The Safekeep(62)
May 1, 1961
It’s a gorgeous May day. The sun is so soft and everything is in bloom and the air smells like an exclamation mark for something that’s about to happen. Louis is at work. Met his housemate. Maurice, who I know, who is Geytele’s cousin whose friend got me that second hiding address in Drenthe in ’43. He didn’t recognize me. It’s been over fifteen years and I am blond now. I am scared if he looks at me for too long he will recognize me, so I will stay in the room or I will go outside. I think I’ll get Louis to marry me. Have taken diary with me, have decided I am not worried: Louis does not notice me much or the things I have or the things I do. He wants me! Obviously. He does not notice me.
May 2, 1961
That’s what I imagine. That’s what I imagine a big love is like. Sometimes I think about Pap and the time he wanted to show me how to play checkers and I said no, boring game. I want to scream at myself. Now you’ll never know how he plays checkers or how he explains the rules and these are things you’ll never ever ever know. That’s what happens when people die. They take themselves with them and you never ever find out anything new about them ever.
I think that big love is like that but no one’s dead or dying. And then I think: it’s much better to just like a person a lot. Who makes good decisions when they’re in love? I know no one.
May 4, 1961
I thought I was in love with Martijn. He was a good kisser, and he kept the bed so warm, and God when I talked he looked at me like I was the smartest person in the whole world. And when I fed him he said, Mmmmmmm! As if he hadn’t tasted anything better in his whole life. But then he left and I was angry for two days and then I thought, Oh, it’s nice to have time to myself again. And when Basje told me he was sleeping with Janneke I thought, Good luck Janneke, so I don’t think that was love after all.
May 12, 1961
Louis wants to take me to a family dinner next week to meet his brother and sister.
May 16, 1961
The days are warming but the nights are still cold. Today I remembered when that lady decided keeping me in the basement was too dangerous and sent me out at night and that was also May and that was also such a cold night. They bombed somewhere nearby I didn’t sleep a wink. Louis does this thing in his sleep where he doesn’t hold me but just puts a very soft hand on my hip. I hate it, it drives me crazy. I want to shout, Either you hold me or you don’t touch me at all!! What is this hand, it’s nothing!! I roll away.
May 21, 1961
Dinner with his siblings last night. I was so nervous. I thought I would look at them and they would know who I was somehow. I thought I would see them and recognize them in a way that I maybe didn’t recognize Louis, like maybe I’ve remembered their faces where I didn’t remember his. I didn’t. They were strangers to me. I hoped she (his sister) would be a nice person and I had a plan where I would say how much I wanted to get away to the country and she would invite us for a weekend but none of that happened. She is awful. She is sour and mean and she looked at me like Louis had dragged me into the house under the sole of his shoe. She kept looking at me like she was trying to—I don’t know. She kept looking at me. She and Hendrik came here after for drinks, oh it was awful! But I didn’t show, I smiled and I smiled and I said, Oh it was so nice to meet you Isabel! So lovely! We hope to see you soon!
Her face, I swear. Not even honey could sweeten that vinegar.
June 1, 1961
A miracle. Louis got called to substitute for a colleague, work trip, something or the other. He will be gone a month. I said, I can’t stay here alone with Maurice. He said, Can you invite a friend to stay with you? I said, Can’t I stay with your sister? He said, Isabel? I said, Isabel. We are driving out in 10 mins. My suitcase is half-empty. I will fill up the rest.
June 2, 1961
I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. It smells the same. The walls. The things. The firs and the garden. The painting of the Veluwe Uncle Avrum brought that one time all wrapped in brown paper and oh they barely changed anything. These people—they—! The curtains are new. This bed is new. I can’t stop touching everything, everything. Mum’s room. I now touch things that she once touched. Her secretary—still here. The initials I carved into the drawer. Who do they think that is? Who do they think that is? Have they ever wondered? They have never wondered. These people do not wonder. I am here. I am here. I’m here I’m here I’m here.
June 3, 1961
Will anyone recognize me? Will the neighbors? Will the postman? Will the farmer on the other side of the dike? What will they do? Strangely I am not afraid and I am not worried. I woke up and the sun came through the window through the firs and the shadows on the curtains. I can just hear her, it’s like she’s downstairs: Oh you’re God now and you get to decide where the shadow falls? I was born in this room. Mum could not get to the hospital, I was born in this room, and these walls were witness, and this desk, and these windows too. The house wants me here even if no one else does.