“Instead of a handbag, you used a baby carriage,” I say. “The lens?”
“I cut a tiny hole for the lens in the front. You can’t see it unless you’re really looking. Now every time I take a baby for a walk, I can take secret photos. I have the whole war on my camera, and on rolls of film.”
“What kinds of secret pictures?”
“Razzias. Soldiers. People being herded into the theater. People being taken from their homes while their neighbors do nothing to help them.
“But I have good things, too,” she continues. “Photographs of the resistance, so people will know that some of us fought back. Photographs of crawl spaces where onderduikers are hiding. And every child from the theater—I take photographs of them, to help them reunite with their families after the war.”
“How many photographs do you have?” This is a whole section of the resistance that I’d never even heard of. The Nazis have forbidden us from photographing them, and even if most of us wanted to, film is hard to come by. It’s one of the harder things for me to track down on the black market.
“Hundreds,” Mina says. “Camera film is all I’ve wanted for every birthday since I was eight. I had a lot saved up.”
“What does Judith think of what you’re doing?”
Mina’s face darkens. “She doesn’t know. And don’t tell her, please. She and Ollie and everyone, they wouldn’t understand. Because it’s taking risks without actively saving as many lives as possible. But I still think it’s important. Even if it doesn’t make sense. It just feels like it’s the way I’m supposed to be helping.”
I don’t respond. I understand something being important to you even when it doesn’t fully make sense, even when others would think you were crazy. That’s been every moment for me since I agreed to help Mrs. Janssen. Even though I understand what she’s feeling, is a collection of photographs the same as what I’m doing? Those photographs would threaten everyone’s safety. “I’ll think about it,” I say finally. “I won’t tell her yet.”
I wouldn’t even know what to say. I watched a whole afternoon unfold under my nose, and I misread everything that was happening, from start to finish. All the clues were in front of me, but I still didn’t see them.
Judith is waiting for us back at the crèche.
“Did everything go all right?”
“It was fine,” Mina assures her. “The host family are good people.”
“Good enough, at least.” Judith sighs. She rolls her head and rubs the back of her neck with one hand. She must be exhausted, working at the school from the early morning and then coming here when she’s finished. She looks at me.
“I have news for you.” She waits until Mina has gone back in the nursery and checks to make sure the other attendants are not within hearing distance. “I talked to my contact. He went through the records for the past three days. According to the files, nobody named Mirjam Roodveldt has passed through the theater.”
“Is your contact sure?”
She grimaces. “Nazis insist on excellent records. Everybody who comes through has papers.”
“Thank you. Thank you for checking.”
“You don’t have to thank me. And, Hanneke, I said she hadn’t come through yet. But it’s only a matter of time.”
TWELVE
When I get home, Ollie is waiting on the doorstep of my building. We haven’t spoken since last night, the night with the drunk soldiers. This is what I’m going to call it in my mind. “The night with the drunk soldiers” is a much easier way to remember it than as “the night with the desperate kiss.”
After the kiss, the soldier laughed, clapping both of us on the back in congratulations before moving along with his friend. Ollie and I remained trembling in place, watching their backs until they turned out of the alley. Then both of us, following the same, silent cue, started walking again, more cautiously this time, in case something else came around the corner.
We didn’t discuss any of it. It’s just something that happened, like things happen now, like things will probably happen again. When we reached the front stoop, the black curtains above us fluttered, meaning my parents were watching out our window, waiting to see if I got home.
Now Ollie rises from my steps to greet me. “I brought back your mother’s bicycle,” he says. She’d lent it to him last night so he could make it back to his apartment as quickly as possible; he swore he knew a route that soldiers didn’t often patrol. “And I saw Judith while you were out with Mina. I didn’t know they were going to take you along. I wish they hadn’t. It’s too soon, to involve you in a drop-off without your consent.”
I raise my eyebrows. “I forgot. You’re the only one who’s allowed to involve me in resistance activities without my consent?”