fingers.
âHe must not hit Mama,â said Thomas. He felt his eyes fill with tears, but he didnât want to cry.
âWho must not hit Mama?â Jesus asked.
âYou know perfectly well,â Thomas said angrily.
âBlankâs my name,â said Jesus.
âHow odd,â thought Thomas. âGranddad always says, âBlankâs my name,â and no one else does.â
âI mean,â said Jesus, âthat I know nothing about it.â
âPapa, of course,â Thomas cried.
Jesus said nothing, but you could see in His face how shocked He was. And sad and angry too. âWell, Iâll beâ¦.â He said then. âHas he gone completely off his head?!â
That last expression was one of Aunt Pieâs!
But then Thomas heard his father say, âIn the name of our Lord Jesus Christ, amen.â
Thomas opened his eyes, and Jesus was gone.
âEnjoy the meal,â said Mother.
Father cut the meat. The knife slid through the meat as if it were foam. But it wasnât, because you could see blood oozing from it.
âIsnât that knife razor-sharp, Papa!â said Margot.
âYes,â said Father proudly, âI sharpen it every week.â
âIt cuts clean through everything, no matter how tough!â said Margot.
âThatâs right,â said Father. âYou could butcher an old cow with it.â
âRip, rip, right through it,â said Margot, her eyes glistening.
Father shared out the meat, giving himself the largest piece, because he had to work so hard in the office. âI dislike blunt knives,â he said.
Â
That evening, when Mother was putting Thomas to bed, she whispered, âMrs. van Amersfoortâs husband gave his life for our freedom. She saved people herself, too, during the war. Iâll always let you visit her, but just make sure Papa doesnât notice.â
âOkay, Mama. Mama?â
âYes?â
âAre you happy?â
âYes, my own boy, because you make me happy.â She kissed him, switched off the light, and went downstairs.
Thomas thought about what Mother had said. That he didnât have to obey Father, as long as he did it secretly. And that she was happy. He had the feeling that something was not right, but he couldnât quite work out what.
T homas was worried, because he had taken the plunge. He had put his letter into Elizaâs letterbox. What was he going to do if he met her? Which way would he look? The best thing would be to hide himself and never reappear. That was why he was at home, reading Emil and the Detectives . It was a wonderful book about a German boy in Berlin. It was not about God. It seemed Emil never had to go to church, which was odd.
When he had read for half an hour, he put the book down with a sigh. Perhaps it would be okay to go outside for a bit, if he was really careful. If he saw Eliza, he could for instance quickly jump into a doorway, or hide behind a fat lady, just like Emil in Berlin. As he was going down the stairs to the front door, he saw a white envelope lying on the doormat at the bottom of the stairs. His mouth became dry from nervousness, for that letter was from Eliza, he was convinced of it. If it was an angry letter, he did not want to go on living. He would go and drown himself in the Reijnier Vinkeles Canal, among the swordtails.
With thudding heart he went down one tread at a time and picked up the envelope from the mat. âTo Mr. A. Klopper,âread the address. That was Father, for Thomasâs name was T. Klopper. And on the back: âMrs. van Amersfoort-Raaphorst.â
It wasnât a letter from Eliza at all! It was a letter from Mrs. van Amersfoort to his father! That was even worse! That was a national disaster! Quickly he stuffed the envelope under his shirt. He looked up into the dark stairwell. No one had seen him. Carefully he opened and closed the door. He ran down the street, turned the