Willem Hermans - The Darkroom of Damocles

‘Look here, Doctor.’

‘Yes?’

‘I haven’t done anything, really. I’m innocent. I’d rather be a hero, but as it happens I’m innocent. Apparently there’s someone going around who looks like me, very much like me, in fact. It’s that person’s crimes they’re accusing me of. The Germans confronted me with another prisoner. He swore he knew me. I had never seen him before. That prisoner said he had spoken to me only a week ago, at the main entrance to Vondel Park in Amsterdam. I have never been there in my life. He insisted that we had talked about arms from England being dropped by parachute. He said I asked him about detonators. But I don’t even know what detonators are, and it was the first I ever heard of arms being parachuted in by the English. It was that kind of waffle the Germans beat me up for, Doctor! I’m not a hero, I’m a victim. They have me mixed up with someone else. Last night I was in a cinema. They projected a man’s photograph on the screen, along with my name. The photo looked like me. Wanted for robbery with assault, it said, 500 guilders reward. I was scared stiff, so I ran for it. As I left the cinema the doorman recognised me. He called the police, the swine. That’s how the Germans got hold of me. I didn’t do a thing, nothing at all. Tell me Doctor, is it true that it isn’t too difficult to escape from a hospital?’

‘Too difficult? That depends. You can’t jump out of the window. And there’s a German guard in the corridor.’

The doctor left and did not come back to see him all day. The nurse did look in at regular intervals to perform routine duties. Sister Angela. The last time was at half past eight in the evening. The sun had not yet set. The windows were open, letting in the moist heat, along with the smell of putrid canal water.

Sister Angela made to pull the door shut behind her and said, with her hand still on the doorknob: ‘Time for bed.’

But the door did not close fully. On the contrary, it was flung wide open and three masked men burst in. Sister Angela stumbled, but didn’t fall because she was seized by two of the men and dragged to a corner of the room.

The third man strode towards Osewoudt.

‘Get up! Where are your clothes? Put them on! Quick!’

It was a car powered by wood gas, and yet it was quite fast. Osewoudt kept looking back, but they were not being followed.

They were on the road to Leiden, which ran parallel to the blue tram line. Dusk was falling.

‘Shall we drop you at home?’

‘No, better near Leiden somewhere, if that’s all right with you.’

‘It’s all the same to us. Right, Cor? We’ll drop him near Leiden.’

‘Plenty of time. We’ll take him wherever he wants to go.’

‘Quite a turnaround for you in the last fifteen minutes, eh?’

Osewoudt made no reply. So the man at the wheel was called Cor. He hadn’t come into the hospital with the others, he’d been waiting in the getaway car. The man next to him hadn’t said a word, he was the one who had tied up the nurse with the help of the man to Osewoudt’s right. The man to Osewoudt’s left said he was Uncle Kees. It had been Uncle Kees doing all the talking; clearly he was the leader. He had the same type of square moustache as Hitler, his eyes were almost square too, his face was a crossword puzzle.

‘What did you mean, Uncle Kees, about dropping me off at home?’

‘I thought you lived in Voorschoten. Don’t you?’

‘How did you know?’

‘It’s been in all the newspapers. Your picture, too! Rotten of the Krauts to say “wanted for robbery with assault”. If they’d said “wanted for murdering a traitor”, no Dutchman would touch those 500 guilders.’

Osewoudt fixed his eyes ahead, without responding. My picture in all the papers, complete with my name and all the rest. I disguised myself with a hat and glasses, but I no longer have either. Free again, but for how long?

When they reached the outskirts of Voorschoten he repeated his thoughts aloud.

‘Look here, Uncle Kees, what with my picture all over the papers and in the cinemas too, I can’t show my face any more. I can’t go anywhere I’ve been before, or they’ll nab me again straightaway. I need to leave the country as soon as possible. Switzerland maybe, or Spain, and from there to England.’

The man at the wheel exploded with laughter: ‘Think we’re running a travel agency, do you?’

‘Rescuing you not enough, then?’ sneered Uncle Kees.

‘All right, so you can’t get me out of the country, but surely you can fix me up with an address where I can lie low for a while?’

He had a lump in his throat as he said this. Just then they drove past the tobacco shop. NORTH STATE CIGARETTES.

He saw that the blinds had been raised, both of them, the broken one over the window too. Who had done that? He was mystified, then thought: I don’t really give a damn, anyway.

‘He wants somewhere to hide, Cor!’ said Uncle Kees.

‘Good old Osewoudt!’ said Cor. ‘Wants it all handed to him on a plate! Listen, Osewoudt, kidnapping you from a hospital was risky enough, finding you a hideout doesn’t come with it. We don’t want anything to do with you, really, that’s best for us, and for you too.’

He stepped on the accelerator.

The man on Osewoudt’s right said nothing, nor did the man sitting beside the driver.

‘Best for me?’ said Osewoudt. ‘Best for me to get caught again straightaway?’

‘Leave off, Cor,’ said Uncle Kees. ‘Not everybody’s as hardened to the job as you are. It’s hardly surprising that he’s looking around for help.’

Osewoudt leaned forward, so that his face was up close to the driver’s shoulder.

‘There’s no danger in helping me. I’m not the man they’re looking for. They’ve got me mixed up with someone else. You must believe me, I saw the photo myself in the cinema, that’s what got me arrested in the first place. But it wasn’t a picture of me, the picture looks like me, but it’s not me. No such photo of me exists. But you may have met the man they’re looking for. I know he exists.’

‘How do you know?’

For the first time the driver looked over his shoulder.

Cor had dark hair with a heavy forelock, like a fire screen before the black embers of his eyes.

‘Steady on, Cor,’ said Uncle Kees. ‘Don’t ask too many questions. He’s not asking questions either, he knows the rules. Hasn’t said thank you either, come to think of it. Naughty!’

‘How do you know it was someone else?’ Cor persisted, keeping his eyes on the road now.

‘Don’t ask too many questions, Cor!’

‘It’s all right, Uncle Kees,’ said Osewoudt. ‘I have nothing to hide. The Germans confronted me with somebody who claimed to have met me at Vondel Park in Amsterdam. I’ve never been there, I’d never seen that man in my life.’

‘Didn’t they ask about that shooting in Haarlem, Kleine Houtstraat 32, back in the summer of ’40?’

‘I don’t know about any shooting,’ said Osewoudt and then, turning to Uncle Kees: ‘Cor knows more about it than I do.’

‘Oh, belt up, Cor,’ said Uncle Kees. ‘We ought to be raising a glass. He’s just escaped death by the skin of his teeth, and there you go, pestering him with questions.’

‘If he hasn’t done anything why should we find him a hideout? No need for that, is there? We risk rescuing him and it wasn’t even necessary, is that it? He’s as innocent as a lamb. No use to the cause then, I take it.’

‘I’m scared,’ said Osewoudt. ‘I don’t want to get caught again. You saved my life. Perhaps you’ll understand when the war’s over.’

‘Rubbish. Thousands of people who haven’t done a thing get beaten up by the Germans. Which is unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do about it. We can only do things for people who matter to us. A question of economics. Poor sods who haven’t done a thing aren’t worth taking risks for, which again is unfortunate, but that’s the way it is. Right then, where do you want us to drop you off?’