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102 Altje, 1942 The few potatoes left have been harvested. The digging—oh, the digging! Altje’s back is sore. And they’re here again, the German soldiers, asking for water, for food, when they can barely feed themselves. What choice do we have? she wonders. Jakob is gone again, Lord knows what job he’s doing now. There are so many Nazi sympathizers—you never know who you’re talking to. So Jakob tells her nothing, to protect her and the children, Jaap, Aneke, and Ruud. She feels another baby coming—the signs that she’s pregnant are there. Please, God, don’t take another away, she prays. But is it any better to bring them into this war? She hears the gravel crunch outside the window, the sound of footsteps. “Frau,” calls the soldier. Altje looks up from the basin filled with water and potato scrubbings, sees the stark black uniform and hat before she sees the person wearing them. He could destroy her life in a split second. “Ja?” she calls. She wipes her hands on the tattered flowered apron and walks over to the sill. She feels Aneke behind her, grabbing her skirt. Will the three-year-old poke her head out this time? Aneke is terrified but curious , fascinated by the German soldier, with his browned skin, white-blond hair, and stark blue eyes. She peeks around her mother’s skirt. Altje is afraid of this soldier boy, too, and she doesn’t want him to see Aneke—but at the same time, she doesn’t want Aneke to be frightened. Though her daughter was born into this war, it hasn’t made her tough. Altje can see the worry in her child’s small freckled features, those lines shrouded by bright orange locks and serious brown eyes. “Das wasser, bitte,” the young officer says plainly. Altje takes a glass from the makeshift shelving, pours water from the stone pitcher on the counter and holds it out to him. “Danke,” he says, taking the tumbler from her slightly trembling hand. He brings it to his lips with a sly smile that she catches before she drops her gaze. She doesn’t let her eyes linger on his face. Jakob has warned her that such boldness can be viewed as impertinence and one never knows what will happen then. “Mama, Mama!” she hears little Aneke cry, and feels her daughter’s small cool hands under her skirts, on her thighs. “Don’t worry, I won’t let things go badly for you,” the soldier says in a crude mix of Dutch and German. “Your daughter is lovely. I know she is afraid of me. Please tell her I won’t hurt her.” 103 Altje slides her hand cautiously towards her daughter, until Aneke’s fingers curl into hers, and then looks down at her, seeing only fear in her dark eyes. “It’s fine,” Altje tells her. “I think he means to be nice.” Yet as she says this, she wants to pick Aneke up and run, hide her in a room and lock the door. She feels a sudden wave of panic, like a rising heat, imagines Jakob’s rage at her behaviour, at this exchange with the enemy. Her face flushes as she tries to decide whether the soldier will make her pay later—and how—if she shows any sign of rudeness. She hangs on to outward calm. Suddenly, Aneke steps forward, one hand still tangled in the fabric of Altje ’s apron. She looks at the soldier squarely, and he melts. Leaning over the sill, he extends his hand courteously with a soft “Guten morgen, pretty girl.” Aneke stands and stares at him, the look of terror mutating into a kind of quiet defiance. She doesn’t take the proffered hand. After several seconds, she steps behind Altje once again, her fingers holding on to her waistband, but not so firmly now. “Well …,” says the soldier, slowly withdrawing his hand. He sets the cup on the sill, his lips forming a tight, embarrassed smile. Thanking Altje once more, he leaves. She bends to one knee and faces Aneke. The little girl puts her tiny hand against her mother’s cheek, then wraps herself around her neck. Altje feels the stiffness go out of her small body as she leans into her. “It’ll be okay, right Mama?” she asks. Yes, she tells her, yes. [3.17.154.171] Project MUSE (2024-04...

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