The Tulip Eaters (15 page)

24

Ariel stumbled away from the pay phone after Amarisa had hung up on him.
That bitch! She’d have no qualms about disappearing with Rose. And she’d be happy to turn him in if it suited her plans.

Well, he wouldn’t fucking let her. He’d plan something better, more forceful, and he’d do it today. As he walked back and forth in front of the
Instituut,
a plan bloomed in his mind. It was dangerous, but he had no choice. The clock was ticking.

With his martial arts expertise, he could disable Nora, rough her up and then tell her that Rose was in Houston. That if she didn’t return on the next flight, Rose would be killed.

Ariel sat wearily on his bench outside the
Instituut,
but hours passed and not a glimpse of Nora. But the longer she stayed inside, the longer he had to refine his new plan. He visualized the sequence. First a leg sweep. Then he’d move in close, grab her across the body with his arm, place his leg behind hers and push. She’d fall flat. After that, he would twist her arms behind her. If she tried to scream, he would thrust one arm higher toward her shoulder blades. She would shut up then—at least long enough to hear what he had to say. He looked up at the dull afternoon sky. Yes, he would have to strike at night, in a secluded place. He’d follow her from the minute she stepped out of the
Instituut.
And then wait until the moment presented itself.

25

Nora walked dispiritedly down the
Herengracht
in the dark, exhausted by her day’s fruitless efforts, feeling the rain now fall harder onto her face. Not only was she making no progress linking her mother’s past to Rose’s kidnapping, but during her lunch break she had called Bates. She was fired. Though he spoke the words kindly, she had felt panic course through her. Her mother’s estate was still in probate and the lawyer had told her that the amount she would net would be seriously diminished by estate taxes and the large amount left on her mother’s mortgage. Now that she had been fired, it would probably take her a long time to find another job. And without a paycheck, how could she support Rose? She was so preoccupied that she almost ran into a black bicycle charging down the street. Only the harsh ringing of the man’s bell and his shouts kept them from colliding.

Soaked, she now walked along in the darkness until she reached
Sampurna,
an Indonesian restaurant. She walked in, took a quick look at the menu and waited until the waitress came over. Marijke had begged her to come home so they could talk and Nora could get some rest. Nora had refused, in no mood for conversation.

After dinner, Nora wandered aimlessly around the
Centrum
for half an hour, maybe more, staring dully into the cheerfully lit shop windows, looking at the Christmas lights up and down the canals, catching the laughter and constant motion of the city as they flowed around her. She had never been surrounded by so much life and felt so alone.

She could only think of her baby, of the first moment she had held the tiny, warm bundle in her arms. She could also not help but wonder when Nico would return and how, after all this time, she would tell him that Rose was his daughter. She pulled her jacket tighter around her.
What kind of life might she have had with Nico? Would they have been happy? Would the deep love they had shared be sustained over time?
At least Rose would not have been kidnapped. Her thoughts spun round and round, becoming tangled and more hopeless.

Weariness then hit her so hard that she could no longer think straight about Rose, Nico or her pathetic research at the
Instituut.
She turned down a narrow dark alley that would take her to the
Spui
and the tram to Marijke’s. Then there were footsteps behind. When she stopped, they stopped. She walked faster and cast a glance behind her. She saw a large man dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and black pants, his face hidden in the pitch of the alley. Panicked, she began to run, but heard him closing in on her.

Then she felt a vicious kick to her legs and fell hard to the cobblestones. He towered above, then swiftly yanked her to her feet, twisted her arms behind her and grabbed her wrists with one hand. She started to cry out, but he clamped his other hand over her mouth and thrust her wrists upward. She felt pain rip through her. He shoved her to the ground, grasped her by the neck and started to drag her across the street.

Finally she was able to scream. “Help me! Someone help me!”

He jerked her violently, dragging her quickly into an alley. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man run out of a nearby café. “Stop! Let her go!” Next thing she knew, the agonizing grip was released and she saw the dark figure run away down a black alley.

Gasping, Nora felt arms lift her to her feet. “There—down the alley!” she cried. The man released her and ran off. Sobbing, Nora limped into the café and collapsed onto one of the bar stools. She felt something trickling down her cheek and wiped it off with her fingers.
Blood. Must have cut herself when she fell.
She felt dizzy.

A moment later the man returned. “I saw no one—the alley is empty.”

She must have looked as if she were about to faint, because he poured the remainder of a bottle of dark liquor into a large glass. “Drink,” he commanded.

She obeyed, but it did nothing to slow the adrenaline that coursed through her body. She could hear the terror in her voice. “Did you see his face?”

He shook his head. “Probably a drug addict or a kid looking for cash.” He gave her an annoyed look. “You have no business being out alone at night. Don’t you know better?”

Nora stood and pointed at the telephone. “We should call the police,” she said shakily.

