Chapter 17 - Dark Days

Joris hasn't seen Hendrik since Nero was taken. Hendrik caught a cold and had to stay in bed. Lindert left, so Hendrik was happy. Hendrik saw a plane drop weapons and Joris was there too. Hendrik blamed Lindert for Nero's death. Joris told Hendrik about the dropping. Uncle Kor found Joris and scolded him. Joris got sick and told his mom about the dropping. Uncle Kor left and praised Joris. Christmas was quiet. They went skating. They had to search for fuel and food. They had discussions and sang. They had limited light and warmth. Chapter 17, Dark Days Joris hadn't seen Hendrik for a long time, ever since Nero had been taken. Hendrik had felt listless until he finally caught a cold and had to stay in bed for weeks. Now he was better again, and feeling very pleased because Lindert had left home that day on some mysterious errand. He hated his brother. He'd been able to do exactly as he liked that day, for Lindert hadn't been there to tell on him. He'd stayed up late, reading by a candle, and then... Then he had heard the noise of a low-flying plane and had looked out of the window. As soon as he had seen the little parachutes falling from the plane, he'd run out of the house and across the meadows, climbing fences and jumping ditches. In his excitement, he was not looking where he was going, either, and he collided with Joris. The two foreheads bumped together and the boys groaned and rubbed at sore spots. Then they laughed. Did you see that? asked Hendrik. He what? Joris was cautious. The weapon dropping, of course, said Hendrik. I never thought they'd be going so close to the house. Luckily, Lindert wasn't there. Joris smiled and let Hendrik think it was luck. I suppose you noticed it, too, Hendrik continued. But how come you were here in time? The watchman is further away. I suppose your people had something to do with it? Oh, no, said Joris hastily. I... I... I heard a cart creaking. Oh, it was a cart, was there? Where did it go? Joris did not know what to say. He knew Hendrik was not a traitor, but he felt sure he could not keep a secret. It's all over now, he said. We'd better go home. Sorry about your dog, Hendrik. Hendrik said nothing. He kicked at a lump of ice, which tinkled in the stillness. It was Lindert's fault, said Hendrik, in a choking voice. He could very well have asked the German for permission to keep Nero. They let him have a motorbike, didn't they? But Lindert hated my dog. He always did. Nero hated him, too. The last time Lindert hit Nero, Nero bit him. This thought seems to give Hendrik some consolation. Joris slapped his arms to get warm. He was chilled through. Let's go home, he said, through chattering teeth. Tomorrow, come and see me. We'll do something. Listen, he added, suddenly anxious to console Hendrik. When Freya has pups, I'll give you one. Honest? asked Hendrik, his face brightening. Word of truth, said Joris. Hendrik ran home happily. Joris hurried on. It was a good thing he had intercepted Hendrik before he stumbled into the hiding place of the weapon. Joris felt that he had contributed to the cause. He'd been a sort of watchman, guarding the wagon's rear. He was trying to keep himself warm with these cloud reflections. And his collar was gripped from behind by a rough hand and a voice hissed at him. So, young man, what business brings you out here? It was Uncle Kor, of course, who had overtaken him. Dirt Jam was with him. Joris saw no other men. Perhaps they were still in the giant to guard the weapons. Uncle Kor seemed to be very angry, as Joris appeared. If I had wanted you around, I would have invited you, he growled. This isn't a child's game. Next time, stay in bed. And he shook Joris roughly by the shoulder. Joris felt crushed. He saw Dirt Jam looking reproachfully at him, or perhaps he just imagined it. He wished he was fourteen and Dirt Jam ten. It wasn't fair. Well, he wouldn't tell him about Hendrik. No, sir, they'd have been in a nice stew if he hadn't been there to send Hendrik home. Perhaps Joris had saved all their lives. They might never know it. So they were in heaven, and then they'd be sorry. He crawled into bed, cold and deeply offended. The next day, he had a fever and had to stay in bed. His uncle showed no sympathy. Joris confessed his escapade to Mother in tears. Mother said he'd done wrong, but if he was sorry, she was sure Uncle Kor would forgive him. Joris tried to be sorry, but he spent his time imagining himself rescuing Dirt Jam and Uncle Kor from dangerous situations. In the end, they always said, Joris, without you, we could not have managed. Unfortunately, he knew that there wasn't the slightest chance of such things happening, and so he finally cried himself to sleep. Soon after the weapon-dropping, Uncle Kor left. Before he went, he made his cease with Joris. I know you didn't mean badly, Uncle Kor said, standing beside Joris who was fingering his geranium somewhere in Brazil and watching the girls throwing snowballs. Probably I'd have done the same thing in your place. But we have to be so careful, you see. I had to be severe with you, Joris nodded. Perhaps Uncle Kor felt about him the way he felt about Hendrik. He told his uncle what had happened that night and how he had sent Hendrik home. Uncle Kor listened with flattering attention. It means lean Dirt Chinderhans will have heard about the dropping, he said. From what you tell me, that boy won't be able to hold his tongue. But I can't do any harm now. The