Catch Me When I Fall by Westerhof Patricia Read Free Book Online

served all three of them generous helpings. They ate in silence until Beatrice tried again. “So, do you at least know his name?”
    â€œCan’t we eat in peace?” Willem’s gnomelike face, the big nose, the deep grooves, turned to flint.
    â€œWell you don’t have to yell at me. After the nice dinner I made you.”
    Willem scowled, but he put his fork down and leaned back. He ran his hand over the bald top of his head, as if he were smoothing back an unruly mop of hair. “The collaborators were tried after the Liberation. I don’t know what happened to him after that. My grandmother moved to Canada. She told us he turned against his own people, and to never mention his name. Happy now?” Willem picked up his fork and put the last bite of pie in his mouth. Still chewing, he added, “My grandmother raised the five kids alone. Cleaned houses for people in Red Deer to earn money. Kept her own house clean too.” He looked around with displeasure.
    â€œNo one lifts a finger to help me,” said Beatrice. She glowered at Eustace, eyes turning nasty. “You have Eustace, but what help do I get?”
    â€œHe’s not much help,” said Willem.
    â€œI have to go.” Eustace rose and disappeared out the side door.
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    He stalked to the edge of the yard and stared into the bush. He wondered what kind of man his great-grandfather had been. When Miss Zylstra made them read The Diary of Anne Frank in English class last year, she had said that not all the Dutch had been like Miep and Mr. Kraler. Many, many Dutch Jews had died in concentration camps, some of them because their Dutch neighbours sold their names to the authorities in exchange for food or electricity. Rodney VanEng raised his hand and told a story he’d heard from his grandfather. Some men in the Resistance sent a message to a Nazi collaborator to meet them late one night, then they strung a wire across the road he would take. When he sped toward them on his motorbike, the wire sliced his head off. “Do you think that’s true, Miss Zylstra?” Clara had asked. “I don’t like to think about it,” Miss Zylstra answered. “But yes. That’s how they dealt with traitors.”
    Eustace hunched under a weeping birch as the rain pelted down. He thought about hatred. Murderous hatred. His own great-grandfather must have been despised by his neighbours and even his own family members. His wife abandoned him and moved to Canada. Maybe he had deserved hatred. Maybe he was the one responsible for sending his Auntie Margot’s parents to their death. Eustace wondered how people went on afterwards, after acting on their passions during the war—whether they were traitors or the murderers of traitors—how did they live with themselves, live with others?
    The rain finally slowed to a drizzle, and he was cold. He could make his way to the Dodge Dart and shelter there for a while. Or dry out in the barn. But there was no place to go. Eventually he would have to go back inside.
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    â€œThat girl phoned for you,” Beatrice said. “Wants you to call her back.”
    He took the phone to his room and dialled, and Naomi answered, crying. “I think I’m having a miscarriage.”
    Hallelujah, thank you, God.
    â€œHow do you know?”
    â€œI’m bleeding, you idiot.”
    â€œAre you okay?”
    â€œNo. I think I’m supposed to go the hospital, but I don’t want to tell my parents.”
    â€œCan’t you just say something’s gone wrong with your period?”
    â€œNo, you fucking moron. They’d still find out.”
    â€œDo you want me to take you?” He heard the reluctance in his voice and braced himself.
    She hung up.
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    He stayed awake all night watching the moon over the cedars outside his window. At dawn he heard the crows