probably quiet by nature, like she was. But that didn't mean that the girl didn't want anything, like Mother said about her. Her face told her she probably wanted something so deep or so remote that she never dared breathe it but was thinking about it there by the window. And not only wanted. She was capable of doing some great wild loving thing. Yes, oh yes.
Hannah lingered doing the errands, not want ing to go right home. In the grocers' shops there were queues all the way out to the streets even though less was displayed than last week. After four shops, she stepped out into the boulevard again.
Then she saw them.
Another family of yellow stars carrying suitcases was being herded down the middle of Schelde straat.
To Westerbork. That place.
Why them? she wondered.
As they passed, for the flash of a second a little boy looked at her with frightened eyes. She dipped her head and walked on. A pain shot through her chest. Ignoring it seemed the same kind of betrayal as Marie's. She turned onto Rijnstraat and hurried home so fast she had a side ache.
She accidentally let the door slam when she came in. "No parsley, so I got celery, but no egg anywhere."
"No egg? Did you go to Ivansteen's?" Mother asked.
"And to three places on Scheldestraat."
"What'll we do? And those poor homeless refugees coming and not even a full Seder plate."
"It won't matter. In a matter of time, it won't matter at all."
"Hannah! Never say that. Don't let me ever hear you say that."
"What happened?" Hilde took the shank bone from her hands to examine it. "What happened out there on the street?"
Hannah slapped the celery onto the sink counter and turned to leave. "Nothing, Oma."
Hilde followed her. "What did you see out there?"
"Nothing. Just children jumping off porches holding open umbrellas. Playing parachutes. They do it whenever they hear planes. Haven't you no ticed?"
She watched Hilde and Mother look at each other in puzzlement. No, of course they hadn't.
That evening with the house darkened, after her parents hid ten pieces of hametz around the house, Tobias did the ritual final search for hametz by can dlelight. Using a feather, he brushed the crumbs into a wooden spoon with a seriousness Hannah couldn't remember from past years when it was more of a game.
"Where'd you get the feather, Toby?" Hannah asked.
"It's Leo's." He held it up and twirled it. "Look how it's purple on the edge. And wider on one side than the other. It came out in my hand as I was holding him. I didn't mean to."
No. He could never do the birds harm.
Father put the crumbs, the feather and the spoon into a paper bag to be burned the next morning. After Toby went to bed, when she thought he'd be asleep, she drew back the curtain that divided their bedroom and looked at him awhile. The boy in the street had the same curly hair as Toby. Bending to pull the blanket over him, she breathed the musty, innocent smell of rabbit and crayon and pigeon.
Before breakfast the whole family gathered on the porch, and Father struck a match and touched it to the edge of the bag.
"Two places, Sol," Hilde said. "To give it a good burning."
Hannah watched the black edge creep sideways across the bag, like the front line of an army, she thought, bringing a small wall of orange flame be hind it until it touched the other black edge ad vancing to meet it. The Red Sea closing in instead of parting. Eventually the wooden spoon was a burnt bone of dying cinder on the bricks of the porch. Hannah stamped it out.
In the afternoon Father went walking with Toby, Hannah didn't know where, but she knew they'd end up at the Rotterdam Cafe in order to bring home for Seder dinner two of the refugee families who were living upstairs.
Except for the slow rhythmic crunch-crunch of Mother chopping nuts for the charoseth, and the coos of the pigeons echoing down the open air vent, the house was quiet. With everything nearly ready for the holiday at sundown, it seemed to Hannah that the rooms
Hannah lingered doing the errands, not want ing to go right home. In the grocers' shops there were queues all the way out to the streets even though less was displayed than last week. After four shops, she stepped out into the boulevard again.
Then she saw them.
Another family of yellow stars carrying suitcases was being herded down the middle of Schelde straat.
To Westerbork. That place.
Why them? she wondered.
As they passed, for the flash of a second a little boy looked at her with frightened eyes. She dipped her head and walked on. A pain shot through her chest. Ignoring it seemed the same kind of betrayal as Marie's. She turned onto Rijnstraat and hurried home so fast she had a side ache.
She accidentally let the door slam when she came in. "No parsley, so I got celery, but no egg anywhere."
"No egg? Did you go to Ivansteen's?" Mother asked.
"And to three places on Scheldestraat."
"What'll we do? And those poor homeless refugees coming and not even a full Seder plate."
"It won't matter. In a matter of time, it won't matter at all."
"Hannah! Never say that. Don't let me ever hear you say that."
"What happened?" Hilde took the shank bone from her hands to examine it. "What happened out there on the street?"
Hannah slapped the celery onto the sink counter and turned to leave. "Nothing, Oma."
Hilde followed her. "What did you see out there?"
"Nothing. Just children jumping off porches holding open umbrellas. Playing parachutes. They do it whenever they hear planes. Haven't you no ticed?"
She watched Hilde and Mother look at each other in puzzlement. No, of course they hadn't.
That evening with the house darkened, after her parents hid ten pieces of hametz around the house, Tobias did the ritual final search for hametz by can dlelight. Using a feather, he brushed the crumbs into a wooden spoon with a seriousness Hannah couldn't remember from past years when it was more of a game.
"Where'd you get the feather, Toby?" Hannah asked.
"It's Leo's." He held it up and twirled it. "Look how it's purple on the edge. And wider on one side than the other. It came out in my hand as I was holding him. I didn't mean to."
No. He could never do the birds harm.
Father put the crumbs, the feather and the spoon into a paper bag to be burned the next morning. After Toby went to bed, when she thought he'd be asleep, she drew back the curtain that divided their bedroom and looked at him awhile. The boy in the street had the same curly hair as Toby. Bending to pull the blanket over him, she breathed the musty, innocent smell of rabbit and crayon and pigeon.
Before breakfast the whole family gathered on the porch, and Father struck a match and touched it to the edge of the bag.
"Two places, Sol," Hilde said. "To give it a good burning."
Hannah watched the black edge creep sideways across the bag, like the front line of an army, she thought, bringing a small wall of orange flame be hind it until it touched the other black edge ad vancing to meet it. The Red Sea closing in instead of parting. Eventually the wooden spoon was a burnt bone of dying cinder on the bricks of the porch. Hannah stamped it out.
In the afternoon Father went walking with Toby, Hannah didn't know where, but she knew they'd end up at the Rotterdam Cafe in order to bring home for Seder dinner two of the refugee families who were living upstairs.
Except for the slow rhythmic crunch-crunch of Mother chopping nuts for the charoseth, and the coos of the pigeons echoing down the open air vent, the house was quiet. With everything nearly ready for the holiday at sundown, it seemed to Hannah that the rooms
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