The man shrugged. “I’ve been a bartender for fifteen years. They get these calls forty times a night. Whoever he was, he’s gone now. You’re just lucky you weren’t hurt.”

Nora sat, frightened to leave alone. “May I use the telephone?”

He nodded and turned to the few old men who held up their glasses for a refill, all the while staring at Nora. She felt stung by their bold curiosity. Nora walked to the counter and, with trembling fingers, dialed Marijke’s number. When she heard her voice, she broke down. “Please, please, come and get me!”

“What happened?”

“Never mind—I’ll tell you later.”

Marijke appeared in fifteen minutes and took Nora home by taxi. When she explained what had happened, Marijke scolded her and made her promise never again to wander the streets alone.

Exhausted, Nora promised and then went straight to bed.
What hell would tomorrow bring?

26

He had her, he had her!
But then she had jerked free, some bastard came from nowhere and Ariel’s fingers grasped only cold air. Then he ran, his lungs on fire, until finally he came to a café kilometers away. Now he sat gasping, peering fearfully up and down the street.

When the waitress came, she looked at his attire and smiled. Probably thought he had been jogging instead of running for his life. He ordered two Scotches, belting down one after the other.

He stumbled to the pay phone in the back of the café. He could barely dial, his hands were shaking so. “Peter!”

“Ariel?”

Ariel’s words tumbled over one another. “Peter, for God’s sake, come now! I need you!”

“Where are you? What’s happened?”

Ariel gave him directions, hung up and collapsed onto a bar stool. By the time Peter rushed in Ariel had calmed somewhat.

Peter yanked out a seat next to Ariel. “What the fuck is going on? You look like hell! And why are you so far from home?”

Ariel hung his head, then spoke. “Oh, Peter. You won’t believe what I’ve been through! I told you Isaac was dead, but I didn’t tell you that he murdered someone. And then there’s Jacoba—I mean Rose. I kidnapped her—Amarisa took her—the real mother is—”

Peter moved his chair closer and shook Ariel’s shoulders. Ariel raised his head and looked into his brother-in-law’s shocked eyes. Just knowing he could tell someone made him sob.

“What in hell are you talking about?
Kidnapping?
Murder?
”

Ariel saw the waitress looking at them curiously. He stood and paid. “Let’s get out of here.”

They went into a dark park across the street. Ariel explained everything. When he finished, Peter just stared at him. “Why didn’t you or Leah tell me about this!”

“I’m sorry, Peter.” He felt guilty. “We should have, but we’ve been terrified about Rose, the police, everything.”

“Ariel, this is outrageous! You’ve put everyone in jeopardy, but mostly yourself.”

“I know, but you’ve got to help me. You’re the only one I can trust!”

“Christ, Ariel—I’m a teacher, not a detective.” He sat down hard, shaking his head. “I can’t believe this! Give me a minute to take it all in.”

Ariel felt sick. Telling the story again had made him realize how insane his life now was.

“And why in hell did you attack that woman in the alleyway?”

“To scare her off. I was going to tell her to go back to Houston or Rose would be killed.”

“Have you gone
crazy?
Beating up women?”

“If I’d had
one
more minute, everything might have been fine.” He heard the stubbornness in his voice. “And I’ll try again. I’m not going to lose Rose.”

Peter’s eyes darted around. “The first thing you need to do is to go home and stay there. You’re nuts chasing this woman around, exposing yourself in public. You’ll get caught and then what will happen to Leah and the baby?”

“But Amarisa—”

“Fuck Amarisa. She’s using you to protect herself.”

“But Rose—we can’t lose her, Peter. Leah will be devastated.”

“Buddy, you’ve lost her already. That bitch has had her hooks into you for years and she won’t be happy until she has your balls.”

Ariel nodded. Peter was right, but all he saw in his mind’s eye was Rose ripped from Leah’s arms.
No! He couldn’t bear it. He would handle Amarisa, outsmart her somehow. She took him for an idiot. He would prove her wrong.

When they stood, Peter gave him a strong parting embrace. Ariel hung on longer than usual, so grateful for his friend, so relieved to have told someone. Now he didn’t feel completely alone.

After he watched Peter walk away, Ariel stood a moment in the dark, wet night. He felt exhausted. He trudged slowly toward his flat.
But what about the money? Amarisa could ruin them.
He had asked his boss for a leave but had been given only a week.

Fuck them all. He would find another way.

27

Amarisa watched Rose sleep peacefully in the new crib she had bought. It was perfect, top-of-the-line. With its white gleaming wood and colorful mobile, Rose seemed happy nestled in the embroidered sheets, the thick comforter and her stuffed animals.

