Free River in the Sea by Tina Boscha Page B

young face that had made her think of Issac. Her heart beat wildly. She turned her head, praying that he would not scan her again, his memory sparked by her hair or coat, anything familiar to him from that October Saturday. Doeval , Leen thought. She was caught, part of it now; it was too late to leave through the back door, even if she crawled, and walking past them out the front was out of the question. The other soldier was much bigger than the gatekeeper, with broad shoulders out of proportion to his short neck that still carried color from the summer’s wind and sun. He looked like he could take two steps and put her back in her seat with one arm. In contrast, the gatekeeper was very thin. As he raised his glass Leen could see his wrists were slender and pointed, almost feminine.
    To Leen it sounded like everyone was speaking underneath a blanket, and it was because of this that she could hear Jan Fokke clearly when he exclaimed that he had enough pamphlets. There must have been another airdrop in the night; Leen never noticed them anymore, even though papers littered the ditches, eventually rotting and floating away. During the first months of the occupation, German warplanes dropped pamphlets proclaiming the Vaderland’s sovereignty, and the soldiers promised a penny for every five that the kids gathered. Leen had gone scrambling along with the others, returning with arms full of crumpled, wet and dirty pamphlets. But the soldiers never paid. The only propaganda anyone read now was from the Landelijke Organisatie , and the Frisian Resistance always made sure their L.O. newsletters were distributed much more carefully than by a free fall from a warplane.
    “ Fyftich !  I’ve got fifty. You said all I needed was fifty!” Jan Fokke sounded petulant and whining. Even though he had a man’s deep voice, his words always came out slurred. Mem said that when he was born, it had taken too long for him to get out of his mother’s belly, that he had gotten stuck and didn’t get enough air, and that’s why he was like that.
    The gatekeeper shook his head and said, “ Nee , hundertfünfzig .” His long fingers drew the numbers in the air: 1, 5, 0. 
    “ Fyftich !” Jan Fokke said. He wiped his mouth and leaned in close, patting the stack of pamphlets. “You said fifty!” He put his head in his hands and shook it roughly.
    Leen cringed. She had seen Jan Fokke get belligerent before; he was known for his temper. Most people avoided him, making him all the more a nuisance when he came around, clingy and loud. He would try to catch up with a group of boys to walk with them, but they would only walk faster. It always made Leen feel bad when she watched this, yet she herself was guilty of turning the other way and quickening her own pace when she spotted him.
    The bigger soldier laughed and nudged his comrade.
    “I’m sorry, hundertfünfzig ,” the gatekeeper said again, shrugging and holding both hands out, palms up, as if there was nothing he could do.
    “NO!” Jan Fokke yelled. 
    Leen watched in horror as Jan Fokke stood up. Sit back down , she thought, please . Jan took the stack of pamphlets and screamed “Fifty!” and threw it at the soldier’s faces. Arnold, who had been standing against the wall behind the bar, came forward. “Jan, easy now,” Leen heard him say.
    It was too late. The knowledge that she was going to witness something terrible grew apparent in a physical way, by a slow pain that crept across her chest, then rolled back so that it felt like someone was tying up her heart and lungs into a tight package. The feeling was all too familiar.
    The gatekeeper stood up and grabbed Jan Fokke by the collar, the bones in his hands standing out, and then the larger one stood and pushed the thin soldier aside, seamlessly taking the hold on Jan Fokke’s neck and tightening it. Jan Fokke immediately began to groan and choke, both sounds emerging from deep within his body, wet and echoing.
    “Let him