The Assault Read Free Page B

centuries had Holland’sskies been this clear. On the horizon two slowly moving searchlights crossed each other and fanned out, but no plane could be heard. He noticed that he was still holding one of the dice in his hand and put it in his pocket.
    As he was about to move away from the window, he saw Mr. Korteweg come out of his house, followed by Karin. Korteweg picked Ploeg up by the shoulders, Karin by the boots, and together they began dragging him through the snow, Karin walking backwards.
    “Look at that,” said Anton.
    His mother and Peter were just in time to see them deposit the body in front of Carefree. Karin and Korteweg ran back. Karin threw Ploeg’s cap, which had fallen off, onto his body. Her father moved the bicycle to the road in front of Carefree. The next moment they had disappeared into Home at Last.
    Everyone was speechless in the bay window at the Steenwijks’. The quay was once more deserted, everything was as quiet as it had been, yet everything had changed. The dead man now lay with his arms above his head, the right hand clasping a gun, the long coat gathered at the waist, as if Ploeg had fallen from a great height. Now Anton clearly recognized the large face, its hair slicked down and brushed back, practically undisturbed.
    “God dammit!” screamed Peter suddenly, his voice breaking.
    “Hey, hey, watch it,” came Steenwijk’s voice from the darkness of the back room. He was still sitting at the table.
    “They put him down in front of our house, the bastards!” Peter cried. “Jesus Christ! We’ve got to get him out of here before the Krauts come.”
    “Don’t get involved,” said Mrs. Steenwijk. “We had nothing to do with it.”
    “No, except that now he’s lying in front of our door! Why do you suppose they did that? Because the Krauts are going to retaliate, of course. Just like before, at the Leidse Canal.”
    “We didn’t do anything wrong, Peter.”
    “As if they care! You’re dealing with Krauts.” He left the room. “Come on Anton, hurry; you and I can do it.”
    “Are you crazy?” Mrs. Steenwijk cried. She choked, cleared her throat, and spat out the clove. “What do you want to do?”
    “Put him back—or at Mrs. Beumer’s.”
    “At Mrs. Beumer’s? How can you think of such a thing?”
    “Why not at Mrs. Beumer’s? Mrs. Beumer had nothing to do with it either! If only the river weren’t frozen … We’ll see what we can do.”
    “No you don’t!”
    Mrs. Steenwijk rushed out of the room. In the dim light that fell through the transom into the front hall, Anton saw that his mother had posted herself in front of the door; Peter was trying to push her aside. He heard her turn the key as she called, “Willem, why don’t you say something?”
    “Yes … yes …” Anton heard his father’s voice, still in the back room. “I …”
    In the distance, shots rang out again.
    “If he’d been hit a few seconds later, he’d be lying at Mrs. Beumer’s now,” called Peter.
    “Yes …” said Steenwijk softly, his voice breaking in an odd way, “But that is not the case.”
    “Not the case! It wasn’t the case that he was lying here, either, but now it
is
the case!” Peter said suddenly, “In fact, I’m going to take him back. I’ll just do it alone.”
    He turned to run toward the kitchen door, but with a cry of pain tripped over the pile of logs and branches from the last trees his mother had chopped down in the empty lots.
    “Peter, for God’s sake!” cried Mrs. Steenwijk. “You’re playing with your life!”
    “That’s exactly what
you’re
doing, dammit.”
    Before Peter could pick himself up, Anton turned the key in the kitchen door and threw it into the hall, where it clatteredand became invisible; then he ran to the front door and did the same with the house key.
    “God dammit,” cried Peter, almost in tears. “You’re stupid, stupid, all of you.”
    He went to the back room, tore aside the curtains, and with his good foot