Amarisa had converted a guest room into an elaborate nursery with an antique rocking chair and a dresser full of diapers, blankets and crib sheets. The closet held neat rows of baby clothes made from soft flannel and fine linens. Amarisa surveyed the room and, satisfied, walked into her living room that overlooked the
Singel
canal, one of the stately neighborhoods in Amsterdam.

She sat on her couch and thought about Rose’s mother, that Nora woman, now in Amsterdam.
What could she have discovered that had led her here?
Whatever the reason, Amarisa had to make sure Nora didn’t find out that Rose was in the city.

The phone rang.

“Amarisa, it’s Ariel.”

She heard him take a deep breath. “Well, what is it?”

“I tried to scare her in an alleyway last night, but she got away—”

“You imbecile! Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t think so, but she ran into a café and I took off down the street—”

“Shut up and let me think.” Her mind whirred, clicking off possibilities. “Okay, here’s what you’re going to do. Stay home, don’t go out and I’ll get you out of town.”

“No. I’m going to get this handled—”

“So you can screw it up again? Not on your life.”

“What will you do?”

“None of your business!” she snapped. “Do what I tell you or the next thing you’ll see is the police at your door. Do I make myself clear?”

“But I can do this. I need more time.”

“No ‘buts.’ I’m hiring a professional.”

“Amarisa, I
said
I’m going to handle it and I will!”

“You listen to me. Simple commands.
Home. Stay. Good boy.
Got it?”

She slammed down the receiver.
What a cretin.
Some part of her must have known this would happen. Yesterday she had bought two one-way tickets to Geneva, where she owned a second home Ariel knew nothing about. If that woman was close to finding Ariel—and who knew what clues that moron had left—then she’d take Rose and start a new life. Efram Hertz, her partner, could look after the routine aspects of the business and she could oversee anything important from Geneva.

But this was not what she wanted, to leave Amsterdam and her business and start over in a strange country. She was too damned old for a new life, especially with a baby. No, she’d be damned if she’d let anyone shove her around. The Nazis had done it once. She had sworn it would never happen again.

But now Rose was all she had. She had to make sure no one separated them. And there was someone who could do the job. She stubbed out her cigarette and opened her address book.

28

Nora sat in the tram to the
Instituut
the next morning, trying to blot last night out of her mind, but she couldn’t help reliving the panic and terror. Not to mention the throbbing pain she still felt in her neck and wrists.
Was he really some druggie looking for cash?

She got off the tram and walked into the
Instituut,
where the guard waved her through. She pushed the glass door open, put her things in a locker and sat in her antiseptic carrel.

She looked at the stack of index cards and couldn’t bear to begin. She set about trying to focus on an article the
medewerker
had given her about the NSB, a summary of its history. Most of it she already knew from her time with Nico. What she hadn’t known was that during the occupation, the Dutch Nazi Party swelled from less than 20,000 to over 300,000.
Why had so many Dutchmen jumped to the Nazi call? Was it a question of survival or principle?
She hoped to God that it was survival in her mother’s case, but still felt her cheeks flush in shame.

Obviously it was not a topic bandied about by the Dutch after the war, nor was it what the world remembered. What flashed in the collective consciousness was Anne Frank, resistance fighters, heroes. But the dark underbelly, the truth, was that in many families, it was not unheard of for one brother to be a resistance fighter and another an NSB-er.

She felt sick.
What had her mother done?
For the first time since that hideous day, she felt anger toward Anneke. Whatever it was, Nora was now paying the goddamned price, just as Anneke had. Except Nora’s price was Rose.

She put her head down on the desk, not caring if anyone saw her.
She had nothing!
Only a crazy puzzle that led nowhere. “I will never find Rose,” she whispered. Hearing those words out loud made Nora feel they were true. Her anguish felt unbearable.
How much could her heart take?

Nora spent the rest of the day plowing through the Amsterdam index cards. During her lunch break, she used the
Instituut’
s phone book to mark every “Rosen” in Amsterdam. There were so many she had no idea where to start. She went to the receptionist for change and simply began. After the fifteenth Rosen, she stopped to assess. None of the people who’d answered had had any idea who Abram Rosen was. The remaining five refused to speak to her. The Dutch valued their privacy.
Besides, she reasoned, wasn’t she asking for the impossible? Who would know about this after thirty years? Maybe his family had been sent to the camps and were all dead.

She returned to sifting through the interminable stack of cards. Hours later, she looked up. Five o’clock. The whole day had passed her by and she had nothing to show for it. She stared blankly at the stack of cards. She heard a rustling at her elbow.

“Dr. van Doren?” It was Dijkstra, the
medewerker.

“Yes?”

“I believe I have finally found something about a member of Anneke Brouwer’s family.” He held a slim green volume.

“Who? Who is it?”

The
medewerker
shook his head. “I regret that I cannot disclose that. The information is classified.”

Nora felt hot blood rise in her. “What do you mean, ‘classified’?”

