Read Online River in the Sea by Tina Boscha - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Tina Boscha
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herself.
The kitchen’s rear door opened and Mr. Deinum came in, his back bent to them as he reached out to catch the door before it blew in the wind. “ Ver domme ! Damn wind.”
“Leen is here,” Mrs. Deinum said, feigning a smile.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” he said to Leen, ignoring his wife’s covert reminder to watch the swearing. Even from the door Leen could see his eyes were bloodshot. When Leen arrived at the house at 7:30 he’d been awake for hours already to knead ropy knobs of dough, keeping up the same pace even though the bakkerij ’s ordered shelves carried half of what they used to. He put his coat on the back of a chair, the muscles of his forearms wrinkling under his skin. Mrs. Deinum immediately got up and put his coat on the hook next to the door. Leen wasn’t sure if she should be relieved to see him; normally she quite liked his company, but that would make watching his disappointment at learning of her crime that much worse.
“They bombed Huesden,” Mr. Deinum said. He sat down heavily and rubbed his hands together.
“Oh,” Mrs. Deinum said. “Well. Huesden. So they did.” She poured him a cup of tea, and Leen drank hers, still shaking. She’d never been to Huesden, never been anywhere, but she’d seen maps. The Netherlands was so small, nothing was truly far away.
“Tante Gaatske, she lives in Huesden. She is 78. My only living aunt. How long has it been since we’ve seen her?” Mr. Deinum stared at the floor as he asked this.
Mrs. Deinum pursed her lips together. She stirred a half spoonful of sugar into her husband’s tea. Mr. Deinum took the spoon and gave himself another. He put the wet spoon right on the pressed tablecloth, and Leen watched as a light stain began to spread. Mrs. Deinum said softly, “It’s been a long time. Tante Gaatske. It’s been a long time since we visited her.”
Mr. Deinum rubbed the inside of his eyes with his thumb. “They bombed the town hall. Several Resistance were killed.” His voice rose. Leen had never heard him shout. “The bastards! As soon as the Allieds free a city, they bomb it. It’s desperation, that’s what it is.”
Leen did not know what to say. A small part of her wanted to touch Mr. Deinum’s hand, to say that she knew about fear and worry and grief, that she had experienced death in her own family. Hearing of bombs and death was never anything but startling. She knew it was real. Forty–five kilometers away civilians were dead. And it was that much worse for them when Resistance men were killed. The L.O. was not an empty rumor or a hollow sermon; those men were actual, in–the–flesh hope. But even amid the terrible news, she could not forget about the lumpy ball of salt in her pocket. She took another awkward sip, trying to control the tremor that emanated from her chin.
“Dear, you are shaking like a leaf. This news doesn’t help, I’m sure. You have anyone in Huesden?”
“I don’t think so.”
“ Goet, goet .” Mrs. Deinum’s voice was breathy. “Well, get your things together, but don’t leave just yet, I want to get something for your mother.” She disappeared in the hallway. Mr. Deinum stared past Leen as she tiptoed past him and removed his coat from the hook so she could take hers. She didn’t want him to ask why she was leaving, and she didn’t want to hear more about the bombing either. She didn’t want to speak at all, at the risk of sounding guilty, both for not caring enough about Mr. Deinum’s family or worse, for once again not admitting her theft.
Mrs. Deinum came back, a small folded packet between her fingers. “It’s some salt,” she half–whispered. “Mr. Deinum doesn’t like me to give it away, but I’m sure your Mem could use it.” She started to slip it into Leen’s pocket but Leen quickly grabbed it before she could tuck it in.
“Thank you,” Leen said, flushing heavily. She had to get out. What was behind Mrs. Deinum’s wan smile?
“You be
The kitchen’s rear door opened and Mr. Deinum came in, his back bent to them as he reached out to catch the door before it blew in the wind. “ Ver domme ! Damn wind.”
“Leen is here,” Mrs. Deinum said, feigning a smile.
“Sorry, I didn’t see you,” he said to Leen, ignoring his wife’s covert reminder to watch the swearing. Even from the door Leen could see his eyes were bloodshot. When Leen arrived at the house at 7:30 he’d been awake for hours already to knead ropy knobs of dough, keeping up the same pace even though the bakkerij ’s ordered shelves carried half of what they used to. He put his coat on the back of a chair, the muscles of his forearms wrinkling under his skin. Mrs. Deinum immediately got up and put his coat on the hook next to the door. Leen wasn’t sure if she should be relieved to see him; normally she quite liked his company, but that would make watching his disappointment at learning of her crime that much worse.
“They bombed Huesden,” Mr. Deinum said. He sat down heavily and rubbed his hands together.
“Oh,” Mrs. Deinum said. “Well. Huesden. So they did.” She poured him a cup of tea, and Leen drank hers, still shaking. She’d never been to Huesden, never been anywhere, but she’d seen maps. The Netherlands was so small, nothing was truly far away.
“Tante Gaatske, she lives in Huesden. She is 78. My only living aunt. How long has it been since we’ve seen her?” Mr. Deinum stared at the floor as he asked this.
Mrs. Deinum pursed her lips together. She stirred a half spoonful of sugar into her husband’s tea. Mr. Deinum took the spoon and gave himself another. He put the wet spoon right on the pressed tablecloth, and Leen watched as a light stain began to spread. Mrs. Deinum said softly, “It’s been a long time. Tante Gaatske. It’s been a long time since we visited her.”
Mr. Deinum rubbed the inside of his eyes with his thumb. “They bombed the town hall. Several Resistance were killed.” His voice rose. Leen had never heard him shout. “The bastards! As soon as the Allieds free a city, they bomb it. It’s desperation, that’s what it is.”
Leen did not know what to say. A small part of her wanted to touch Mr. Deinum’s hand, to say that she knew about fear and worry and grief, that she had experienced death in her own family. Hearing of bombs and death was never anything but startling. She knew it was real. Forty–five kilometers away civilians were dead. And it was that much worse for them when Resistance men were killed. The L.O. was not an empty rumor or a hollow sermon; those men were actual, in–the–flesh hope. But even amid the terrible news, she could not forget about the lumpy ball of salt in her pocket. She took another awkward sip, trying to control the tremor that emanated from her chin.
“Dear, you are shaking like a leaf. This news doesn’t help, I’m sure. You have anyone in Huesden?”
“I don’t think so.”
“ Goet, goet .” Mrs. Deinum’s voice was breathy. “Well, get your things together, but don’t leave just yet, I want to get something for your mother.” She disappeared in the hallway. Mr. Deinum stared past Leen as she tiptoed past him and removed his coat from the hook so she could take hers. She didn’t want him to ask why she was leaving, and she didn’t want to hear more about the bombing either. She didn’t want to speak at all, at the risk of sounding guilty, both for not caring enough about Mr. Deinum’s family or worse, for once again not admitting her theft.
Mrs. Deinum came back, a small folded packet between her fingers. “It’s some salt,” she half–whispered. “Mr. Deinum doesn’t like me to give it away, but I’m sure your Mem could use it.” She started to slip it into Leen’s pocket but Leen quickly grabbed it before she could tuck it in.
“Thank you,” Leen said, flushing heavily. She had to get out. What was behind Mrs. Deinum’s wan smile?
“You be
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