Hide and Seek

My name is Evelyn Meijer, but I hate when people use my full name; I like “Evi” better. I was born September 21, 1934. I am a Jew.

My family lived near Arnhem on a little farm until May of 1940 - until the Germans came. My earliest memory is of my mother and father frantically packing photographs, family heirlooms, and jewelry late one night. I didn’t understand why; it was scary to see them so frightened. We rushed out the front door and towards the woods. Behind us, a truck approached our house. “Papa!” I tapped his shoulder. He shushed us and everyone crouched low. I watched soldiers spill out of the truck and moments later, a crash pierced the dark - the beautiful door my father had carved our names upon now in splinters. I could see the pain on my mother’s face. The noise shook us from our horrified stillness, and off we ran into the forest.

We hurried to our closest neighbors - the Jansens, a kindly older couple. Their children, all grown, only visited on occasion with their own little ones. Besides my older brother Levi, there were not many kids around, so when our families arranged play dates with the Jansens, it was most welcome. As we approached the soft glow of their home, I pretended that we were there for another play date. Mr. Jansen waved us inside, and the reality of our situation hit - these were the last moments of togetherness, of feeling safe.

The Jansens’ home was warm and inviting. The walls were typically lined with photographs of their children and grandchildren, but tonight Mrs. Jansen was frantically hiding the picture frames under a floorboard. Mr. Jansen had set the table for dessert, telling us with a tense smile to have a seat and rest a moment. I didn’t understand any of it, but the instant we had settled, Mr. Jansen leaned over to Levi and I and asked, “Levi, Evi, would you like to play a game?” We nodded in unison - we always loved games at the Jansens’. “Tonight Evi, you are my granddaughter Beatrix, and Levi, you are my grandson Michael. Pretend you are them and that we are having a wonderful evening. If you play really well, there might even be some extra lemon cake for you!” Levi and I both nodded again, and my mouth watered - Mrs. Jansen’s lemon cake, with its lavender icing, was my favorite.

A violent pounding shook the door, the first of which nearly sent my mother jumping out of her chair. By the third boom, everyone was playing the game. Mr. Jansen opened the door and exchanged greetings with a soldier wearing a remarkably clean black hat. The soldier strode past Mr. Jansen. He seemed personable, spoke perfect Dutch and was almost giddy, but his blue eyes were menacing. “I am Captain Heinrich Richter,” he announced. “My men and I are searching the area for a group of runaway Jews, by the name Meijer. Do you know the whereabouts of these fugitives?” Before Mr. Jansen could answer, the captain began circling the table. He stopped next to me, leaning down so close that the sour onions on his breath nauseated me.

“What is your name?”

“Beatrix!” I replied with a convincing grin.

“And Beatrix is your –” He started, looking at Mr. Jansen.

“Granddaughter!” Mr. Jansen nearly shouted.

“Granddaughter, of course! And you are - ” The captain continued, stepping toward my brother.

“Michael!” Levi nervously stammered.

“Michael! You’ll be a great soldier one day. Would you like to serve the führer one day?”

“Yes!” Levi blurted, a bit less nervously this time.

“Which would make you?” The captain rounded on my parents.

“Barend and Arabella. My son and his wife. Visiting from Arnhem,” Mr. Jansen interrupted.

“Of course,” the captain smirked. “Barend – that means bear doesn’t it?”

Mr. Jansen nodded.

“A fitting name for such a strong son,” the Captain declared, clapping his hands onto my father’s shoulders. His eyes were still scanning the room.

“My dear Jansens, do you know why we are searching for fugitive Jews?” He asked, finally stepping away from my father. Without waiting for an answer, he continued, “Jews are a plague upon this earth. Like rats, they go from city to city, spreading their disease. We are here to put an end to this Black Death. We are here...to help.” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Are you sure you have no idea where the Meijer family could have gone? There is a substantial reward for anyone that aids the SS in the capture of fugitive Jews.”

Mr. Jansen shook his head. “We don’t really socialize with them.”

A smile danced across the captain’s face. “Smart man. You shouldn’t socialize with such...people.” His nose wrinkled, as if the thought of calling Jews “people” made him ill. “We will be conducting periodic sweeps through the area. For your own safety, please keep your papers on you. You wouldn’t want to be mistaken for Jews now, would you?” he chuckled.

Everyone shook their heads silently.

Seemingly satisfied, the captain straightened his jacket. “I bid you all a good evening. I hope this isn’t the last we see of each other.” Smirking once again, he grabbed a fistful of the lemon cake right off the serving tray, took a couple bites, and plopped the remainder back onto the tray. “Delicious!” he grinned. “Gute nacht, Jansens!” He wiped his hand on Mr. Jansen’s shirt and marched out the door, which Mr. Jansen slowly closed behind him. The deafening silence was broken first by the gentle clattering of Mrs. Jansen disposing of the cake, and then by the muffled sound of urine dripping from my brother’s trousers. I will never eat lemon cake again.

