you’re transmitting, I’ll be hanging around in the square with a girlfriend of mine, chatting and so forth. A couple of lads called Douwe and Henk will be kicking a ball about over on Kuyper Place; any traffic from Apeldoorn is almost certain to go through there. We have three other people as well; if any of them see the cars, they tip me off. Then I take my shoe off and shake it, like this. Like I’ve got a stone in it. That’s my signal to Bibi, who’ll be watching me. She’ll run to the stairs and warn you. Then you shut down immediately and leave through the workshop. Pieter will be out the back, making sure the coast is clear.”
Dart had stopped walking. Trixie turned and looked at him. He had thrust both hands into his coat pockets and was staring at the ground.
“Ernst? What is it?”
He looked up. “Mrs. Grotius will run to the stairs? This is the same Mrs. Grotius, I assume? The elderly woman who has trouble moving about because of the ulcer on her leg? Are you serious? Do you realize —”
He shut up because Trixie Greydanus had a big grin on her face. He was astonished when she slipped her arm inside his and squeezed it.
“Lord love you, Dr. Lubbers,” she said, “for being such a trusting soul. Bibi hasn’t really got anything wrong with her leg. It’s just bandages. She’s as fit as a flea.” She smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t mind betting she’s a faster mover than you are.”
The open road became an avenue between scarred and wounded trees. Now buildings appeared on either side, many of them broken and abandoned. Then, ahead and off to the left, the humped outline of the town itself emerged: a looming church tower, wet light on grey roofs, smokeless chimneys like rows of teeth.
Trixie said, “Right. We’re nearly there. Now then, the quickest way to Pieter and Bibi’s is to turn left at the first crossroads after the station and then go over the bridge by New Church.”
“Yes.”
“But we’re not going that way. We’re going to go straight on, through what they call the Merchants’ Gate.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s always a German checkpoint there.”
Dart looked at her. “What?”
“The Germans are used to me coming and going,” Trixie said. “Nine times out of ten they just wave me through. Unless it’s the skinny one on duty, the one that likes to feel my backside. And they need to get used to you too. They need to get to know your face. This morning, they are going to check you out, have a good look at your papers, all that. Next time, the next few times: the same. After a while, they won’t bother. You’ll become as familiar to them as I am.”
Dart forced a smile. “Do I have to let the skinny one feel my backside too?”
Trixie laughed, a little snort of delight. “I don’t think he’s that way inclined. But you never know.”
In the shelter of the last trees, Trixie stopped and Rosa, as if by arrangement, began to stir. “We need to split up here. You go ahead. I’ll wait a few minutes, then follow you.”
Dart could only nod. The fear was on him suddenly, like a thin coating of ice over his entire skin. Trixie unhooked the medical bag from the handlebars and handed it to him. When their hands touched, she gripped his fingers briefly. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “Really. Try to look as if you’re in a hurry, okay?”
The Merchants’ Gate was a medieval tunnel of stone and brick. From a slanting flagpole above it, the red flag of the Third Reich hung like a big wet rag. The arched entrance to the tunnel was barred by a fat coil of barbed wire slung on a wooden beam. One end of the beam was hinged to the wall; the other had a metal wheel, allowing it to be trundled open. There was a gap just wide enough for a man to walk through. Two German troopers, rifles slung over their shoulders, stood inside the gate, talking. Dart heard one of them, the older, thinner one, laugh. He had to force his legs to take him towards the barrier.
Dart had stopped walking. Trixie turned and looked at him. He had thrust both hands into his coat pockets and was staring at the ground.
“Ernst? What is it?”
He looked up. “Mrs. Grotius will run to the stairs? This is the same Mrs. Grotius, I assume? The elderly woman who has trouble moving about because of the ulcer on her leg? Are you serious? Do you realize —”
He shut up because Trixie Greydanus had a big grin on her face. He was astonished when she slipped her arm inside his and squeezed it.
“Lord love you, Dr. Lubbers,” she said, “for being such a trusting soul. Bibi hasn’t really got anything wrong with her leg. It’s just bandages. She’s as fit as a flea.” She smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t mind betting she’s a faster mover than you are.”
The open road became an avenue between scarred and wounded trees. Now buildings appeared on either side, many of them broken and abandoned. Then, ahead and off to the left, the humped outline of the town itself emerged: a looming church tower, wet light on grey roofs, smokeless chimneys like rows of teeth.
Trixie said, “Right. We’re nearly there. Now then, the quickest way to Pieter and Bibi’s is to turn left at the first crossroads after the station and then go over the bridge by New Church.”
“Yes.”
“But we’re not going that way. We’re going to go straight on, through what they call the Merchants’ Gate.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s always a German checkpoint there.”
Dart looked at her. “What?”
“The Germans are used to me coming and going,” Trixie said. “Nine times out of ten they just wave me through. Unless it’s the skinny one on duty, the one that likes to feel my backside. And they need to get used to you too. They need to get to know your face. This morning, they are going to check you out, have a good look at your papers, all that. Next time, the next few times: the same. After a while, they won’t bother. You’ll become as familiar to them as I am.”
Dart forced a smile. “Do I have to let the skinny one feel my backside too?”
Trixie laughed, a little snort of delight. “I don’t think he’s that way inclined. But you never know.”
In the shelter of the last trees, Trixie stopped and Rosa, as if by arrangement, began to stir. “We need to split up here. You go ahead. I’ll wait a few minutes, then follow you.”
Dart could only nod. The fear was on him suddenly, like a thin coating of ice over his entire skin. Trixie unhooked the medical bag from the handlebars and handed it to him. When their hands touched, she gripped his fingers briefly. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “Really. Try to look as if you’re in a hurry, okay?”
The Merchants’ Gate was a medieval tunnel of stone and brick. From a slanting flagpole above it, the red flag of the Third Reich hung like a big wet rag. The arched entrance to the tunnel was barred by a fat coil of barbed wire slung on a wooden beam. One end of the beam was hinged to the wall; the other had a metal wheel, allowing it to be trundled open. There was a gap just wide enough for a man to walk through. Two German troopers, rifles slung over their shoulders, stood inside the gate, talking. Dart heard one of them, the older, thinner one, laugh. He had to force his legs to take him towards the barrier.
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