weapons have all found their destination. You handled it very cleverly. Perhaps next time I shall let you in on my secrets, Uncle Kor smiled. It was such a radiant smile that it seemed to penetrate and dissolve all Joris' hard feelings. He flushed and grabbed one of Uncle Kor's hands impulsively. Don't let them catch you, he said. I couldn't bear it. Uncle Kor's face grew gray. That's in God's hands, he said. Then he put his arms around Joris and held him close for a moment. Goodbye, my lad. God bless you. And he was gone. Joris never forgot that talk. After Uncle Kor had left, Dirt Jam became normal again, to Joris' relief. Christmas was a quiet day. Father chopped a branch from an evergreen tree and set it up in the living room. Mother hung some Christmas ornaments on it and flipped to the strongest twigs three little candles, which were left over from last year. She put extra fuel in the stove and opened the last of her preserves. Father read the Bible story of Jesus' birth and they all sang carols. Far away, in different parts of Holland, where bombs and cannonades had done their destructive work, homeless people wandered like Joseph and Mary on the first Christmas night. Babies were born in cellars and wrapped in rags, and the stars in the sky shone as brightly as on the first Christmas. After Christmas, the cold intensified. A biting east wind swept over the boulders, bringing flurries of snow. The children went skating on the canal and on the frozen lake. They pulled Trixie in their sled, Koba and Betteach took a chair to hold on to, and scrambled into outgrown skates of Dirt Jan and Joris. They shrieked with excitement and came back with glowing eyes and red cheeks. Hildebrand borrowed Father's skates, but he could only use them after dark. Then he skated by himself on the deserted lake, with only the scratching of his iron blades on the ice to disturb the silence. Sometimes Rihanna and Ingle came to visit the watchmen, bringing their skates. Then Mother made it into a party. She served sugar beet pulp with whipped sugar beet foam, which looked just like peaches and cream, and they all played games. But the war cast a shadow, even on such merry moments. The papers were filled with death notices of people who had simply not been able to get enough to eat. Besides food, the greatest need in Holland was fuel. Armies of shivering people left their home at night and went searching for things to burn. Many families had already sacrificed their furniture to keep the stove going. Meanwhile, they attacked the unused railway tracks and chopped off the heavy wooden cleavers, which they dragged home. They hacked whole pieces of asphalt off the road. They took wooden gates and signposts and park fences and whatever they could manage if they chopped down trees. Holland began to look as shorn as a boy with his own head. These were difficult days for Mother. The mill was crowded and the work took twice as long because she did not have the proper tools. It was also hard to make the food stretch. The railroads had been halved because the waterways were frozen, which stopped the only remaining transport. But it was a cozy time, too. Hildebrand and Father had long discussions after meals, drinking Mother's acorn coffee and smoking self-rolled cigarettes made from Father's homegrown spackle. Mother used every minute of daylight to clean or sew, and the little girls played quietly at her feet. Joris and Dirk-Jan listened to the arguments of the men and put in their own comments now and again. Father would sometimes say, Oh, be quiet. You're too young to understand that. But Hildebrand always took them seriously. No, let them think, he'd say. That's good for them. They're going to have their part to play in building a new Holland. The more they think and argue, the better. It made Dirk-Jan and Joris feel important. When the sun shone through the little windows, forming the cigarette smoke into white phantoms and setting glass and chimes sparkling, the little room seemed as an arc of peace, but Freya's bark would suddenly interrupt it. Hildebrand would disappear up the stairs with a few strides of his long legs. Mother would clear away the extra plate with trembling fingers, waiting for the knock on the door, and then it was usually only the paper or a woman looking for food or a farmer to speak to Father. In the evenings, when no visitors were expected because of curfew, the family sat down around the kitchen stove. The only light would come from a thread of yarn dipped in some oil that floated in a glass of water. It was all they had now. Mother could not possibly sew, nor could anyone read, so they told stories and sang. Hildebrand had a good tenor voice that harmonized well with Mother's soprano on Father's bass. He knew many songs, which he taught to the others. The children sang the refrains. Hildebrand had read so much. He had all sorts of interesting tales to tell. Years afterwards, when the children were used to plenty of light and warmth and freedom and had television to look at, they remembered those evenings with nostalgia. It was around this time that Father had a visit from the folder masters. They were discussing some improvements Father had suggested. Mr. Decker, a modern millwright, had applied the new knowledge gained through the manufacture of airplanes to the making of more efficient mill wings. Father had proposed that the watchmen should acquire these Decker wings. The folder masters discussed