Hero (2 page)

The night the soldiers had come to their street in their big, military trucks, Papa had lifted Izaak from the bed in his strong arms. Together with Mama and Sarah, they had left the building by the fire escape. They'd run through dark alleys, climbed fences and run flat out until they came to Mrs. Waterman's house on the Linden Canal.

Mama and Izaak had gone into hiding in the attic in Mrs. Waterman's
house. The hiding place was too small for four people. Mrs. Waterman gave Papa and Sarah the address of another safe home in the city. Izaak wished he knew where they were. He wanted to visit them, but Mama said it was too dangerous.

Izaak listened. Footsteps sounded on the stairs. With a deep breath of relief, he recognized Mrs. Waterman's tread.

The door to the attic room opened. Izaak moved away from his mother's arms. On his knees, he waited for the dresser to slide back, so he and Mama could crawl out of their hiding place.

“It's safe now.” Mrs. Water man breathed with heavy gulps. She leaned on the dresser. Her bottom lip trembled. Her white curly hair lay damp against her forehead.

“It's too dangerous,” she said. “You can't stay here any longer.”

“But,” Mama placed her hand over her mouth, “where will we go?”

“I don't know yet.” Mrs. Waterman looked at Izaak and at Mama.

Izaak grabbed Mama's hand. He looked at her pale face.

“I don't know yet,” Mrs. Waterman repeated.

Izaak and Mama were alone in the attic room.

Izaak's hands balled into fists. He stared at Mama's colorless face. “I'm not going without you, Mama!” he said.

“I know. This is hard.” Mama swallowed.

Izaak's voice rose. “No, it isn't, because I'm not going!” He couldn't believe it. First, Papa and Sarah had to hide somewhere else. Now, Mama wanted to send him far away.

“It is for the best,” Mama said.

“No!” Izaak stamped his feet.

“Sh.” His mother grabbed his shoulders. “Sh, Izaak, we can't make noise. I don't want Mrs. Waterman to hear us. And I especially don't want the neighbors to hear us.”

Izaak slumped against Mama. Tears pricked his eyes. He didn't want to cry. He was too mad.

“I don't even know these people. Where is this far away place called Friesland? And where will you go, Mama?”

“Don't worry about me, Izaak.” She stroked his hair. “I will find a good hiding place too. But you will have the best place. Friesland is a province up north, a place of small villages and towns, but mainly farmland. You will go to one of the farms.” Mama paused. “The farms in Friesland have enough food to feed you.” Mama looked away. “There's no food left in Amsterdam. You're so skinny. You need good food while you're still growing.”

His eyes caught Mama's. “How will you eat then?”

“I will be looked after, Izaak.”

Anger welled up in Izaak's chest. He wanted to strike out at Hitler and his mean soldiers. He wanted to hit Mama for sending him to Friesland.

“Out in the country, the soldiers will never find you. You'll be able to go to school and play outside, instead of being cooped up in the attic day after day. There will be children for you to play with.”

Mama rattled on and on. Izaak didn't want to know. He'd never been on a farm. He'd never been outside the city. The only farm animal he'd ever seen was the milkman's horse.

“You will have a new name.” Mama's voice was soft now.

“A new name!” Izaak's mouth fell open. “I don't want a new name! I'm Izaak!”

“You will always be Izaak.” Mama looked straight at him now. “But, in Friesland with your new family, you will be called Jan. It will only be for
the time while you're there. As soon as the war is over, you can be Izaak again.” Mama smiled weakly.

“Why can't we stay if the war will be over soon? You said that the southern part of the country has already been liberated.”

“It will be so good for you.” Mama couldn't stop talking about him going away.

“If it's so good, why aren't you coming with me?” He looked at her with dark eyes.

“It's too dangerous for me to travel. The soldiers will recognize me.”

“Why isn't it dangerous for me?” Izaak persisted.

“You'll be traveling with a woman. People will think you're her child.”

