Aunt Kaatje would have arrived at our house by now. It would make her happy to hear that I’d bought the shortbread on Weesperstraat. ‘The best shortbread in the world comes from Weesperstraat,’ she always said. And we believed her because she was sure to know.

When I turned the corner of Roetersstraat, I saw that the fat man had gone. I was planning to ask my mother if she knew who the girl was, but she had a worried look on her face when she met me in the hall.

‘Aunt Kaatje is gone,’ she said. ‘The entire old folks’ home has been cleared out.’

‘All those old people have been hauled away?’ I asked.

My mother nodded. I handed her my bag with the groceries. Well, I thought as I went into the living room, Aunt Kaatje had looked forward to another trip. My father told us what he’d heard from the people living near the home.

Only hours later did I think again of the girl who was my age, the girl I didn’t know.

Lepelstraat

As I turned onto Lepelstraat, I saw a police van approaching at the far end of the street. Men in helmets and green uniforms were sitting stiffly on two rows of benches. The van stopped and the men leaped out. I turned around to retrace my steps, but an identical van had already driven into the street behind me. The men inside it were likewise sitting perfectly still and erect, like tin soldiers in a toy car. They simultaneously leaped out of both sides of the van, strode over to the houses and pushed open the doors, most of which had been left ajar so they wouldn’t have to be broken down. One of the soldiers came up to me and ordered me to get into the van, which at this point was still empty.

‘I don’t live here,’ I said.

‘Get in anyway,’ said the man in the green uniform.

I didn’t move. ‘No,’ I repeated clearly. ‘I don’t live on Lepelstraat. Ask your commanding officer whether you’re also supposed to round up people who live on another street.’

He turned and walked over to the officer, who was standing a few feet away from the van, keeping an eye on his men. The soldier spoke to him briefly, pointing at me a couple of times as he did so. I didn’t move from where I was and saw a little boy suddenly emerge from a door near me. He was carrying a knapsack in one hand and a slice of bread with molasses in the other. There was a brown smear on his chin. From an open door I heard heavy steps on a staircase. The soldier came back and asked for my identity card, which he took over to the officer, who looked at it, muttered something and gave it back to the soldier. Holding the card in the same hand that was also clutching the gun, the soldier approached me again. He walked slower this time and stepped on a piece of paper that was being blown across the pavement. His helmet came down to his eyebrows, making his forehead look like it was made out of green steel. Meanwhile the little boy in the doorway had eaten his bread and tied his knapsack onto his back.