* * *

The following morning, my father told me I was to stay at the Jansens’. We had to be hidden separately until my father could book passage for us to England, and then hopefully, America. I cried the whole day.

The Jansens’ farm seemed massive. There was a towering windmill, scattered sheds, and a small silo, but my favorite place to play was the old barn. Despite its plain appearance, it hid a fascinating feature - an underground passage that led to a cellar beneath the main house. I pretended it was a secret tunnel beneath a castle from a fairy tale that my mother read to me; I was a trapped princess darting back and forth between the barn and the house, completely invisible to the outside world. The barn itself had a thousand places to hide. Mr. Jansen played hide-and-seek with me every day, and eventually I got so good that not even he could find me. He told me that whenever the soldiers came around, I was to go to my very best hiding spot and not come out until he told me it was safe.

When the soldiers did come to search, it was typically to steal food, then leave. Although it was scary at first, as time wore on, it became routine. Most days were happy. The Jansens taught me arithmetic and language and anything else that sparked my interest. It was only when I asked about my family that the answer was always short and the same: “They are alive and well, be patient, child.”

As the days turned to weeks, months, and years, I grew tired of hiding. I yearned to go outside. That old barn and its secret tunnel, thankfully, allowed me a tiny slice of freedom. The fresh air, mixed with the scent of hay, cows, and spilled milk...the broken slats on the second level that allowed a precious few rays of sunshine to warm my face, and starlight to dream upon...it felt like home. Eventually, that house with the splintered door became a distant memory, and life with the Jansens was all I knew.

It was nearly four years since my family had left - the week of my tenth birthday - that the soldiers came again. This time, it was different. From my perch in the barn, I watched Mr. Jansen walk into the driveway to greet a car full of soldiers. Captain Richter held up a photograph, and I saw Mr. Jansen’s face turn white. He turned to run towards the house, shouting his last word, “Helga!” as the captain shot him in the back. Soldiers burst through the front door, and I could hear Mrs. Jansen’s scream as she ran out the back: “Evi, RUN!” Another gunshot, and I watched, horrified, as the light left her eyes and her body crumpled to the ground. My eyes streaming, I clapped my hand to my mouth to force my scream back down my throat.

Captain Richter gestured towards the barn, and I instinctively jumped down from my perch, crawling into my best hiding spot - underneath the floorboards. It was cramped, but the slight gaps in the wood allowed me to breathe without being seen. Within seconds, soldiers swarmed the barn. They shot a few places on the walls and floor, missing me by a meter.

“Evi? I know you’re here somewhere…I’m going to find you, Evi.” The captain paused. “I will find your whole filthy Jew family!” I stayed silent and still. He would not find me, I would not let him.

“Should we burn it?” another soldier asked.

“No,” the captain barked. “We are under orders. No unnecessary destruction of property. The colonel has taken a liking to this house, and he will be using it as his personal residence for the remainder of our occupation. But that doesn’t mean we can’t claim it like the wolves we are.” Their cold laughter sent a chill down my spine. I heard the sound of a zipper, and then of water hitting the floor, followed by more zippers and more water. It was dripping between the floorboards, and I nearly screamed as I realized the soldiers were urinating on the floor - “marking their territory.” I couldn’t move without making noise, so I turned my head and held my breath as it soaked my hair.

As their boots stomped away, I heard the captain once again: “You and you - dispose of the Jew-lovers. You two stay put until that little rat shows her face.” I didn’t dare move. I lost count of the hours - day turned to night, and back to day again. I was so thirsty, my stomach ached. I heard sirens in the distance. Planes flying overhead, yelling, bombs falling, huge guns being fired. More soldiers - Germans yelling. Shooting. Explosions. The ground shook. All I could hear was a high-pitched noise that wouldn’t go away. I clapped my hands around my ears and shut my eyes. I have to get out! I want my family!

The silence came suddenly. No soldiers. No guns. More hours crept by. Finally, I heard men’s voices, muffled but growing closer. I must get out. I can’t stay here another moment. This is my only chance. I have to run for it. The Germans won’t take me. I crawled from my spot and began to sprint from the back of the barn and towards the woods. The mens’ voices heightened. They see me! Oh God, please let me get away! I ran as hard as I could, but I didn’t make it very far. A strong hand grabbed my shoulder and whipped me around. A young man was staring back at me, and his dark eyes widened.

“Hey Doc!” he shouted over his shoulder. “We need some help over here! You okay sweetheart?”

He was an American. I couldn’t help it - I cried and wailed and hit him, then collapsed. “Where is family?” I stuttered in the broken English I had learned from the Jansens.

“Jesus Christ!” He shook his head. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe, little lady - we’ll find your family. You’re safe now.”