It certainly wasn’t easy, though. Michiel went to see Jack the pilot every other day. He had to come up with countless excuses to get his hands on food. Not to mention all the reasons for his frequent absences. As the mayor’s son, it wasn’t too hard for him to buy food from the local farmers. He didn’t even mind that it made such a big dent in his savings, which he’d earned over the past year by doing various chores. After all, it was for a good cause, and everyone said money wouldn’t be worth much after the war anyway. The problem was that his parents mustn’t hear from someone else that he was buying food and not bringing it home. To be on the safe side, he sometimes managed to find a few extra bits and pieces and take them home. He also made sure he went to the more distant farms, buying from farmers who didn’t have much to do with the village.
All told, it was quite a job. But Michiel was delighted that the Germans hadn’t come for him. So it seemed Dirk hadn’t given his name away. Michiel was grateful to him for that. Maybe, he thought, Dirk had given them Bertus’s name because he had nothing to hide, so they wouldn’t find anything at his place. That meant he would eventually be released. So Dirk must be counting on me to keep Jack alive, he thought proudly. Oh no, that wasn’t right. As far as Dirk knew, Michiel had taken the letter straight to Bertus. Had Dirk caved in so quickly because he thought that then they’d come for Bertus before Michiel had delivered the letter? Deep down, Michiel thought it was cowardly of Dirk to give in that soon, but he tried to push that thought away. What would he have done himself if they’d knocked out his teeth—or worse?
Jack wasn’t the easiest of patients either. He was bored and he was also worried that the wound in his shoulder wasn’t healing more quickly. The circumstances were far from ideal, of course. That cold, draughty hideout, with a heap of leaves for a bed—no government inspector would have given this hospital a glowing report.
Michiel did what he could to help. To start with, he took a few English books from his father’s bookshelf, ones that wouldn’t be missed too soon. He didn’t pay much attention to the subjects. So Jack was puzzled at first to receive a book about natural remedies in the previous century, with beautiful illustrations of various types of medical baths, and even a sealed envelope inside for students over the age of eighteen (containing anatomically correct illustrations of the parts of the body that help you to work out if your new baby is a boy or a girl—oh well, it had been published back in 1860), along with a book about steam-driven pumping stations, and—thank goodness!—a detective story by Agatha Christie, plus an essay about the internal combustion engine, and a few other odds and ends. Jack came to the conclusion that Mayor Van Beusekom must have a wide range of interests, and he read the books so often that he learnt them practically by heart, as he was thrilled finally to be able to read something in his own language again.
Michiel also tried to make life a little more comfortable for his “guest”. There was no way he could carry a mattress to the hideout without being noticed, but he brought some more old blankets and even managed to take along a folding chair for Jack. As time went by, he also provided planks, nails and a hammer, and on a day when there were some woodcutters nearby and no one would notice a bit of extra noise, he cobbled together a door to close off the chilly entrance to the hideout. It was a shame Jack couldn’t do this work himself as a distraction, but his wounded shoulder would not permit it.
In spite of all Michiel’s efforts, though, Jack became depressed. His shoulder injury was getting worse rather than better. Just once, Michiel had been able to rustle up a roll of clean bandages from somewhere, and he and Jack, both equally incompetent, had patched up the wound. Michiel had been rather shocked at the sight of it. When it refused to heal and the dressing got dirtier and dirtier, he realized that the shoulder needed professional medical treatment. But how? He didn’t entirely trust any of the doctors in De Vlank or the nearby villages. The district nurse? He didn’t know her that well. Ah, nurse…! Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? His own dear, exasperating sister, Erica, had been a trainee nurse in Zwolle last year. That was all over now, of course, but she certainly knew more about nursing than Michiel did.
Could he trust Erica?
Of course he could trust her—what was he thinking? He was becoming so suspicious that he’d soon start wondering if his own mother was a German spy.
Would Erica want to help?
