That same evening I went to Amsterdam again. 'You can still stay here tonight,' they said in Utrecht; but I didn't want to. I wanted to go straight back. They insisted that I should at least eat something, or, if nothing else rest a bit. I wasn't tired and I wasn't hungry. I rang a contact in Amsterdam. 'Come on over,' said Wout. I'd met him a few weeks earlier at the home of a Jewish family. My parents had already gone by then. 'If you've any problems, give me a ring,' he said. I'd thought no more about him.
With my brother's bag, a few hours later I got on the train. I didn't bother to see if there were any checks, I didn't look round for police or soldiers, I didn't look for a special compartment. A great load of worry fell away from me. If they got me, at least I'd no longer have the feeling I'd just been left behind. Wout was waiting for me at the Amstelstation. 'I've made arrangements with Uncle Hannes,' he said. He's coming to pick you up tomorrow morning.'
I didn't ask who Uncle Hannes was. He made it sound as if he was talking about an uncle of mine.
'I've got another case full of clothes,' I said, 'which is still in de Weteringschans'. Wout promised he'd collect it for me. The following morning I met Uncle Hannes at the bus stop on the Surinameplein. The bag I'd left with Wout.
GB