The Rattle-Rat by Janwillem van de Wetering Read Free Book Online Page A

just before the liberation, and was wanted afterward by the Dutch police on charges of treason. Traitor Troelstra. The suspect didn't want to be shot, so he hid with relatives, and was seen by neighbors. The neighbors alerted the local police, and Troelstra fled to Amsterdam, where he hid again, this time in a girlfriend's house, at the Old Side Alley. Tired of being hunted, Troelstra asked the girlfriend to phone the police to tell them that he would be ending his life, but would like to talk to someone first, a qualified authority preferably. The commissaris was an assistant inspector at the time and answered the call in person. He took a streetcar. The girlfriend opened the door. Jelle was in bed, with a German pistol in his hand. Jelle Troelstra, ex-hero. The commissaris nodded. Not a bad chap at all, rather an idealist, but on the wrong side, of course. Misdirected loyalty. Hitler, a devil masquerading as an angel, Troelstra saw that now. And subject hadn't committed atrocities, because he was a decent fellow, quite incapable of evil deed.
    He listened to Troelstra in those late days of 1945, and encouraged him somewhat, telling him he wouldn't be shot, that he might still live a useful life and that the punishment would be bearable, since subject was turning himself in. Self-confessed traitors were sent to the colonies then, to New Guinea, the enormous island in Indonesia's utmost East, a Dutch possession still, and much in need of roads. Subject would have served there and been returned in due course.
    The commissaris picked up his phone again. "Dear?"
    "Sir?"
    "Please, Jelle Troelstra in... Anjum. Try to locate the man. If he isn't listed, try any other Troelstra in Anjum and ask where we can find Jelle. Is that understood? If you please?"
    "You said it at the beginning, sir. One 'please' will suffice."
    "At your service," the commissaris said. "You're welcome."
    The phone rang. "Yes?"
    "Mr. Troelstra lives in Amsterdam, sir. He's on the line now."
    "Mr. Troelstra?"
    "Yes," a gravelly voice said.
    "You'realive," the commissaris said. "I'm pleased to hear that. It's me, the policeman who fetched you in '45. Your girlfriend called and we had a talk. Do you remember?"
    "And you're a commissaris now?"
    "And I would like to talk to you."
    "I've got a cafe\" Troelstra said. "In my girlfriend's house. She left last year, for good, because of cancer. I'm still around for a little bit."
    "May I visit? Will that be all right?"
    The two men observed each other attentively, in the dark narrow barroom. "Jenever?" Troelstra asked.
    "If you please," the commissaris said, "and one for you too."
    Their glasses touched and tipped. The jar tipped for the second time, but this time the commissaris merely sipped and Troelstra followed his example. The commissaris liked the cafe; all of its contents dated back many years, to a tangible past. He caressed the stem of his tulip-shaped glass.
    "You were polite to me," Troelstra said. "I remember that. A little human decency and understanding, there wasn't much of that around then, but with you it stuck. It kept me going in New Guinea, if I wasn't down. I got pretty ill there."
    "Were you sent home ahead of time?"
    "Malaria," Troelstra said. "It gets you by spells. We all had it, and when the fever went down we were back at work."
    "Bad, was it?"
    "Not too bad," Troelstra said. "Have you come to fetch me again? War crimes are never forgiven, but I didn't commit any crimes. I fought the Soviet Bolsheviks. It would be okay now, but in those days it wasn't done yet."
    "I came for some information," the commissaris said, "about a Douwe Scherjoen."
    "He doesn't come to this bar."
    "The name is known to you?"
    "I've heard of Scherjoen," Troelstra said. "This place isn't set up for Frisians only, but they all know who I am, and when they come I speak our language, not that I talk a great deal; they prefer me to listen."
    "I was born out there, in Joure," the commissaris said.
    Troelstra nodded. "You