Would Jack want her to?
Was it a good idea to give away the location to Erica?
Was there some way he could take Jack from the hiding place for a short while?
Hey, but how had Jack actually got to the hideout in the first place, with his leg in plaster and his bashed-up arm? He asked the pilot.
“Don’t remind me,” he said with a wince. He told Michiel how Dirk had dragged him through the trees on his side, pulling him by his good leg, and said he’d rather be tortured by the Gestapo than go through that hell again.
That was just a bad joke, but the journey clearly hadn’t been pleasant.
“The war will be over soon,” said Michiel. “It’s been going on in the Netherlands for exactly four and a half years and one day.”
“Oh,” said Jack. “And how many minutes?”
His Dutch was coming along nicely. Michiel had recently brought him a book by Philip Oppenheimer to add to his collection of reading material. They had an English copy of the book at home and also one that had been translated into Dutch, so he’d borrowed both books for Jack. In his fight against boredom, Jack was studying the books eagerly, although he’d given up on finding any useful natural remedies in the book about the healing powers of bathing.
“We need to bring in someone to look at your shoulder,” said Michiel.
“We can’t,” said Jack firmly.
“We have to,” stated Michiel even more firmly.
Jack shrugged, which was so painful that he blurted out a few words that were anything but firm.
“You see what I mean?” said Michiel.
Jack glowered at the grubby dressing.
“How do we do that? Bring doctor from… um… Deutsch army hospital?”
“My sister,” said Michiel.
“Your sister?” said Jack, clearly thinking he’d misunderstood.
“Yes, my sister. She’s a nurse.”
He didn’t add that Erica’s medical experience didn’t extend far beyond emptying chamber pots and inserting thermometers.
“You can trust her?”
Michiel looked offended. “Yes, of course,” he said.
“I mean,” Jack said, “can she carry the—what’s the word?—responsibility?”
Michiel had to think about that for a moment. Could Erica handle the responsibility? All she ever seemed to do was giggle with her friends, which often descended into fits of helpless laughter that sent Michiel running for refuge. When she wasn’t doing that, she was endlessly brushing her hair in front of the mirror. She did help their mother, though, he had to admit. And there was her work with the aid committee too. But real responsibility, like this? No, she wasn’t cut out for it.
“Well then,” said Jack, “it’s not possible.”
“Wait a moment,” said Michiel. “If you don’t wear that uniform jacket, but an ordinary overcoat that I’ll bring along for you, and if you keep your gob shut, she won’t work out that you’re a Brit. And if I blindfold her before we reach the woods and when we leave, then it should be safe enough to risk it.”
“My gob? What’s a gob?”
“Your trap.”
“What’s a trap?”
“The thing you have to keep shut.”
“Must be my ears,” Jack decided. “When you talk, I shut my ears?”
Michiel laughed.
“Hey,” said Jack, “your sister. She does exactly what you say? English sisters do not do what English brothers say.”
“Yes. I think so,” said Michiel, more casually than he felt.
*
Amazingly enough, Erica agreed to do it. Maybe just out of curiosity, but she said yes.
“A blindfold! Sounds like quite an adventure,” she said, “but don’t you think it’ll look a bit strange if anyone sees me walking down the street in a blindfold?”
“I won’t put it on until we’re in the woods.”
“But there’s no need. When we’re in the woods, I’ll keep my eyes shut and we can walk arm in arm, as if we’re a courting couple, and…”
“I’m not going out courting with my sister,” said Michiel.
“I don’t think you’ve ever been courting with anyone, have you?” said Erica. “But it doesn’t matter. It’s just pretending! Who’s this patient anyway?”
“You’re not allowed to know. I mean, there’s no need for you to know. The more you know, the more dangerous it is. And you have to promise me you won’t say a word to him.”
Michiel’s voice was serious.
He sounds so grown up, thought Erica. He seems almost like a man now.
“I promise,” she said.
