They sat, and she dived straight into a conversation about her life and the new job she had just got. Changing jobs was not unusual for Ingrid, who never settled and somehow seemed to upset people wherever she went. Held listened as a dreary-looking woman brought him a glass of water and his usual sandwich.
As she trilled on, Ingrid’s enthusiasm about her latest job was unmistakable. “I have my own office and everyone, especially Major Heinrich von Strauss, has been so nice to me.”
Held, who had only been half-listening until that moment, stopped eating. When she took a second to draw from her cigarette, he broached his worst fear. “Ingrid, are you working for… them?”
She blew out a blue plume, responding indignantly, “Oh for heaven’s sake. There’s no ‘us’ and ‘them’ anymore. And don’t tell me you’ve been listening to all the rumors and gossip. You are a professor, and I thought you’d have more sense. These are just ordinary people. Besides, they like the Dutch, and we’re just like them.”
The two German soldiers who had seated themselves close by laughed loudly, and Held shifted in his chair. Ingrid glanced across at them and flashed a bright smile.
He took a minute to steady himself. He looked out the window and observed a young family with heads downcast, who he pondered may well be Jewish, were obviously trying to not draw attention as they made their slow amble down the street. What would Marcus tell his daughter if he were still alive? Held knew she had a strong will and could be very stubborn. If he wasn’t careful, he could push her in the wrong direction if he attempted to control her. Closing his eyes, the voice of the screaming Jewish woman from the day before came back to haunt him. No, he had to say something. Lowering his tone and looking directly at her, he nodded toward the young family.
“How can you condone this?”
She batted away smoke from her face. “Uncle Josef! It’s all going to be all right! I’m thinking of joining the party myself. If we all just do what they want, everything will be fine. Heinrich told me so.”
Held continued with concern, knowing how gullible his niece could be. “Jewish students are unable to go to school.”
Ingrid became defensive. “Heinrich says they have their own separate schools.”
Held was mute.
Ingrid took a sip of her own tea and pouted. They sat for a long moment. Then to break the awkward silence between them, she added, “We have nothing to worry about. You have nothing to worry about. You are not,” she lowered her voice, “one of them.”
Held tried to understand. “I’m not one of them?”
Ingrid’s tone became tiresome; she continued as if talking to a small child. “Our heritage is clean! We are pure! We are not vermin.”
Held could hardly believe what he was hearing, and his concern shifted to anger. “Vermin? People like my neighbor… a kind woman… a piano teacher… Why would anyone think someone like her was vermin?”
Ingrid crushed her cigarette into a battered metal ashtray and automatically lit another one as she became interested. “She is Jewish? And still living in your neighborhood? Has she registered? She could go to prison or worse if she hasn’t.”
Held felt his anger move suddenly to fear. As he lifted the glass of water to his lips, his hand trembled slightly. He allowed himself a second to answer, watching a wayward fly land between them on the table and start to rub its back legs together. He added, quietly, “She teaches music to local children. She has an illness that means she is afraid to leave her home, afraid of the outside world.”
Ingrid screwed up her eyes in thought. “Still, she should have been moved by now.”
Held desperately wanted to change the subject. “I don’t know anything about that.”
Ingrid took on a condescending air. “Well, why would you?” she bristled. Then, catching the attention of the German soldiers, she blew smoke in their direction and one winked at her in return.
Held pushed his uneaten plate of food away in quiet disgust. He suddenly felt sick and hot, as if the walls of the café were closing in on him. He should say something more about Mrs. Epstein, but he didn’t know what. He could tell Ingrid that he had made a mistake, but he was a terrible liar, and she would surely know. Besides, that would bring more attention to their conversation. He looked at her warily; she was preoccupied, flirting with the soldiers. She was flighty and would probably forget what they had spoken of. Besides, he was sure Ingrid wouldn’t say anything to anyone. She wasn’t callous after all. She was Dutch, like they all were. Naïve, perhaps but not cruel.
He stood up. “I must go.”
Ingrid seemed relieved and smiled in a placating kind of a way. “Oh, Uncle Josef! I wish you’d found someone to take care of you since Aunt Sarah died. Remember, just keep your head down, as you always do, and stay cheerful. I think if you give it a chance, you’ll like the new Amsterdam.”
Held placed money on the table. The continued searing heat coursing through his veins made his overcoat unusually heavy as he pulled it on and his mouth bone dry.
Ingrid jumped up and kissed him on the cheek, apparently leaving another bright red lipstick mark because she giggled at her handiwork. “I better wash that off, or someone might think you have a girlfriend!” She took a napkin, licked it, and scrubbed his cheek to his significant discomfort, but Held stood there somberly, reeling from the conversation and utterly demoralized.
Finally, he was able to move his feet and slowly make his way out to the street. As he stepped into the chilly day, the cold gave him no comfort. He turned to look back at Ingrid. He should go back, say something more. But before he could act, he noticed she had moved over to the table of the German soldiers and started to flirt openly.
Held walked home, preoccupied as a sickening concern took hold of him. There was so much evil around. Could it be coming to darken his own front door? He thought about Ingrid, the frightened child who had visited him not long after she had lost her mother. Wearing a simple checkered blue dress and a brown cardigan with a tiny hole in the elbow, she’d clung to her doll in his kitchen, looking for a hero. But he had been ill-equipped to take care of a young girl, too sad, still grieving Sarah’s death. He had been more than happy to have other relatives step in and take her away. The hollow pain of his own sorrow was too great to bear when reflected through the grief in the eyes of a child. He remembered holding her small hand in his before she boarded a train, taking her away to another family member. As she waved goodbye through the window, he’d wondered who would repair the hole in her cardigan now.
What if his complete inability to care for her had let her down? Was it his fault there was such a huge hole inside her that she could only fill it with the evil that now waited for them around every corner? Was this how it started, the disillusionment of one’s soul, an easy target for evil that came disguised as elitist acceptence?
As he turned into his street, his pace quickened. He needed to get home, needed to breathe, needed to feel safe again.
He entered the house, took off his coat, and walked straight into the kitchen. Ignoring Kat’s plaintive meows, he opened the large wooden shutters. Icy air swirled in and filled the whole room. He stood with his eyes closed, desperately wanting relief. As the chill finally found its way through the thick fabric of his trousers, it took hold of his bones and calmed them, and he started to think clearly.