The
medewerker
shrugged. “This relative of Mevrouw Brouwer was a van Tonningen follower.”

“A what?”

“Rost van Tonningen. Do you not know this name?”

Nora felt her face redden. She was supposed to be Aantje van Doren, the Dutch war history expert. “Well, of course, but...”

“Then you know what I mean.” His eyes narrowed when she did not answer. “Dr. van Doren, you are aware of the movement of which I speak?”

“Yes.”

He nodded but seemed unconvinced. “Then perhaps you are also aware that all documents and information relating to NSB-ers are now kept in a separate archive that is not open to the general public?”

Nora’s heart sank, but she took an aggressive tone. “As my letter states, Dr. Meijer and I have been colleagues for many years. Surely that prohibition does not apply to me?” The
medewerker
stared at the floor. She went on. “Must I remind you that this may be critical information in a murder investigation?”

“I am truly sorry. But by order of the Dutch government, all NSB-related documents,
dagboeken,
uniforms, medals—everything has been sequestered and I cannot make an exception, even in your case.”

“This is ridiculous.” Now she wanted to smack him. To have come halfway around the world to find nothing and now, when there
was
something, she would not be allowed to read it. “I am going to have to insist that you give me that book. If not, I will have to report your noncompliance to Dr. Meijer and he will not be pleased, as I am sure you know.”

“
Doktor,
please—I am only doing my job. Dr. Meijer would fire me if I gave you this volume.” Nora saw the pleading look in his eyes, but felt no sympathy. He went on. “This rule was put into effect not only to provide privacy and protection to the children and relatives of the NSB-ers, but to inhibit any rebirth or development of such a movement in the Netherlands.”

Nora knew when she was losing.
Damn Nico—where was he? Surely he had to come back soon.
But as soon as she posed the question, she knew. He’d always taken long vacations with her, why not with his new wife? “Isn’t there something I can do?”

The
medewerker
smiled for the first time. “Yes. You may make a formal application to the
Ministerie van Justitie.
If approved, we will be pleased to give you access to the NSB archives.”

“Wonderful. Do you have the form?”

“Yes, I will get one for you.” He started to turn away.

“Excuse me,” she said. “How long will such an application take to be considered? I leave for America in a matter of days.”

“That is impossible. Such an application would require a lengthy written essay and an interview—”

“I don’t have time for all that!” Now she saw people were staring at her. The
medewerker
crossed his arms and gave her a studied look. She knew he must see the black circles under her eyes, the desperate look on her face. She was about to blow this completely. She took a deep breath. “Please accept my apology. I am very tired.”

He nodded. “Perhaps I have a solution. I learned this morning that Dr. Meijer may be returning at the end of this week. I believe he might be willing to assist you. In the past, such requests have been known to be granted in twenty-four hours.”

Nora sighed. “Is there nothing you can tell me about this
dagboek?
”

“No,” he said, “although I am still searching for living relatives of Hans Moerveld.”

She smiled tightly. “Thank you for all your help.”

He gave her a slight bow. Before he left, she saw him give her that odd, confused look again.

She got up and took her key to her locker. Then she shoved some coins into the machine and watched as the thick, dark coffee filled a foam cup. Armed with her cigarettes and jacket, she walked out and sat on a bench overlooking the
Herengracht.
The canal’s water seemed ugly today, a murky brown. She tried to think.
Who in the hell was Rost van Tonningen?
She thought she remembered vague references Nico had made about certain NSB-ers, but for the life of her she could not recall anything specific. She had wanted to blot out everything to do with Nico.

She stood and ground the cigarette butt under her heel. She had to get that diary. The air was brisk as she looked out over the canal. Small waves pushed against the concrete sides as a few gray ducks swam downstream. The coffee warmed her hands and cleared her head. She had to approach this as she would one of her surgeries—with a clear mind and confidence. There had to be a solution, a way of getting what she needed.

She crumpled her empty coffee cup and threw it into a trash can. She walked back inside deep in thought. Another
medewerker
rushed by, a stack of books in his hands, almost knocking her down. He apologized as he struggled to balance the books while opening the half door of the
medewerkers’
station. He walked in and reached into a small wooden cube on the wall, muttering to himself. Soon he found what he was looking for. He opened the half door and let himself back out into the foyer, his face red from the weight of the books.

She saw a metal post that stood about three feet high against the wall that she had not noticed before. The
medewerker
held the tower of books under one arm and with his free hand inserted a plastic card into a small box on top of the post. To her surprise, a floor panel receded and, after a few moments, a large dumbwaiter rose and stopped just above the floor. Still struggling with the books, the
medewerker
stacked them in the dumbwaiter and pushed a red button on the box. Just before it descended, Nora caught a glimpse of the slim green journal Dijkstra had refused to give her.

She had her answer.