Read Online Hunger Journeys by Maggie De Vries - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Maggie De Vries
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day.
The two girls rode on, seeking a more prosperous-looking establishment. It started to rain. Margriet had been riding in front, but her pace was slowing. Lena pulled up alongside her. “Stop a minute,” Margriet said. Lena put her foot down, bringing her bicycle to a halt. Her hair was soaked, and strands had pulled out of her pigtails and were plastered to her face. She stared at her handlebars.
“That farm with the cow seems like the best one so far,” Margriet said at last.
Lena raised her eyes to her sister’s. Margriet’s expression was grim.
“I don’t want to do it,” Margriet said. “It’s begging. Look at us. We’re pathetic, coming to the country to grovel for scraps. And who knows what we might find on these farms?”
Lena said nothing. She wheeled her bicycle around and started off back the way they had come, rainwater running down her neck and into her eyes, her mind whirling. How could Father make them do this? Her sister was terrified and humiliated, and she herself felt as if she might throw up at any moment.
It took a long time to get back to the farm with the skinny cow. And once they were there, no one answered the front door, no matter how hard and long Margriet pounded.
“Let’s try the back,” Lena whispered when Margriet had stopped pounding and leaned her forehead against the door. She would much rather flee. But where to?
The two girls set off around the house to the attached barn, where the back door had to be. As they turned the corner, they could see the door standing open, steam billowing out over the muddy ground. Margriet picked her way up to the doorway and looked in. Lena, right behind her, peered over her shoulder. A bony woman was doing laundry, turning the crank on a mangle over a washtub, some sort of grey fabric squeezing out between the rollers. Two small children played nearby.
Margriet’s voice was tentative at first, and the woman did not look up. The small boy stopped what he was doing, stared and poked his sister so she too stared, but they did not speak.
Margriet cleared her throat. “Mevrouw,” she said. Lena flinched at the sound of her sister’s shrill, frightened voice competing with the grinding of the mangle. It worked, though. The mangle stopped. The woman looked. She looked and she was upon them.
“I know who you are,” she said as she strode across the room, the children attaching themselves to her thighs as she passed. “City girls after food. Never done a moment’s work in your life, either of you—bones nicely tucked away inside your flesh—and you come to me for food.”
Margriet stumbled backwards a step, throwing Lena off balance, but when the woman paused for breath, she jumped in, “Mevrouw, we—”
But the woman had no intention of letting her speak. “My men are gone,” she said, “taken a year ago and more, husband and son. They’re in a German labour camp. Or they’re dead. I’ve heard not a word. Not one word. They promised to leave oneman at home on the farms. But not here; not for me. I’m left with the infants and the farm.”
Margriet tried again. “But, mevrouw, we aren’t asking for a handout. We have things to trade.”
The woman’s grin was ugly, revealing rotting teeth, gaps where the teeth had fallen out altogether and not a trace of happiness. “And those things you have, can I eat them? Can I feed them to my children? Do cows like them? I have no need of things, girl. Like you, like all of us in this Godforsaken land, it’s food I’m after. My cow is too hungry to give milk. My body is too hungry to work for more than an hour at a time. And where is the end to it? I think you know as well as I do where the end is.” She looked down to ensure that her children’s eyes were not upon her face, raised her right hand and drew her finger across her throat.
Margriet was already backing away, Lena matching her stride for stride. “Thank you, mevrouw. I wish you well,” she said, and the two
The two girls rode on, seeking a more prosperous-looking establishment. It started to rain. Margriet had been riding in front, but her pace was slowing. Lena pulled up alongside her. “Stop a minute,” Margriet said. Lena put her foot down, bringing her bicycle to a halt. Her hair was soaked, and strands had pulled out of her pigtails and were plastered to her face. She stared at her handlebars.
“That farm with the cow seems like the best one so far,” Margriet said at last.
Lena raised her eyes to her sister’s. Margriet’s expression was grim.
“I don’t want to do it,” Margriet said. “It’s begging. Look at us. We’re pathetic, coming to the country to grovel for scraps. And who knows what we might find on these farms?”
Lena said nothing. She wheeled her bicycle around and started off back the way they had come, rainwater running down her neck and into her eyes, her mind whirling. How could Father make them do this? Her sister was terrified and humiliated, and she herself felt as if she might throw up at any moment.
It took a long time to get back to the farm with the skinny cow. And once they were there, no one answered the front door, no matter how hard and long Margriet pounded.
“Let’s try the back,” Lena whispered when Margriet had stopped pounding and leaned her forehead against the door. She would much rather flee. But where to?
The two girls set off around the house to the attached barn, where the back door had to be. As they turned the corner, they could see the door standing open, steam billowing out over the muddy ground. Margriet picked her way up to the doorway and looked in. Lena, right behind her, peered over her shoulder. A bony woman was doing laundry, turning the crank on a mangle over a washtub, some sort of grey fabric squeezing out between the rollers. Two small children played nearby.
Margriet’s voice was tentative at first, and the woman did not look up. The small boy stopped what he was doing, stared and poked his sister so she too stared, but they did not speak.
Margriet cleared her throat. “Mevrouw,” she said. Lena flinched at the sound of her sister’s shrill, frightened voice competing with the grinding of the mangle. It worked, though. The mangle stopped. The woman looked. She looked and she was upon them.
“I know who you are,” she said as she strode across the room, the children attaching themselves to her thighs as she passed. “City girls after food. Never done a moment’s work in your life, either of you—bones nicely tucked away inside your flesh—and you come to me for food.”
Margriet stumbled backwards a step, throwing Lena off balance, but when the woman paused for breath, she jumped in, “Mevrouw, we—”
But the woman had no intention of letting her speak. “My men are gone,” she said, “taken a year ago and more, husband and son. They’re in a German labour camp. Or they’re dead. I’ve heard not a word. Not one word. They promised to leave oneman at home on the farms. But not here; not for me. I’m left with the infants and the farm.”
Margriet tried again. “But, mevrouw, we aren’t asking for a handout. We have things to trade.”
The woman’s grin was ugly, revealing rotting teeth, gaps where the teeth had fallen out altogether and not a trace of happiness. “And those things you have, can I eat them? Can I feed them to my children? Do cows like them? I have no need of things, girl. Like you, like all of us in this Godforsaken land, it’s food I’m after. My cow is too hungry to give milk. My body is too hungry to work for more than an hour at a time. And where is the end to it? I think you know as well as I do where the end is.” She looked down to ensure that her children’s eyes were not upon her face, raised her right hand and drew her finger across her throat.
Margriet was already backing away, Lena matching her stride for stride. “Thank you, mevrouw. I wish you well,” she said, and the two
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