I had agreed to meet Wout in the café by the station. I sat down by the window to wait for him. There were few customers. A record player was blaring out German songs. Outside children were playing with a top. I saw Wout coming up behind them, with my brother’s bag under his arm.

‘Are you getting along OK here?’ he asked after seating himself across from me. He pulled some books out of the bag.

I nodded. ‘Even so, I’d rather be in Amsterdam,’ I said.

‘Why?’ asked Wout. ‘Things are relatively quiet here. It’s a lot less safe for you in Amsterdam.’

‘It’s as if I’m on holiday,’ I said. ‘I row a lot, I lie in the sun, I help a bit around the house – and the rest of the time I do nothing.’

‘You wouldn’t be able to do anything in Amsterdam either,’ he said.

‘Have you made any enquiries?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ he said, looking out the window. ‘They’ve been sent on to the East.’

I followed his gaze.

‘It’s top season, now,’ I said.

A little girl was spinning her top – a red one – on the pavement. She lashed it with a whip, which sent it flying in an elegant arc onto the road, where it twirled around like a ballet dancer, right in front of an oncoming truck.

Wout toyed with a beer coaster, making it tilt sideways, roll across the table then fall on top of his fingers. A few soldiers went by. Their heavy footsteps resounded for a very long time. Meanwhile, the girl had retrieved her squashed top.

‘But they’ll come back, won’t they?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ said Wout. ‘Maybe it’ll all be over soon.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said.

We stood up. A German soldier was coming into the café just as I was going out, so that we both went through the revolving door at the same time.

Outside the little girl was crying over her top.

A new name

The bed that Uncle Hannes had promised to bring never arrived and the man didn’t go and pick it up. He came home exhausted every evening and got up at the crack of dawn the next day. He was a day labourer at a farm and the work was very heavy, especially in the summer. He took it easy on Sundays and slept most of the day. Occasionally he’d horse around with his wife, but it never lasted long, because she’d soon get annoyed.

All that time the woman and I had to sleep in the same bed while the man slept in the other bed with the boys. It was very stuffy in the low-ceilinged attic, which was never aired. I slept badly, hardly daring to move for fear I would touch the woman. She’d told me she never washed herself.

‘After all, I’m not dirty,’ she said. ‘I change my clothes once a week.’