“Do you promise you’ll keep your eyes closed in the woods too?”
“I swear on my honour.”
She held up her hand as if taking an oath, but Michiel wasn’t convinced. He’d seen Erica make promises so many times, with varying results. Well, he’d just have to risk it.
“Do you have any bandages?” he asked.
Erica nodded.
“Where from?”
“Oh, I have my sources.”
“OK, you don’t have to tell me everything—I don’t tell you everything either.”
The next morning, Michiel took a very old coat to the hideout, one that a hen had once hatched twelve chicks on. That afternoon, he and Erica set off for the woods. Michiel took the usual precautions, which had become a habit by now. They went the long way around, he paid close attention to who saw them, and he didn’t head into the woods until he’d taken a good look around and made sure no one else was nearby. Erica thought it was excessive. What did it matter if someone saw them go into the woods? But then Michiel had always been more of a fusspot than her, so she left it up to him. He’d only ignore her objections anyway.
In the woods, they hid their bicycles in the undergrowth and continued on foot. Awkwardly, Michiel held out his arm for his sister.
In some ways, he seems more like he’s forty, but in other ways he’s like a ten-year-old, thought Erica. Her brother kept looking to check that she had her eyes closed. She did her best.
After a while, Michiel whispered, “Now get down. That’s right, on your knees. You can open your eyes if you promise to look straight ahead, at me. I’ll lead the way.”
Crawling forward on their stomachs, the procession of two people plus two bags reached the hiding place. Michiel announced their approach with a poor imitation of a blackbird. The response was the song of a finch, which sounded just like the real thing.
When Jack saw Erica, he exclaimed in English, “Oh boy!” Which actually meant he was delighted to see a girl at long last.
Michiel gave Jack’s good leg a warning kick, after which the pilot kept his mouth firmly shut. With her skilful hands, Erica began to undo the bandage. When Michiel had done the same a week before, Jack had yelped and groaned, but this time he didn’t make a sound.
She must be really good, thought Michiel proudly. He didn’t realize that a man doesn’t like to complain in the presence of a pretty girl—and it had certainly never occurred to him that Erica might be a pretty girl.
Erica cleaned the wound with cotton wool, which she moistened with some transparent liquid from a bottle. Then she sprinkled a disinfectant powder on the raw wound and covered it with a piece of sterilized gauze. One clean bandage—and Jack looked great. Certainly much better than half an hour before. In fact, he seemed almost blissful and was clearly struggling to keep his mouth shut.
“How long has his leg been in that plaster?” asked Erica.
“Five weeks,” said Michiel. “It has to stay on for another three.”
Erica gave a professional nod.
“I’ll take it off for him when it’s time,” she said. “The dressing needs replacing at least once a week too. I’ll be back next week.”
Jack nodded enthusiastically.
“Right. Forward march,” said Michiel grumpily. He thought there was too much talking going on and he didn’t like the idea of a visiting schedule either. He’d have to have a word with Erica later.
They set off and reached home without any hitches.
“Visiting him every week? That’s out of the question,” said Michiel.
“What did you say?” Erica replied vaguely.
“You’re not going back there again.”
“Why not? Didn’t I do a good job?”
“Of course you did. But it’s already risky enough that I have to go there regularly.”
“Fine. You’re the boss.”
Michiel gave her a searching look.
For once, she had a serious expression on her face. She knew she’d done something worthwhile, something important. And she’d been stunned to find out that her “little baby brother”, as she often teasingly called him, had been doing such dangerous things for some weeks. He really is a man now, she thought. Erica gave her brother’s hand a squeeze and went to her room.
Sometimes having a sister isn’t so bad, thought Michiel.