Izaak pulled free from his mother's grip. “I'm not going with a strange woman!” The anger bubbled up inside of him again.

“I hate this war!” he screamed.

“Izaak!” In one step, Mama caught
him. Her hand closed over his mouth. Izaak wrestled. Mama held him. Her arms wrapped around him like a vice. He kicked and struggled, but it was no use. Mama was much too strong for him.

“When am I leaving?” The tears tried to come back. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

“Tomorrow,” Mama whispered. She took his hand. “Come, you have to help me pack. Go get your coat.”

Izaak crawled into their hiding space. He dug into a cardboard box of clothing. At the bottom, he found his blue coat. He held the material against his face. It felt soft and woolen. His finger traced the yellow star that Mama had sewn on the upper left side. He hadn't worn the coat since … Izaak didn't want to think about the night they had fled. Now, he had to flee to another hiding place. All by himself. Far away.

Izaak and Mama walked down the stairs into Mrs. Waterman's kitchen.
Mrs. Waterman sat at the table, peeling potatoes.

“They're rotten.” She held up a peeled potato that looked brown.

“We'll add some more salt. They'll taste fine.” Mama took Mrs. Water man's sewing basket from a shelf behind the stove. “I'm taking the star off.” Mama reached for the coat in Izaak's arms.

Izaak nodded.

Mama used tiny scissors to snip off the yellow star. “Oh, no!” She held up the coat. “Look at this. You can tell exactly where the yellow star was.”

Izaak looked at his coat. A dark blue star stood out against the faded blue fabric.

“That won't do,” Mrs. Waterman said. “Can you sew a pocket over top?”

Mama smiled. “Yes. I'll sew four pockets on your coat, Izaak. Two at the top and two at the bottom. You can fill them with food for your long trip.”

Izaak didn't want to think about the
trip. Ever since Mama had mentioned his going away, his stomach had hurt, as if he had a ball rolling inside.

“I have some nice gray fabric.” Mrs. Waterman rose from the table. She opened the pantry. “Here it is,” she said. “It will be perfect.” She handed Mama a piece of coarse, gray material.

“It's great.” Mama winked at Izaak.

Izaak turned to face the window. He didn't want to look at his coat anymore.

Two seagulls dove into the back yard while Izaak listened to the scissors snip through the fabric.

If only that feeling in his stomach would go away. The afternoon crept by. Izaak didn't play with his horse and wagon. He watched the birds or stared at nothing in Mrs. Waterman's back yard.

Early next morning, Izaak tucked his horse and wagon in the lower right- hand pocket of his coat. His arms had grown too long for the sleeves.

He couldn't eat breakfast. The ball still filled his stomach.

Mama and Mrs. Waterman didn't speak.

Izaak looked out the kitchen window. He heard the
ding, ding
when the milkman arrived in the street.

The doorbell rang.

Mrs. Waterman left to answer it.

Izaak looked at Mama. Deep lines marked her face, from her mouth to her chin. Dark, puffy circles lay beneath her eyes.

Muffled voices floated from the hallway to the kitchen. Izaak turned towards the window. He didn't want to see the woman who was taking him so far away. He clenched his fists tight in his pockets.

“Izaak.” Mrs. Waterman's voice was tight. “This is Els. She's come all the way from Friesland to take you to a safe place.”

Izaak turned to look at the woman. She wore a beige raincoat. A flowered scarf was tied around her chin. A few
blond curls escaped from the scarf and framed her face. Els didn't look like a woman, Izaak thought. She looked like a big girl.

“How old are you?” Mama asked.

The girl's face turned bright red. “Eighteen,” she answered.

“Aren't you too young to …, ” Mama's voice ended in a whisper.

“I've taken many children safely to Friesland,” Els said.

Izaak couldn't speak. He looked from Mama to the girl. The kitchen turned silent.

