Girl in the Blue Coat(55)
“I wish their route didn’t have so many open spaces,” Willem says, walking his bicycle at a slow pace. Still we’re pretending to have a casual conversation. Still, we’re pretending not to notice the violence around us. “It isn’t as good for us.”
No, this route is not good for us. It’s the shortest distance to the railway station, which makes sense. But it also means we’re taking wide streets through open spaces, and long blocks that are uninterrupted by alleyways. There aren’t many places along this route that would make for good cover, and we need good cover. A uniform will only get us partway.
“As we walk along, think about what you see.” Willem’s eyes dart furtively to the left and then the right, sweeping along the horizon. “What route would let you get away with the least chance of someone seeing you?”
“We’ll be passing the Oosterpark,” I suggest. It’s a big, manicured municipal park, and it would be easy for several people to disappear into the Oosterpark’s darkness.
Willem thinks. “But we don’t have any contacts near the park. No one in our group lives there. Once you got there, where would you go?” He’s right. Besides, the Oosterpark doesn’t come until after we will have crossed two canals. It’s not a good idea for an escape route to rely on bridges; they’re too easily closed or blocked.
“It needs to be before Plantage Muidergracht,” I think out loud. “Close enough to get back to Mrs. de Vries’s. We should try to get Mirjam and the carriage as soon as possible after they leave the Schouwburg.”
“I think you’re right. If we get as far as the bridge, we won’t have a chance.”
Focus on escape routes, I tell myself. Focus on how close you are to saving Mirjam. Focus on that one life. I have to focus on Mirjam because I don’t want to think about my third-grade teacher, who I won’t be saving, or Mr. Bierman, who I won’t be saving, or any of Mirjam’s classmates or the entire group of people walking so close to us right now. I won’t be helping any of these people.
“What about here?” Willem stops walking, pointing up to a building like he’s merely interested in showing off the architecture.
We’ve come to an intersection where three streets cross each other, veining off at odd angles so that the sightline cuts off after less than twenty-five meters. If Mirjam and I ran from here, we’d be out of sight in five seconds, and two soldiers—assuming there were only two soldiers, assuming a lot of things—wouldn’t have enough bodies to explore which direction we ran to.
Scanning the buildings lining the street, my eyes land on a butcher shop. A large awning hangs over the entrance, orange, the color of our exiled monarchy. Somehow this seems like a good omen.
“That butcher shop.” I nod toward it. “Under the awning.” The shop itself is tucked back farther from the street than the shops next to it, so it already has more natural cover. Under the awning is a large plaster cow, life-size, more than big enough for one or two people to hide behind.
Willem gives a loud sigh, squatting to the ground in mock annoyance with his bicycle chain, while really taking the time to observe the butcher shop. “Good,” he says. “Between the cow and the way the doorway is built, you would have to know someone was standing there to see them.”
Does he really think it’s good? Do I? Or do I just want it to work? I can’t tell. This intersection Willem and I have chosen—this overhanging awning and this plaster cow—it’s more than one kilometer from the Muiderpoort station. That seems like a long distance. Is it enough space to save one life?
The transport has moved ahead of us now. Solemn, silent rows of people being taken to God knows what, and we stare after them, helpless. Then it’s just me and Willem.
“Are you going to be okay?” he asks. “With your part? With the uniform?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“If you need me to try to put you in contact with anyone… I don’t know that I know any of the right people, but I could—”
“It’s all right, Willem.”
He nods and hesitates before speaking again. “Hanneke, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way,” he begins. “It’s just that getting a uniform is usually the kind of thing we would plan weeks for. I like you. I think you’re a strong person. But Ollie… he is my best friend, and I can’t let anything happen to him. To any of them. You weren’t that eager to help us. I want you to tell me it’s okay for us to put our trust in you.”
I’ve spent two years wanting nobody to trust me, wanting not to be depended on. But now I have seen a transport, and I have seen a deportation center, and I have seen the hopeful handwriting of a frightened girl, and I have seen brave people forced to hide, and mean people become secretly brave, so when I open my mouth, I say to Willem: “You can. I’ll do my best, Willem.”
My throat starts to swell, and I look away, and when I finally look back, Willem is still holding my eyes, appropriately polite and achingly concerned. “I hope everything is okay with you, Hanneke,” he says. “If there’s something you want to talk about, I don’t need to tell the others.”
I bite down hard on my cheek because Willem’s question is so genuine and because, after everything that’s happened in the past twenty-four hours, I already feel so raw.