passed all the tests and she was welcome to have her baby there. Most girls waited until they began to show to enter, but my uncle had pressed for her to go in right away. She was due there next Friday.
"They have food. Fresh vegetables and fruits every day. Plenty of milk. All the finest quality. And it's not that far away—"
"Tante Mies!" I interrupted her. "You're not thinking of letting her go?" But of course she was. I'd heard the words that swayed her—plenty of food, the best quality—words as nourishing to my aunt as the meals she could no longer make for us. Anneke and I had lost weight in the past year. Since meeting Karl, Anneke had grown even thinner, as if she had been burning hotter and faster at her core. Sometimes my aunt would reach out to pull at the loose waist of a skirt, visibly pained by the accusing fabric.
"
Ja,
I am. We can't provide this for her here. I can't even feed her properly. They have doctors and nurses, she'll get the best medical attention—"
"No!" I cried. Several people standing near glanced down at us, but I didn't care. "It's not what you think at all. Isaak told me: It's a Lebensborn. Do you know what that means? Did you ask what the tests were? Did you ask Oom Pieter what will happen to the baby? Where he'll go?"
I told my aunt everything I had learned; then I told her what I wanted to do. There was no reason not to. We were at the end of all choices.
My aunt listened carefully, listened to me for the first time as an adult. She didn't disagree with anything; even when I said Oom Pieter couldn't be told, she only turned toward the smudged window to look at the countryside rolling by and nodded.
"I'll help," she said when I finished.
I felt hopeful suddenly. Anneke and I could make a life in Amsterdam until the war was over. It wouldn't be the one we'd imagined for ourselves, but who in Europe could say any different? The wheels of the train sang against the track.
I had an address for Leisje and Frannie, and I boarded a tram for their district. The tram was crowded also—with men and women dressed for business, with university students, with people of many nationalities, something we didn't see in Schiedam. Amsterdam was always a tolerant and welcoming city, and very modern; sometimes when I visited, I came home thinking Schiedam was living twenty years in the past. The girls especially had a different look here—a look that excited me. I wondered how long it would be before I wore that look, and if I'd notice it on myself.
I felt anonymous and free—as if I'd already taken a new identity and were starting my life over. I'd have to choose a new name. I had always liked Kalie, the name of the girl who had been my first friend in Holland, or maybe I would call myself Alie, or Johanna after my mother. No, not Johanna.
I got off on Konigsstraat and began to walk toward Leisje and Frannie's address. Their flat was above a shoe-repair shop. This was a good omen, too, I thought—in Schiedam the shoe-repair shop had been out of business for months. There was a cheese shop next door, full of customers.
The door to the flats upstairs was in an alcove between the two shops. Tubs of sun-colored dahlias flanked the entrances, and above these, each shop door displayed one of the new signs—
JODEN VERBODEN,
in letters larger than the old signs, and blacker.
"Do you see that sign?" I jumped at the voice behind me.
"What kind of a world are we living in that we're told who can come into our shops? It makes me not want to bring my business here. But what can we do? They're everywhere now." The man shook his head and passed by me into the cheese shop.
I climbed the stairs to the flats quickly and willed my heart to slow down, not allowing myself to question why it had raced.
No one answered my knock, but of course Leisje and Frannie would be at work by now. I went back down to the street and started to walk. I didn't know which bank they worked in, so whenever I passed one, I
"They have food. Fresh vegetables and fruits every day. Plenty of milk. All the finest quality. And it's not that far away—"
"Tante Mies!" I interrupted her. "You're not thinking of letting her go?" But of course she was. I'd heard the words that swayed her—plenty of food, the best quality—words as nourishing to my aunt as the meals she could no longer make for us. Anneke and I had lost weight in the past year. Since meeting Karl, Anneke had grown even thinner, as if she had been burning hotter and faster at her core. Sometimes my aunt would reach out to pull at the loose waist of a skirt, visibly pained by the accusing fabric.
"
Ja,
I am. We can't provide this for her here. I can't even feed her properly. They have doctors and nurses, she'll get the best medical attention—"
"No!" I cried. Several people standing near glanced down at us, but I didn't care. "It's not what you think at all. Isaak told me: It's a Lebensborn. Do you know what that means? Did you ask what the tests were? Did you ask Oom Pieter what will happen to the baby? Where he'll go?"
I told my aunt everything I had learned; then I told her what I wanted to do. There was no reason not to. We were at the end of all choices.
My aunt listened carefully, listened to me for the first time as an adult. She didn't disagree with anything; even when I said Oom Pieter couldn't be told, she only turned toward the smudged window to look at the countryside rolling by and nodded.
"I'll help," she said when I finished.
I felt hopeful suddenly. Anneke and I could make a life in Amsterdam until the war was over. It wouldn't be the one we'd imagined for ourselves, but who in Europe could say any different? The wheels of the train sang against the track.
I had an address for Leisje and Frannie, and I boarded a tram for their district. The tram was crowded also—with men and women dressed for business, with university students, with people of many nationalities, something we didn't see in Schiedam. Amsterdam was always a tolerant and welcoming city, and very modern; sometimes when I visited, I came home thinking Schiedam was living twenty years in the past. The girls especially had a different look here—a look that excited me. I wondered how long it would be before I wore that look, and if I'd notice it on myself.
I felt anonymous and free—as if I'd already taken a new identity and were starting my life over. I'd have to choose a new name. I had always liked Kalie, the name of the girl who had been my first friend in Holland, or maybe I would call myself Alie, or Johanna after my mother. No, not Johanna.
I got off on Konigsstraat and began to walk toward Leisje and Frannie's address. Their flat was above a shoe-repair shop. This was a good omen, too, I thought—in Schiedam the shoe-repair shop had been out of business for months. There was a cheese shop next door, full of customers.
The door to the flats upstairs was in an alcove between the two shops. Tubs of sun-colored dahlias flanked the entrances, and above these, each shop door displayed one of the new signs—
JODEN VERBODEN,
in letters larger than the old signs, and blacker.
"Do you see that sign?" I jumped at the voice behind me.
"What kind of a world are we living in that we're told who can come into our shops? It makes me not want to bring my business here. But what can we do? They're everywhere now." The man shook his head and passed by me into the cheese shop.
I climbed the stairs to the flats quickly and willed my heart to slow down, not allowing myself to question why it had raced.
No one answered my knock, but of course Leisje and Frannie would be at work by now. I went back down to the street and started to walk. I didn't know which bank they worked in, so whenever I passed one, I
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