*
Having his wound treated improved not only Jack’s physical condition, but also his state of mind. When Michiel went to see him two days later, he was unusually cheerful and declared that he felt as right as rain. There was only one thing still worrying him: his mum. You see, his mother lived in Nottingham and he was the only family she had left. Two sisters before him had died at birth, and it was all very sad. He’d only just made it himself, and could Michiel imagine how his mother had tried to protect him from every little gust of wind, as if he were some delicate little flower? That was why he’d volunteered for the air force—he’d had enough of being mollycoddled. Well, actually, there was another reason too.
“What was that?” asked Michiel.
Jack’s Dutch failed him. Resorting to English, he said, “My father died at Dunkirk, at the beginning of the war, in 1940. He sailed across the Channel in a tiny little boat to bring soldiers back to England from France. You know, when the Krauts were racing across France and tens of thousands of British soldiers were caught in a trap.”
Michiel nodded.
“Bomb hit the boat,” said Jack. “Bull’s eye. Never found a trace of it. I was devastated, but the grief almost destroyed my mother.”
“And now she’s worried about you.”
“Worried? I bet she won’t have slept a wink, she’ll be wasting away, her hair will be completely grey… She’ll be the most miserable wretch in all of England. They must have reported me as missing. That usually means you’ve bitten the dust, but sometimes a message comes to say that a missing person has been captured and is a prisoner of war.”
“So your mother will be waiting on the doorstep of the post office every morning?”
“Well, messages generally come via the Red Cross, so it’s their doorstep she’ll be sitting on. But I can’t bear to think of her worrying like that. Do you know of any way I could get a letter to her?”
Michiel gave a deep sigh. Looking after a pilot wasn’t easy.
“I’ll think about it,” he said. “How did you like my sister?”
Jack clicked his tongue. “Jolly nice,” he said. “And my shoulder feels a lot better now. Such a shame I wasn’t allowed to speak to her.”
“That’s life in an occupied country for you,” said Michiel philosophically. “Does His Majesty have any further requests?”
“No, this is the finest hotel in the world. Just my mother, if there’s anything you can do…”
“I’ll think about it,” repeated Michiel.
Then he dropped down onto all fours and began the journey back through the trees.
Good heavens, how on earth was he going to get a letter to England? Obviously, since the occupation there’d been no postal service with Germany’s enemies. He could try to contact the resistance, of course. He suspected that Dries Grotendorst had something to do with the underground, but he didn’t want to confide in him. “A good resistance fighter is lonely. He’s alone with his task and his secrets,” he kept repeating to himself. But he couldn’t get the image of Jack’s mother going to the Red Cross every day out of his mind. What could he do? He knew of one possibility, but was it a good idea? It was the first thought that had come to mind when Jack mentioned the letter to England: Uncle Ben. He knew all about escape routes—so he must be able to get a letter into England, mustn’t he? But still he wasn’t keen on the idea of telling yet another person about Jack.
The pilot persisted, though, and eventually Michiel gave in and said, “Go on then. Write the letter. And make sure you don’t say anything that could be a clue to where you are.”
“OK,” said Jack, and he wrote that he was alive and kicking and not in German hands and that he’d been slightly injured but not too badly, and that his mother had nothing to worry about, as “a fine young man” of sixteen was taking excellent care of him. Michiel was rather flattered by that last sentence, but it wasn’t essential, so it had to be scrapped. He told Jack that, no matter how alive and kicking he was (although he wouldn’t be doing much kicking with that plaster on his leg), all he could do for now was write out the letter again.
Two days later, Uncle Ben turned up at the Van Beusekoms’ house, and Michiel asked him to go out for a walk with him. “You told me a while back about escape routes for British soldiers. So… would you be able to get a letter to England?”
Uncle Ben gave Michiel a searching look.
“What kind of letter?”
“You know, words on paper.”
Uncle Ben smiled. But not for long. His expression became serious as he gripped Michiel’s arm. “You’re not telling me you’re involved with the underground, are you?”
“No. It’s just that there’s a friend of a brother of a friend of mine who wants to get the letter sent. Can you help or not?”
