That’s why; all those reasons are why I am now family and have to help Lode take care of the Jew Chaim Lizke, who just now in that cellar looked nothing like the night we drove him and his family through the snow to the bellowing of that pair of field arseholes, some two years ago now, on the way to what seemed like nowhere. He was a miserable creature then, a whimpering lamb on its way to slaughter, but now he seems like a man of the world, a plucky type who entertains us in a sort of bohemian salon, where the hostile universe has been magically banished and he enjoys total immunity in an artistic isolation he has chosen to create his masterpiece.
‘You see how much is involved. He needs food. He needs to be looked after. Because of the butcher’s shop, our dad can only go at night. We’re keeping Mum and Yvette in the dark. I alternate with Dad but he’s getting way too old for this kind of thing. He’s going to have problems with his ticker if he doesn’t slow down. I talked to him about it. He suggested you himself. Said you’re someone you can trust. Of course, I already knew that.’
‘So you want me to fill in for you sometimes?’
Lode looks around nervously. Betty’s is actually a particularly noisy place. Nobody stands out here. The landlord’s wife puts on one gramophone record after the other while he pulls the beers, and the male customers can’t keep their hands off the women, continually leading them out onto a dance floor so cramped they’re half riding them. People are smoking and arguing, shouting and laughing, and now and then a young lady with a hankie pressed to her tear-stained face runs to the toilets to give free rein to her sorrow about a badly ended conversation with the umpteenth profligate who wouldn’t stop pawing her bum. Safe enough.
‘Not just that. It’s getting too dangerous here. I feel it in my bones. It’s going to come undone. He has to go to Brussels. Everyone says there’s less checks there. My uncle lives there too. He could get him to Portugal. I’ve been asking round. A few people have a plan.’
‘You’ve locked that Jew up in there. What if a fire breaks out?’
‘Don’t worry. There’s another exit. He’s got the key. But he knows he’s only allowed to use it in an absolute emergency. That door gets him more or less out into the courtyard of the house at the back.’
‘Where are his wife and children? Not…’
Lode sighs. ‘It was a close call… The children are somewhere in the Ardennes. His wife is now a so-called nun in a convent in Limburg. It’s just more difficult for him.’
‘It doesn’t look like it.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean he looks more relaxed than you do.’
‘He’s an odd fish. I’ve already told you that, I think. Do you remember you raised the subject yourself and I told you our dad got to know him when he was looking into diamonds? I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you more back then. I had to discuss it with our dad first.’
Those last sentences go up a little at the end. They sound a bit too emphatic as well, overly rehearsed. There’s something off about his explanation. But is it because he finds it difficult to conceal his true feelings for me and therefore regrets deceiving me even more, or is it something else? Who knows, maybe the father is abusing his son’s noble idealism and it’s not just about saving a Jew from his fate, but doing well out of it financially while he’s at it. Could it be that Chaim Lizke is paying through the nose for my future father-in-law’s protection and Lode knows it? But what of it? The risks are enormous. The father is calculating, but maybe the son is too reckless. He’s known for his temper, and as I mentioned before, he doesn’t have a friend left at the station. Everyone sees him as a scab who let his fellow officers down when it mattered. Nobody will cover for Lode, definitely not just for the sake of one more Jew while so many of his kind have already been put on trains for work camps or worse.
‘You understand what happens if they find him? To you, your parents, maybe even Yvette?’
‘You’re in it now too.’
I freeze. Lode immediately lays a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’m rushing things. Sorry.’ His hand stays there. I have to look him in the eye and nod before he lets go.
Somebody slurs loudly for the barmaid to put the last record back on again. ‘Can’t do any bleeding harm can it, twice in a row?’ His girl nods furiously to add weight to his words.
The front door swings open so hard the glass shatters. Twenty or so blokes from the Flemish SS come storming in. Screams. They sweep full
