The Tulip Eaters. Antoinette van Heugten

His voice was a razor cut. “Your lover killed Abram and you brought the police with you in case that son of a bitch didn’t finish the job.”

      “Isaac, I don’t know why the police were there!” she sobbed. “They must have followed me. You have to believe me.”

      Suddenly he slapped her so hard she fell. It felt as if a bullwhip had sliced her face.

      “How stupid do you think I am? We had witnesses! They came running when they heard that bastard of yours threaten to kill my brother if he didn’t leave you alone. By then Abram was dead.” Anneke put her bleeding head into her hands and moaned.

      “What they did see was you standing there with the Politie by your side. Did you know that two days after Abram was murdered all of us were arrested, thrown on a train and shipped to Mauthausen?” He wiped away his tears with a rough gesture, his other hand still pointing the pistol at her. His voice was broken. “My whole family was gassed. Amarisa and I made it out.”

      “Amarisa,” whispered Anneke.

      “Yes,” snarled Isaac. “My brave sister. Would you like to hear what they did to her?”

      “I can’t—”

      “Can’t what? Hear that she was raped every day? That they smashed her leg when she took too long in the food line? That they slit her face from lip to ear?”

      Anneke felt vomit rise in her throat. “Oh, God, Isaac, please believe me—”

      He grabbed her by the collar with his free hand and pulled her up until her eyes were level with his, now pressing the cold gun barrel against her forehead. “Don’t you talk to me of love! You seduced my brother, promising you would find a way to get him out of the country.” He shook her hard. “‘Foul spawn of a Nazi,’ my father said. ‘Apples don’t fall far from the tree, especially rotten ones.’”

      She tried to pull away, but every wound he had inflicted had left her in agony, helpless. “Isaac, I wasn’t lying to you, or them! Why would I do such a thing?”

      “Because you were a Nazi, just like your father. You haven’t forgotten about Joop, now have you?”

      She sagged in his arms. “No,” she whispered, “that part is true. My father was a Nazi.”

      He flung her onto the couch. “All you good Dutchmen kissing the Nazis’ boots. In 1940, there were 140,000 Jews in the whole country. Lucky for you and your SS father, almost all of us were rounded up in ’43 and forced to live Amsterdam. Like shooting fish in a barrel.”

      Anneke hung her head. “But I’m innocent.”

      “You know damned well that you went to every Dutch Nazi rally, every march, wearing your brown NSB shirt and swearing allegiance to that maniac! Pretending to steal coal and food from your SS father for us, when all along you were just reeling us in for the kill.”

      “No, no!” Her eyes searched wildly around. She felt that her shame must be stamped in her eyes. “I was in the NSB and did go to the rallies,” she whispered. “My father made me.”

      “And did he make you go out with charming SS officers?” His snarl was a cobra strike. “Don’t bother to deny it. I saw you myself, walking with some gallant German killer.”

      Anneke hung her head. When she raised her eyes, she felt only dullness and defeat.

      “Enough. You’re a liar and a murderer and you’re finally going to get what’s coming to you.”

      Anneke fell to her knees. Hopelessness filled her. “Do what you want to me. I don’t care. Just please, please, don’t hurt the baby.”

      Isaac pointed the pistol at her and shook his head. “No, I’m not finished with you yet. I want you to imagine my father starving in that miserable camp after you betrayed him.” He stepped closer, lowering the gun barrel until it touched the top of her head. “Do you know how we even knew he was alive? He got messages to us from a cell he shared with fifteen other men! Fifteen men with only one bucket to piss and shit in! He wrote on lousy scraps of toilet paper that he sewed into the lining of his filthy clothes. The laundry girl passed them on to us.”

      Isaac choked up and then pressed the barrel harder against her head. “And do you know the first question my brother always asked when I snuck into whatever hellhole you found for him to hide in? ‘Where is Anneke? Is she all right? Tell her I love her.’”

      “Oh, Isaac, I loved him, too—you must know that! And I protected you. What about the day you were walking down the Singel and were stopped by the Groene Politie? Don’t you remember?”

      “You wore the NSB uniform, that’s what I remember,” he snarled.

      “No, you know what I’m talking about. I pretended to fall off my bicycle and the Duitsers ran over to help me—”

      “Because they saw your uniform and knew that you were a filthy Nazi, too.”

      Anneke looked into his angry eyes. She had to make him understand! “No! I did it to distract them so you could get away. And you did!” Isaac still glared at her, but said nothing. “What about the food I brought your parents every week? And in the winter of ’44, when your mother was so sick, I brought medicine for her that I stole from my father.”

      “What I remember about your Nazi father is that he turned in four of my friends. Shipped them off. Dead now. And we all know why you pretended to protect us, feed us and even made Abram fall in love with you.”

      “Why?” cried Anneke. “Why would I have done that if I didn’t love all of you?”

      “Because it was all part of your plan to turn in a Jewish family to win more NSB medals to pin on that Nazi outfit you wore. We were just another notch in your belt.”

      “You don’t understand any of it.”

      “I understand perfectly.” Then Rose wailed from her bassinet. Isaac picked her up and walked to Anneke, baby under one arm, pointing his pistol at her with the other. But Rose kicked and cried in his arms. He tried to switch her to his right side, but she screamed louder. “Shut up, godverdomme!”

      Anneke saw her chance and sprang up. She kicked out at Isaac and caught him in the knee, grabbed Rose and ran. Off balance, Isaac recovered quickly, shoved the pistol in his pocket and dashed after her. Anneke bolted up the back stairway, adrenaline erasing her pain, and hurtled breathlessly into her bedroom with Rose under one arm. Hands shaking, she slammed and locked the door and then flung open a drawer on the night table. Where was it? Her hand closed around the cool metal.

      Isaac banged on the door. “I’ll break it down, you bitch!” he yelled. “And when I do, I’ll kill you with my bare hands—and that child!”

      Anneke flung the door open. With Rose on her hip, she moved toward him. Isaac lunged forward, his hands reaching for her throat. But when he saw what she held, he stopped cold.

      “Get your hands behind you.” She pointed her pistol at the spot between his eyes. She waved its barrel gently up and down. A deadly calm filled her. When she spoke, her words sounded like silk. “I know how to use this, as you are well aware.”

      Isaac’s face contorted with rage. “A Luger!” he shouted. “And you say you’re not a Nazi? You lying whore!”

      Anneke gave him a small, bitter smile. “Shut your goddamned mouth,” she said softly. Then she saw him frantically try to free the pistol from his pocket. She clicked off the safety. Isaac froze. “Put your fucking hands behind your back.”

      “No.”

      Anneke hiked Rose higher on her hip and trained her eye down the sights of her pistol. “I never enjoyed killing. But you are threatening me and my family. If you don’t do as I say, what happens will be your fault—no one else’s.”

      She saw the artery in Isaac’s neck bulge with each ragged breath he drew. He was clearly calculating