Bitter herbs
That same evening I went back to Amsterdam.
'You can stay here tonight', they said in Utrecht, but I did not want that.
I wanted to go back immediately. They urged me at least to eat something or in
any case to rest a bit. I was not tired and I was not hungry. I rang a
friend in Amsterdam.
'Come over here', Wout said. I had met him several weeks ago at a Jewish family.
My parents had already gone. 'If you are in trouble, then phone me', he said. I
had not thought about him any more.
With my brother's bag I stepped in the train several hours later. I did not look to see if they were checking, I did not look to see whether there was any police, or soldiers,
I did not look for a special compartment. I had lost a lot of fear. If I would also
be caught, I would no longer have that feeling of having been left alone.
Wout was waiting for me at the Amstelstation. 'I have arranged a meeting with
uncle Hannes', he said. 'He is coming to pick you up tomorrow-morning.'
I did not ask who uncle Hannes was. It sounded as if he was talking about an uncle
of mine.
'I have another suitcase with clothes', I said, 'that is still at the Weteringschans.'
Wout promised me that he would fetch it for me.
The next morning I met uncle Hannes at the busstop at the Surinameplein. I had
left the bag with Wout.