He smiles tightly, and I give up. “If I was there, how would you have found out about it?”
“My friend Judith is the school secretary. She visited me just an hour ago because she wanted to tell me about a strange thing that happened.”
Judith. That must be the Jewish girl with the sharp eyes and messy bun.
“Judith said a girl had come by and claimed to be looking for pictures of a boy named Bas, whom she loved and who was dead. It scared her. She thought it might be a Nazi scout, and she came to me because she was terrified.”
The couple in front of us has stopped, too. The woman looks angry. So this isn’t a first date, as I thought, but people who have known each other long enough to fight. “But how did you know it was me?” I ask.
“I asked Judith to describe the person who visited her, and she said it was a tall girl, about eighteen, with honey-colored hair and angry-looking green eyes. She said she was—let me make sure I get this right—‘the girl Hitler is dreaming of to put on his Aryan posters.’” He pauses, giving me a chance to deny it. I don’t bother. There are photographs of me in the Van de Kamps’ home. He could easily show one to Judith, at which point she would confirm that it was me she had seen.
We’ve reached the statue, in the middle of the plaza. Ollie pulls on my sleeve, turning me to face him, and leans in close under the shadow of Rembrandt. “So what were you doing there?”
“I was looking for something. That’s all.”
“I know that. But it obviously wasn’t a picture of Bas, who wasn’t Jewish and didn’t go to that school.”
“I can’t tell you.”
He rolls his eyes, as if I’m being a difficult little girl. “You can’t tell me? Do you think it would be too hard for me to understand?”
It’s the voice I used with Mrs. Janssen, to chastise her for writing down Mirjam’s story, and I’m irritated that Ollie is using it on me. What would he know about understanding? I might be three years younger, but he’s the one who is tucked away in a university. He knows nothing of the real world.
“Unless—” he starts again, and his eyes flicker. “Hanneke, you weren’t there on behalf of the NSB, were you? I heard through a few people that you were involved in the black market, but is the NSB the side you’re on?”
The smart answer would be to tell him yes. Because then he would leave me alone. He’d ask no more questions, and I’d never have to see him again. But my pride gets in the way of agreeing to such a grotesque lie. “Of course not.”
“Then what? Tell me. I won’t be angry. I promise.”
I look into his not-quite-as-blue-as-Bas’s eyes. The Jewish Lyceum is the only lead I’ve been able to think of. “Can you introduce me to Judith properly?” I ask. “Can you ask her to meet with me?”
“It’s Judith you’re interested in?”
“No. I’m just—I’m looking for someone, and I think Judith might be able to tell me more about them.”
He’s turned away from me now, toward the base of the Rembrandt statue, pretending to read the inscription but looking at it for much longer than he would need. When he finally speaks, it’s very quiet. “Are you asking about het verzet?”
“No, Ollie, I’m not insane.” I’m surprised Ollie would even bring up the resistance. He’s never been a rule breaker. “It’s something else.”
“Hanneke, I’m not going to help you if you don’t tell me why you want my help.”
“It’s nothing bad, Ollie. But I won’t tell you, because it’s too d—” I cut myself off. I almost said it was too dangerous, but that word would only make him less likely to help me. “Because it’s dishonorable. I promised someone I wouldn’t tell.”
“Because it’s too dangerous? Is that what you were going to say?”
I press my lips and look away.
“Hanneke.” He’s speaking so softly I can barely hear him. I’m watching his lips move more than listening. “Whatever you’re doing, stop. Stop now.”
“Please take me to Judith. Tell her I just need a few minutes. I won’t get her in trouble.”
“Time to go home, Hannie. Your mother will be worried about curfew.”
He’s businesslike again; I’m losing him. Finally, I make a calculated decision because I don’t see any other options. Because Mirjam has been missing for almost twenty-four hours already. Because Ollie might be pedantic and boring, but he could never be a Nazi. “Ollie. I need to talk to Judith because I’m looking for a girl. Named Mirjam. She’s just fifteen. Just Pia’s age.”