

‘For God's sake, Cor, ease off,' said Uncle Kees.

‘I had my doubts,' said Cor. ‘I had my doubts the moment I saw him. I thought: is this really the big cheese we're after? He looks like a girl! I wouldn't be surprised if he isn't even Osewoudt the tobacconist. He's not a day over seventeen, I'd say.'

Osewoudt peered out of the window and saw that they were driving through the residential neighbourhood of Leiden, where the professors lived.

‘You can drop me here,' he said. ‘I'll find my own way.'

Cor looked round, swerved to the right and pulled up at the kerb. The man on Osewoudt's right did not stir. Then Uncle Kees opened the door on his side and got out.

Osewoudt made to step out of the car, and said: ‘Thank you all very much, I can't tell you how grateful I am and why, but I hope I'll have a chance to explain some day.'

He stood beside the car. He shook hands with Uncle Kees and said: ‘The Germans have arrested my old, sick mother, and my wife, and my uncle. I'm the only one in the family who's free.'

‘The Germans,' said Uncle Kees, clasping Osewoudt's hand while lifting his left wrist to look at his watch, ‘the Germans will be on the lookout for you. How will you avoid recognition?'

‘I wore glasses for a while, and a hat, but I've lost them.'

‘With that plaster over your eye they'll recognise you even if it's pitch-dark!'

Uncle Kees let go of Osewoudt's hand and reached out to rip off the plaster. Blinded by the pain, Osewoudt heard the car door slam and the engine revving. An acrid smell of burning wood gusted towards him. When he could see again, the car had gone. In the semi-darkness he saw the crumpled sticking plaster lying at his feet. He could feel blood trickling down his face.

A handkerchief!

In his trouser pocket he found the paper napkin Wülfing had given him. He held it to his face and started walking. Glancing around, he concluded that no one had seen anything. It was a very quiet neighbourhood.

At least Labare would have no reason to complain about his behaviour – he had, after all, kept his mouth shut. He had been rescued by friends of Labare's, of that he had no doubt. If they had been Dorbeck's friends, why would that fellow Cor have been so eager to know what the Germans had him in for? Why the snide remarks about his girlish appearance, and about them taking risks only for important people, not for poor sods beaten up by the Germans by mistake? Alternatively, maybe
they knew the doctor, or knew both the doctor and Labare, or they knew Meinarends, or Marianne. But then where would Cor have got the idea that it wasn't for robbery that Osewoudt the tobacconist was wanted, as it said in the newspaper, but for a shooting in Haarlem?

The hairdresser's wife let him in.

Osewoudt had never seen her before, because until now Marianne had always answered the door.

The woman's face was still remarkably plump, considering how long the war had been going on. Her cheeks were ruddy, with a tracery of fine veins in a deeper red. She had a high forehead, slightly narrowed eyes and thin, frizzy hair.

‘No, sir, Miss Sondaar is out, but do come in. You look dreadful, all that blood! Did you fall?'

‘Yes, I tripped and fell.'

He stepped into the small shop. She motioned him to one of the two stools in front of the counter and said: ‘Let me get some cotton wool.'

‘Please don't bother. Just tell me where I can find Miss Sondaar. I'm in a hurry.'

But the woman went through to the back as if he hadn't spoken.

The display cases along the wall contained packaging and boxes of various soaps and hair lotions that had long since run out. Empty packaging. Would it ever be worth filling again? Everyone I have anything to do with comes a cropper. Why did they rescue me? He said nothing when the woman returned with a basin of water and a wad of cotton wool, and meekly submitted to having his face cleaned.

‘There, you look a lot better now. But what's that over your eye?'

‘Stitches. I had a fall the day before yesterday, too. Has Marianne been arrested?'

‘Whatever gave you that idea? I certainly hope not! She'll be back later.'

‘Where is she?'

‘You're Mr van Druten, aren't you?'

‘Yes.'

‘That's what I thought, from the look of you. I was to tell you Marianne is at Mr Labare's. Number 74, Zoeterwoudsesingel.'

‘Is that what she told you to say?'

‘Yes, 74! But hadn't you better wait here? I could go and fetch her. You look so dreadful.'

What was Marianne doing at Labare's? How did she know him? Or had they known each other all along?

‘No, thank you, no. It's quite a long way to where I live. If I wait here I won't make it home by eleven. Thanks anyway!'

He ran out to the street, which was now almost dark. Free, but a sitting duck. Every Tom, Dick and Harry who had seen his picture in the newspaper or in the cinema and wanted the 500 guilders reward could report him to the authorities.

Coming to a corner he paused, flattened himself against the building and looked in all directions. Not a German to be seen. Rounding the next corner he found he was no longer alone in the street. He was afraid any furtiveness on his part would arouse the suspicions of passers-by, but fortunately no one was paying any attention. So he looked about without pressing his back against the wall. But looking about wasn't enough, because the danger would see him before he saw the danger.

Twice a car of Germans came past, but they evidently had no orders to arrest him. A Luftwaffe officer asked him for a light and went on his way without another word. He arrived at Zoeterwoudsesingel unhindered.

When he caught sight of Labare's house, he thought: this is my last breath of fresh air. Anyone whose picture has been
in the papers is useless to the Resistance. Wild horses won't drag me out of that house until the war's over. If Dorbeck wants me to do anything for him he'll have to come and ask me in person, and even then I may not be in a position to oblige. What's the use of blindly following his instructions? Anyone would think I idolise him!

Maybe he's been safe and sound in England all along. He sends me messages I can't make head or tail of. I have my hair dyed so I won't be recognised, but it's just as if I did it to make it even easier to confuse me with Dorbeck. My enemies make me pay for his actions, while my friends can tell at a glance that I'm not half the man Dorbeck is. To them I'm a seventeen-year-old with a girl's face, a wimp, a poor sod who gets beaten by the Germans more as a matter of routine than for any important secrets he might reveal.

I've lost my forged papers, not that I'd be able to use them now anyway. I'll have to sit tight until it all blows over.

His thoughts came to a sudden halt, and he was aware only of the aching in his battered skull.

Then the door of the house opened, without him having rung the bell. It was Marianne. He saw her standing in the hallway; she wore a raincoat of white Egyptian cotton belted tightly at the waist, her hair reached to her shoulders. She exclaimed when she saw him.

Osewoudt laughed out loud. He stepped forward and threw his arms around her in the hallway, without bothering to shut the door. He didn't explain what had happened to his face, only kissed her, and he saw tears rolling down her cheeks. Then he was seized with laughter again so that kissing was no longer possible. He kicked the door shut behind him with a bang.

She put her hands round the back of his head and said: ‘Darling! I missed you so much that I couldn't bring myself to flee when I realised you'd been arrested.'

‘Did you think they'd put us in the same cell if they arrested you too?'

‘That would have been bliss.'

‘Or did you think I'd be rescued somehow?'

‘Rescued?'

‘Yes! I was rescued. Abducted, in fact.'