this with him, but they were all three cautious farmers, and they balked at the money. You are foolish, Father warned them. You'll never be so rich again. The cities are bringing... You are foolish, Father warned them. You'll never be so rich again. The cities are bringing you their wealth in return for food. This is the time to do it. To Father's astonishment and dismay, they told him that it would be a waste of money, for they had already decided to electrify the mill. Later that evening, when the folder masters had left, Father discussed the visit in front of the stove. They are bent on scrapping the watchmen, he said sadly. I think Schindler-Hansen has been boasting it was a waste of money. They are bent on scrapping the watchmen, he said sadly. I think Schindler-Hansen has been boasting it was a waste of money. No one likes being called old-fashioned. It would be a shame, said Hildegrant. He got to love the mill, and Father was finding a helper in him. At first, he had thought that such a bookish person could not learn anything so practical, but Hildegrant proved to be quite fixed-dressed, and Father was beginning to rely on him. I know, Father said. Windmills have meant so much to Holland, said Hildegrant. They made us a first-rate power. How? asked Sturgeon. How? asked Sturgeon. Well, we had a flat country open to the skies. When Lee Water improved our windmill, he really created the first industrial machine before steam had been invented. It saw mills, oil mills, and paper mills, among many others. The great Tsar Peter of Russia came to Zandam to learn how to build ships. Our mastery at sea was due to the quantity of ships we had because of our mills, and now we want to scrap them. I don't think our farmers waste any time thinking of Holland's greatness, said Father with a sad smile. They want to save money and trouble. Well, said Hildegrant, I'm surprised that the Nord in our farms haven't been in trouble yet with the present scarcity of electricity. Father sighed. Older mills have priority, he explained. Mother and the boys had listened in stricken silence. What would happen to them if the mill were electrified? Father would not stay on the watchman. They knew that. He was a windmiller, born and bred. He would never be happy handling an electric motor. It meant leaving. And to the Verhagens, whose roots were deep in this particular spot of the earth, that meant a tearing up, which would never stop hurting. Joris wanted to pray about it, but to whom? God was busy with the war. Joris did not want to distract his attention for fear that Germany might win. And Our Lady, what would she know about machines? Then he remembered St. Victor, the patron saint of metals, and he knew whom to pray to. It was an interesting story about St. Victor, but he had forgotten it. Father, tell us again about St. Victor, he begged. Yes, yes. I mean, yes, yes! Woo! Sorry! Claimed clambered the girls, leaving their dolls and gathering about Father's knees. Father was trying to knot a fishnet, a difficult task in the dim light, so he willingly let it drop. And said, All right, then. He pushed his forefinger against Trixie's nose and began, You know, St. Victor lived in Marseilles in the third century. His feast day is July 21st. He was a soldier in the Roman army. Then he became a Christian and a corn miller. In those days, windmills had only two wings. How only two? asked Koba. Well, just one straight stick that turned around its middle, like this. And Father, grabbing his pencil, which stuck out of Hildebrand's rusted pocket, and twisting it around his finger. He was a saintly miller. He never cheated, and he was always praying. So the devil came to tempt him. I'm scared of the devil, said Betsy, putting her hands over her ears. Koba noticed her. Don't be silly, it's only a story. Betsy's hands worked on him. Poor devil, said Father. He hadn't much of a chance with St. Victor, for St. Victor dreamed of a mill with wings in the shape of a cross. When he woke up, he immediately set to work, putting the other two wings on the mill. After that, the devil stayed away. What happened to St. Victor then? asked Doris. Oh, he destroyed heath and idols, and was condemned to be ground up in his own mill, but the mill refused to grind, so the soldiers cut off his head instead. Then they heard the angels sing, St. Victor, you have won. Weren't they German soldiers? asked Koba, awed. No Roman ones, but it came to the same thing. I'm not scared of the devil, announced Trixie suddenly. I'm not scared of the wolf either. I'll just huff and puff and I'll blow them all down. Silverman took her on his knees. You and I, he said, we'll conquer the world. Will you marry me? asked Trixie. Don't you have a husband already? Silverman reminded her in a shocked voice. Oh, no, I lost him, said Trixie. Lost him? Yes, he fell out of my pocket and I couldn't find him, so will you marry me? I'll have to think it over, promised Silverman. That's an important decision. Okay, it's bedtime, announced Mario. Only a little more minute, argued Trixie, leaning back luxuriously, against Koban's wavy coat. No little minute, you rascal. Hey, Koban, Betsy, you're going. Oh, well, if you're going to be crossed, then Trixie's flipping off Silverman's knees and taking one of those outstretched hands. Just when I was comfortable, she complained, but as she left the kitchen, the others heard her say, we're having a cozy time. We'll think of it when we die, won't we? You