“Here. Your coat. Put it on.” Mama hurried his arms into the sleeves. She reached for the bag with his clothing. Izaak felt like a rag doll. He couldn't button up his coat. His legs wouldn't move. He felt Mama's wet cheek when she kissed him good-bye. The front door opened. Els took her bicycle. She tucked his bag into the saddlebags.

Izaak straddled the carrier at the
back of the bike, his feet resting inside the saddlebags.

Els mounted the bike. Izaak looked at Els's back. He held onto her coat. He couldn't see ahead. The front door of Mrs. Waterman's house closed with a click. Tall thin houses passed by on one side and the canal passed by on the other.

October winds brushed Izaak's cheeks and ruffled his hair like leaves in the wind. His hands gripped the cloth of Els's raincoat. Military trucks blared their horns. Izaak cringed at the
ding, ding
of the streetcar and the squealing of brakes. Behind him people shouted. Izaak had never seen so many people. Some pushed wheelbar-rows, baby carriages and wooden wagons. Children cried, their faces smudged.

“Watch out!” a woman yelled.

The bike swerved. Izaak struggled to stay put.

“Don't move, Jan!” Els shouted over her shoulder.

Jan! She called him Jan! Izaak tightened his grip on the coat. He clenched his jaw and looked down at Els's feet turning the pedals round and round. The bricks in the street whizzed past until he got dizzy and had to look up.

Els turned left over a bridge. Once they were over the top of the bridge, they coasted downhill fast. Els didn't even have to move her feet. She rang the bell, and people jumped out of the way. The wind stroked Izaak's face. A group of soldiers marched ahead of them, singing. Left, right, left, right, their feet matched the beat of the marching song. Izaak glanced sideways at them. Els passed so close, Izaak could see the stubble on their chins. His heart pounded. The ball in his stomach squeezed and rolled.

They tur ned again and crossed more bridges until they left the busy streets of the city behind.

Soon after that, Els halted. “Would you like to stretch your legs?” she asked breathlessly.

Izaak nodded. His words were still stuck. He felt like crying, but he wouldn't.

“We have a long way to ride.” Els looked at him. Her eyes were bright blue and friendly.

“By eight o'clock tonight, we need to get to the farm where we'll sleep. We'll stop once to eat.”

Izaak looked at her. He didn't feel hungry. He didn't care about food. He didn't want to stay overnight. He wanted to go back to the attic in Mrs. Waterman's house. He wanted to go back to Mama.

“We might get stopped by the soldiers at checkpoints.”

Izaak's eyes widened. Weren't they safe now that they were out of the big city?

“When they stop us and ask questions, don't say a word. Just look at your shoes. I will do all the talking. Understood?” Her voice was stern.

Izaak could only nod. As long as his voice was stuck, he couldn't speak to anyone.

“Let's go.”

Izaak climbed back on the carrier. Els mounted the bike. Izaak watched the landscape change. They passed clumps of houses and meadows dotted with grazing black and white cows. Clouds of leaves blew across farmers' fields as Els and Izaak rode between villages and towns.

Much later, Els dismounted again in front of a bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread greeted them, but it made the ball in Izaak's stomach turn.

After she leaned the bike against the wall of the store, Els pushed him ahead. The
cling-clang
of the little bell above the door announced their entrance. A woman with a smiling red face and a boxlike body stood behind the counter. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up and her arms were covered in white flour.

She talked loudly to Els while her dentures rattled. Izaak couldn't understand a word she said. Els nudged him.

“Jan, Mrs. de Beer asked if you wanted a bun.”

Izaak nodded. He had no idea how he was going to add a bun to the ball in his stomach.

“Here.” Els handed him one. It was still warm.

Izaak nodded at the woman and tucked the bun in his pocket with the metal horse.

“Thank you.” Els ushered him out of the store and onto the bike.

Izaak's bottom hurt from bouncing on the hard, metal carrier. They wouldn't get to the farm for a long time. Els didn't talk to him anymore. She strained forward against the wind.