Free The Enemy Within by Michael Dean

seemed to be no checks at all, at the newly constructed archway. But even as he stood there, two NSBers cycled up, leaned their bicycles against the ramshackle wooden structure and grinned cockily.
    Hirschfeld walked toward them. ‘ Goedemorgen .’
    ‘ Goedemorgen . Kunt u zich legitimeren ?’
    Hirschfeld pulled out his identity card.
    The young NSBer made a show of checking it.
    ‘You a Jew?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘With a name like Hirschfeld?’
    ‘It’s German. I was born in Bremen.’
    ‘You’re German?’
    ‘Naturalised Dutch.’
    ‘What is your business in the Jewish Quarter?’
    ‘I’m going to see a friend.’
    ‘Friend’s name?’
    ‘Tinie Emmerik.’
    ‘Your business with her?’
    ‘She’s my mistress.’
    ‘You fuck Jewesses?’
    ‘Yes.’
    The two NSBers looked at each other and laughed. ‘Have a good time,’ said the one who had checked the card.
    Hirschfeld walked past them, through the makeshift arch, into the Jewish Quarter. He strode along St Anthoniebree Straat, into the top of Jodenbree Straat, his steel-tipped heels clicking on the pavement. He felt armoured in his coat and gloves, conscious of his prosperity. He inhaled the familiar stink from the fetid waters of the Oude Schans, then crossed into Batavia Straat.
    The door to Manny’s room was painted a grubby brown; the paint was flaking off. Hirschfeld banged with a gloved fist, hoping there would be no response. There was not. He did not bang again, or call. He imagined himself telling Else he had done all he could.
    On impulse, he walked further into Batavia Straat, to Tinie’s room. He had a key; he let himself in. Tinie was sitting in the room’s one armchair, her legs half curled under her body, in a sort of foetal position.
    ‘Hello Max.’ The briefest of pauses. ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’
    Tinie, with her tiny, boyish frame, brought out the bully in him. He was aware of that, regularly felt remorse, sometimes deep remorse, but was helpless before the power of his own desire.
    ‘Well, I’m here,’ he said, gruffly.
    She vacated the armchair, so he could sit down. He dropped his coat and muffler on the floor and sat heavily, needing to rest after the walk. He thought he heard a scraping noise behind the curtain which sealed off the niche.
    ‘So what brings you here?’ Tinie said, loudly.
    ‘How much have you heard, of what’s going on?’
    Tinie looked serious. ‘I heard they were looking for Manny. And Joel Cosman. The Moffen are putting barriers all round the Jewish Quarter.’
    Hirschfeld nodded. He twiddled his hat in his lap. ‘Deportations will be starting soon,’ he said. She looked scared. ‘I have created something called the Hirschfeld List, which will protect selected Jews. Your father is at the head of the list. So he’s safe. I have also found him a job. His salary will be determined by me. It will be in addition to what I am already paying your family.’
    ‘Thank you, Max.’
    Hirschfeld nodded. He dropped his hat on the floor, unbuttoned his fly, and motioned her to him.
    *
    Afterwards, Hirschfeld walked slowly through the Jewish Quarter, his head, for once, mercifully empty. With a touch of defiance at his usual self, he contemplated going into a café. He would sit, he would order a cup of coffee. He would while away time, waste it in abandon of himself and his life. Why not?
    He headed for Ernst Cahn’s place, the Koco Ice - Cream Parlour , in Rijn Straat. It was one of the meeting places for Amsterdam’s German-Jewish refugees. They were his kin-folk, Hirschfeld felt, even though Else didn’t like them. She found them snobbish and superior - overly conscious of being German.
    A large plane came into view, high in the grey sky: Hirschfeld thought it was a British Halifax bomber. Some people cursed the British for not doing enough, called them cowards, but most were cheered when they saw RAF aeroplanes. They muttered ‘good luck, Tommy,’ under their breath, as the bombers headed to the