‘It’s so dreary without tea,’ observed my mother.

Darkness slowly fell. While my father was drawing the curtains, the first trucks rumbled past. He stood there, still holding the curtain, and looked at us.

‘There they go,’ he said.

‘They’re passing our house,’ said my mother. We listened to the sounds outside. The engine roar receded and for a while all was still. Then we heard cars driving down the street again. This time it took longer for things to quieten down. But then there fell a silence that we hardly dared to break. I saw my mother looking at her half-full teacup and knew she wanted to drink it. And yet she didn’t move a muscle.

After some time, my father said, ‘Let’s wait ten more minutes and then we’ll turn on the overhead light.’ But before those ten minutes were up, the bell rang. It was just before nine. We remained seated and looked at one another in surprise. As if we wondered: Who could that be? As if we didn’t know! As if we thought: It could simply be a friend dropping by for a visit! After all, it was early in the evening, and the tea was ready.

They must have had a master key.

They were standing in the room before we were able to make the slightest move. They were big men and they were wearing light raincoats.

‘Get our coats, please,’ my father said to me.

My mother finished her tea.

With my coat on, I remained standing in the hall. I heard my father say something and one of the men say something back, though I couldn’t make out the words. I listened with my ear pressed against the living room door. Again I heard my father’s voice and again I couldn’t hear what he said. Then I turned around, walked through the kitchen and went into the garden. It was dark. My foot bumped against something round. It must have been a ball.

I closed the garden gate softly behind me, ran down the street, and kept running until I came to Frederiksplein. There was no one to be seen, only a dog sniffing its way past the houses. I crossed the square. I felt as if I were alone in a deserted city.

Bitter herbs

The first few days I blamed myself for having abandoned my parents. I couldn’t help feeling that it would have been better if I’d stayed with them. I had run out through the garden gate without thinking. It wasn’t until I was standing in front of the house on Weteringschans, where my brother had gone into hiding a few days earlier, that I considered turning back. Just then, however, the clock in the church tower struck the curfew hour. I rang the bell.

‘You did the right thing,’ said Dave. ‘You couldn’t have done anything else.’

‘But they’ll wonder where I am,’ I said. ‘They’ll be worried.’