Free The Darkroom of Damocles by Willem Frederik Hermans

troop movements.’

There were still three people ahead of him in the queue when Osewoudt reached into his pocket for the fare. He looked in his wallet, but it was empty. Then he realised he had spent all his money the previous evening on tickets for Elly and himself.
    He patted his side pockets and felt the silver coins he had taken from her, the old Dutch guilders. Also something flat and stiff: her fake identity card.
    He broke into a sweat, glanced over his shoulder; there were at least ten people behind him. The train was leaving in eight minutes. What to do? Risk using the silver guilders? A ticket office clerk would be relatively harmless, being stuck on his chair. But what about the other people waiting by the window? What would they think when they heard the chink of silver, a sound unheard since the war started? What if there were someone from the Gestapo among them?
    Osewoudt began to mumble, hardly knowing what he mumbled, and left the queue. He walked out of the station, his head full of vague thoughts … change the silver guilders … find someone on the black market … but how? He didn’t know anybody. Ask a random passer-by?
    For a quarter of an hour he wandered over Nieuwendijk, but no one accosted him, nowhere did he see anyone resembling a black marketeer. Wait until the afternoon?
    Ten minutes later he was back at the station. The train hadleft, and there was no one waiting at the window marked DIRECTION HAARLEM .
    In a low voice, in German, he asked for a one-way ticket to The Hague and quietly laid two silver guilders in the tray. The clerk pulled the tray towards him, deposited the ticket plus the change and put the guilders in his pocket instead of in the till.
    As Osewoudt went up the stairs to the platform it occurred to him that someone might be sent to follow him on the train to The Hague. What would be the safest thing to do? He couldn’t decide, so he carried on along the platform and took a seat on the train.
    Nothing happened. His train arrived at The Hague on schedule at 12.15 and no one took any notice of him when he got off.
    He didn’t count on Moorlag still being there. What would Moorlag have done? I think what I told him was: if I’m not at the station exit by quarter to twelve, something’s wrong.
    But Moorlag was still there, keeping a sharp lookout. He had already seen Osewoudt, who responded with a nod. But no sooner had he done so than Moorlag turned and wandered off in the direction of Rijswijkseplein. Once Osewoudt had passed the barrier Moorlag looked over his shoulder, saw him, but kept on walking.
    Mustn’t run. Why is he acting so strangely? Osewoudt took long strides. It was clear that Moorlag wasn’t trying to shake him off; on the contrary, he let Osewoudt catch up, though he didn’t stop, even when he must have been able to hear footsteps behind him.
    â€˜Osewoudt! I’ve been waiting for you for the past half-hour! I’m a nervous wreck. The Germans came at ten this morning. They’ve taken Ria and your mother away. Bundled your mother and Ria into a car. I had just got up, was still in my pyjamas.I saw it all from the window. When they were gone I ran down to get your Leica. But while I was upstairs getting dressed they came back. They’re waiting for you. I fled over the roof. I went back later to take a look. The whole neighbourhood knows what’s going on. Anyone going into the shop gets arrested. It’s terrible! I’ve got nothing but the clothes on my back! They’ll take away my books next, and books are so hard to come by these days! We’ve been shopped by that girl you rang up about.’
    â€˜Calm down,’ Osewoudt replied. ‘Even if you go back now they won’t arrest you! They let you get away on purpose! Don’t you understand? They let you get away on purpose so you’d come running to tell me what happened!’
    It was an absurd idea: using Moorlag as a tool