Bitter Herbs

Marga Mingo

BITTER HERBS

A Short Chronicle

Translated by Jeannette K. Ringold

Contents

About the Author

Marga Minco is a Dutch writer who was born in 1920. She debuted as an author in 1957 with Bitter Herbs, which was followed by other famous works such as An Empty House (1966), The Fall (1983) and many short stories. She won the Vijverberg prize in 1957, the Annie Romein Prize in 1999, the Constantijn Huygen Prize in 2005 and the P.C. Hooft Prize in 2019 for her entire oeuvre.

In memory of my parents

Dave and Lotte

Bettie and Hans

Through my head rolls a train full of Jews. I click on the past as if it were a railroad switch …

Bert Voeten, The Train

One day

It started one day when my father said, ‘Let’s go and see if everyone is back.’ We’d been away for a few days. All of Breda had been ordered to evacuate. We had hurriedly packed a suitcase and joined the endless lines of people leaving the city in the direction of the Belgian border. Bettie and Dave were living in Amsterdam at the time. ‘They won’t be affected by any of this,’ my mother said.

It was a long, dangerous journey. We carried the suitcase on a bicycle. Overstuffed bags were hanging from the handlebars. Bomb fragments and machine-gun bullets flew over our heads. Now and then someone was hit; then a small group would stay behind. Close to the Belgian border we found shelter with farmers. After two days we saw German troops driving down the country road and several hours later the evacuees returned to the city.

‘The danger has passed,’ a fellow townsman announced. So we went back with him.

At home, everything was as we had left it. The table was still set. Only the clock had stopped. My mother immediately threw open the windows. Across the street a woman hung her blankets over the balcony. Elsewhere someone shook out rugs as if nothing had happened.

I went into the street with my father. Our next-door neighbour, who was standing in his front garden, came to the gate when he saw us walking toward him.

‘Have you seen them yet?’ he asked. ‘They’re pretty impressive, aren’t they?’

‘No,’ said my father, ‘I haven’t seen anything yet. We’re going to have a look.’

‘The whole city is crawling with them,’ said the neighbour.

‘I’m not surprised,’ said my father. ‘Breda is a garrison town, so you can expect that sort of thing.’

‘I wonder how long they’ll stay,’ the neighbour said.

‘Not long, I assure you,’ declared my father.

‘What about you?’ asked the neighbour. He inched closer. ‘What will your family do now?’

‘We?’ said my father. ‘We aren’t going to do anything. Why should we?’