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Authors: Maggie De Vries
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had broken the rules. Lena looked over her shoulder as she stepped into the building’s shadow. She could make out the concrete barrier, the dark blots of German soldiers and the larger blot of a tank. Fear made her gag, her slight breakfast trying to push itself back up her throat.
“We left too early,” she whispered a moment later.
Margriet just shrugged her shoulders. Lena stared at her. She could actually see her shaking.
The longer they waited, the harder it got to step back out into the road, into full view of the soldiers. Margriet’s teeth started to chatter, and Lena thought it was from terror rather than the frosty morning.
She pushed her own terror deep down inside herself. She knew that the Germans might take the bicycles and send the girls packing. The Germans had been confiscating bicycles for years now, taking them for their own use. And they could also deny passage out of the city if they wished. It all depended on the whims of the men ahead of them on that bridge.
At last, in full daylight, Lena mounted her bicycle. Show no fear, she thought. Smile at them and show no fear.
“We have to go,” she said, and Margriet nodded and pedalled off ahead of her. When they reached the foot of the bridge, Lena put her foot down on the brake and watched Margriet approach the soldiers. Margriet had stopped just ahead, so she had to push her heavy bicycle up the incline while the men watched. Lena had to push hers even farther. Tension built in Lena as she waited for someone, anyone, to speak.
Then came “Where are you going?” in German.
Father had coached Lena and Margriet on their response, but Margriet seemed frozen, lips pressed together, as Lena cameup beside her. When the pause had gone on far too long, Lena choked out, “We go for food,” in German as instructed, and Margriet managed to pull their papers from her pocket and hand them over.
The man took the papers and laughed. “I do not understand you,” he said.
“We go for food,” Margriet said this time, her voice loud and clear but shaking.
The men nudged each other and spoke German in low voices. All Dutch children learned German in high school, and Lena was getting good at it after more than four years, but she could not make out what they were saying to each other. One looked over and she felt his eyes on her body, even in her loose jacket and long skirt. She resisted the urge to pull her jacket further around herself. Two others were looking at Margriet even more brazenly.
Then the German who had already spoken to them said, “Go,” papers held out to them, the word followed by a guffaw. Margriet grasped the papers and gave Lena a small push. “Go!” she hissed, terror in her voice, and the man roared with laughter.
They were off, toiling to push the heavy bicycles with their wooden wheels and linen baggage up the rise of the bridge. Lena was aware of weakness in her muscles and lack of fuel in her body as bile made its way up her throat. She retched and stood up to pedal harder. The Germans laughed and shouted behind them. Lena retched again. Then they were over the rise, and they could coast.
They left the main roads as quickly as they could, and soon they were riding through countryside. The sun was hidden behind clouds. The fields were brown, farms tumbled; they rode around enormous craters from bombs. Why here? Of course: the railway passed nearby. Dutch railway workers remained onstrike, all of them in hiding or under arrest, but the Germans had seized control of the trains. Now the trains in the Netherlands served only the enemy; they had become British targets.
The fields were mostly empty, but Lena did see a skinny cow in the distance, halfway out of sight behind a small, uncared-for farmhouse. No chickens, though. She had been searching for chickens, she realized, and dreaming of eggs, but chickenfeed was good for humans too, so Dutch chickens had gone early into the soup pot. They would be taking no eggs home that
“We left too early,” she whispered a moment later.
Margriet just shrugged her shoulders. Lena stared at her. She could actually see her shaking.
The longer they waited, the harder it got to step back out into the road, into full view of the soldiers. Margriet’s teeth started to chatter, and Lena thought it was from terror rather than the frosty morning.
She pushed her own terror deep down inside herself. She knew that the Germans might take the bicycles and send the girls packing. The Germans had been confiscating bicycles for years now, taking them for their own use. And they could also deny passage out of the city if they wished. It all depended on the whims of the men ahead of them on that bridge.
At last, in full daylight, Lena mounted her bicycle. Show no fear, she thought. Smile at them and show no fear.
“We have to go,” she said, and Margriet nodded and pedalled off ahead of her. When they reached the foot of the bridge, Lena put her foot down on the brake and watched Margriet approach the soldiers. Margriet had stopped just ahead, so she had to push her heavy bicycle up the incline while the men watched. Lena had to push hers even farther. Tension built in Lena as she waited for someone, anyone, to speak.
Then came “Where are you going?” in German.
Father had coached Lena and Margriet on their response, but Margriet seemed frozen, lips pressed together, as Lena cameup beside her. When the pause had gone on far too long, Lena choked out, “We go for food,” in German as instructed, and Margriet managed to pull their papers from her pocket and hand them over.
The man took the papers and laughed. “I do not understand you,” he said.
“We go for food,” Margriet said this time, her voice loud and clear but shaking.
The men nudged each other and spoke German in low voices. All Dutch children learned German in high school, and Lena was getting good at it after more than four years, but she could not make out what they were saying to each other. One looked over and she felt his eyes on her body, even in her loose jacket and long skirt. She resisted the urge to pull her jacket further around herself. Two others were looking at Margriet even more brazenly.
Then the German who had already spoken to them said, “Go,” papers held out to them, the word followed by a guffaw. Margriet grasped the papers and gave Lena a small push. “Go!” she hissed, terror in her voice, and the man roared with laughter.
They were off, toiling to push the heavy bicycles with their wooden wheels and linen baggage up the rise of the bridge. Lena was aware of weakness in her muscles and lack of fuel in her body as bile made its way up her throat. She retched and stood up to pedal harder. The Germans laughed and shouted behind them. Lena retched again. Then they were over the rise, and they could coast.
They left the main roads as quickly as they could, and soon they were riding through countryside. The sun was hidden behind clouds. The fields were brown, farms tumbled; they rode around enormous craters from bombs. Why here? Of course: the railway passed nearby. Dutch railway workers remained onstrike, all of them in hiding or under arrest, but the Germans had seized control of the trains. Now the trains in the Netherlands served only the enemy; they had become British targets.
The fields were mostly empty, but Lena did see a skinny cow in the distance, halfway out of sight behind a small, uncared-for farmhouse. No chickens, though. She had been searching for chickens, she realized, and dreaming of eggs, but chickenfeed was good for humans too, so Dutch chickens had gone early into the soup pot. They would be taking no eggs home that
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