“So who is this friend with a brother?”
“Right. Then you can’t help,” said Michiel, who definitely didn’t want to be interrogated. “The weather’s getting chilly, don’t you think?”
“Well, well,” said Uncle Ben, “you’ve certainly got what it takes, haven’t you? Hand over the letter.”
Michiel took it from his pocket.
“There you go.”
“Thank you.”
Not another word was spoken about the transaction.
“The letter is on its way,” Michiel said to Jack. Then he gasped. “Your bandage has been changed!”
Jack nodded meekly.
“Erica?”
“Yes.”
“The rotten liar. How did she manage to find you?”
“No idea,” said Jack. “Probably she did not close her eyes last time. She thought I need new bandage but you not too happy. And so she come here on her… on her…”
“Own initiative,” growled Michiel. “So you spoke to each other too?”
Jack gave him a guilty look.
“And she knows you’re a pilot?”
“Sorry. She guesses. She’s not silly, you know. My Dutch very good, but is possible that she hears a little accent…”
“Ah, just stop it. Every other word you say is as English as Queen Victoria. How on earth am I supposed to keep you safe like this? They’ll be coming for you any day now. And they’ll put Erica and me up against the wall—and probably our father too. Bang. Bang. Bang. Three–nil.”
“Erica does not say nothing.”
“No, she won’t say anything. But she isn’t careful. She doesn’t make sure that no one sees her. She makes noise. She leaves tracks. If someone like Schafter spots her going into the woods, he’ll immediately be suspicious.”
“Who is Schafter?”
“Oh, never mind. A fan of the Germans. One of the many. Well, I’m going to give Erica a piece of my mind. Maybe we’ll be lucky, and we’ll get away with it.”
“You say the letter is gone?”
“It’s gone. Safely, I think. Right, I’m off. See you.”
*
Michiel did indeed give Erica a piece of his mind. In fact, he called her every name under the sun, but all in whispers, as their mother was in the room next door. You try shouting at someone when you’re whispering. It’s a bit like slamming the door in a fury, and then having to go back because you’ve forgotten your gloves—you end up looking just a little bit foolish. So Michiel’s words didn’t have much of an effect on his sister. She stared guiltily at the third button on her cardigan and swore—perhaps a little too easily—that she’d never do it again. And when Michiel paused for breath, she said the wound looked better and that was good, wasn’t it? And, well, that was the end of the whispering.
Michiel just reminded her once again not to say anything to anyone, not even their own father, and that was that.
Another week or so went by without much happening, just the normal everyday events. And then Uncle Ben turned up again. This time he took Michiel for a walk and he said, “Do you ever see that friend of a brother of a friend of yours?”
Michiel was immediately on his guard.
“No,” he said brusquely.
“Ah, that’s a pity,” said Uncle Ben. “I have a letter for him from his mother. So it can’t be delivered then. What should I do with it? Do you know what, I’ll just put it under this loose strip of bark. And then I’ll be shot of it.”
He walked over to a tree and slipped something under the bark. Then he turned around and walked back to the house without saying another word.
Flabbergasted, Michiel took the white envelope. There was nothing written on it. What on earth…? Was it really a letter for Jack? Well, of course it was possible… Yes, there was a chance that his uncle had written a return address on Jack’s letter and this was the reply. He decided to go and visit Jack.
Taking even more care than usual, Michiel made his way to the hideout. What if there was just a blank piece of paper in the envelope and all of this was a trick to make him lead the way to Jack’s hiding place? Was Uncle Ben trying to follow him right now? Ah, he was so suspicious. Uncle Ben was one of the good guys.
Yes, he certainly was. When Jack opened the envelope, his face lit up. There was a delighted letter from Jack’s mother inside, saying that she’d imagined him dead a hundred times, and a snapshot of her standing at the garden gate. Michiel mentally doffed his cap to Uncle Ben, who had made it all happen—and so quickly too.