Annelies полностью

“Still, you’re hanging about,” she says, surprised by her own desire to flirt. “There must be something you miss about the place,” Anne calls to him as the driver throttles the lorry into gear and shifts it forward. “I wonder what it could be?” she shouts out over the noise.

•   •   •

It’s one of the warehousemen who helps her up the leg-breaking stairs. He’s a short, stocky old snuiter whose name is Dekker, but the rest of the men call him “Duimen”—Thumbs—because he’s so well known for dropping everything he picks up. “Don’t you worry, though, little miss, I won’t drop you,” he tells Anne. He’s also known as a bit of a schapenkop, a sad sack. A Simple Simon with room in his noggin for only one thought at a time. His smile is full of gaps, and his breath stinks badly of shag tobacco, but Anne can tell that he is trying to be kind to her, and so she does her best to arrange her face in an appreciative expression. At the top of the stairs, he knocks respectfully at the office door before pushing it open and calling out, “Halloo!”

Miep is back, and she stands up suddenly from her desk. “Oh, my heavens, what’s happened?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing. Really, I’m fine,” Anne responds to the note of emergency.

“The little miss took a spill on her bicycle,” Duimen reports diligently.

Miep is already across the floor assisting him in the minor burden of Anne’s weight. “Let’s get her in the chair, please, Mr. Dekker.”

“Really, it’s just a scrape. Oww!” Anne yelps when she must bend her knee to sit.

At this point Mrs. Zuckert returns to the room. “And what’s happened here?” she demands blankly, a thick binder in her arms.

Miep pretends for a moment that she is deaf, inspecting the damage, leaving poor Duimen to respond, cap in his hands. “The little miss took a spill,” he repeats with a trickle of anxiety this time. “From her bicycle,” he adds, so as not to omit any significant detail.

Only now does Miep look up. “Mrs. Zuckert, there’s a first-aid kit in the kitchen. The top drawer just under the sink. Would you mind? I think a bandage and some iodine are in order.”

Mrs. Zuckert listens to this but remains where she is. “What about the bicycle?” she asks Duimen.

“Missus?”

“Is it badly damaged?”

“Oh, uh. No. I think it’s not. The fender maybe, but I’m sure I can hammer it back into shape without much of a fuss.”

“Good,” Mrs. Zuckert approves. “Bicycles are impossible to replace.” Only now does she turn back to Miep, who is sharing a glare of amazement with Anne. “Bandage and iodine. Top drawer under the sink,” Mrs. Zuckert repeats, and then exits the room.

“Incredible,” Anne whispers. “As long as the bicycle is fine, only then is it permitted to tend to my wound.”

“I’m not quite sure that this qualifies as a wound, Anne.” Miep is arranging a chair to act as a footstool. “More like a knee scrape. But you should keep it straight,” she instructs before turning to dismiss Duimen. “Thank you, Mr. Dekker,” she informs the man. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Dekker,” Anne says, joining in, and Duimen is relieved to return to his toothless smile, giving a nod and flapping his cap back onto his bald head. “No trouble, miss,” he tells Anne. “You just be careful now,” he says, and out he goes, tromping noisily down the stairs.

“What exactly happened?” Miep wants to know.

“I’m not sure. My tire burst, and I slipped off the curb. Or maybe it was the other way around.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” Miep says, her voice dropping ever so slightly. “I mean here. With Mrs. Zuckert.”

Anne feels her jaw go rigid. “Why do you ask?”

“Because she says you threw a fit and stormed out when she tried to give you work.”

“That’s a lie.”

“Well, then, what did happen?”

But the words are suddenly stuck in Anne’s throat, and before she can possibly unstick them, Mrs. Zuckert has returned with the first-aid kit and a glass of something. “First-aid kit requisitioned,” she reports to Miep, and then extends the glass to Anne. “Here. Drink this.”

Anne stares at the glass and then at Mrs. Zuckert. She takes the glass but doesn’t drink. It smells strong. “What is it?”

“Brandy,” Mrs. Zuckert answers.

“Brandy?” Miep frowns with surprise.

“Drink it,” she tells Anne again. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

“Where did you get brandy?” Miep wonders aloud.

“Oh, I thought you knew,” Mrs. Zuckert replies. “Mr. Frank keeps a bottle of Koetsiertje in his office cabinet. To offer clients.”

“But Mr. Frank . . .” Miep must take a breath before finishing. “He always locks the office.”

“So he does, yes,” Mrs. Zuckert agrees, “but he gave me a key. Now drink it,” she orders Anne. And then to Miep she says, “You should take her back to your flat and put a cold press on her knee so it doesn’t swell.” She follows this order with a shrug. “Of course, that’s just a suggestion.”

Miep nods, standing. It’s clear she’s had enough. “Yes,” she agrees archly. “What a good idea. Anne, drink the brandy,” she commands. “I’ll call for a taxi.”

•   •   •