Tales from the Fountain Pen Read Online Free PDF

the front doorbell rings.
    I open the door pressing a handkerchief to my mouth and nose.
    “Ja?” I say, and cough dramatically.
    The sergeant only speaks German and I pretend I do not understand him, though I have had four years of German in school.
    As he gesticulates and holds up first two fingers then three to indicate how many soldiers might fit in our home, I keep shaking my head and saying: “Quarantine, we are under quarantine.”
    I point through the window at my sister in the living room giving the performance of a lifetime on those two chairs, holding up her bandaged thumb and moaning and writhing under the blanket. She’s even managed to work up a sheen of perspiration on her face and her cheeks are red; she must have pinched them they’re so fiery.
    The sergeant insists in his most polite German that he must billet two of his men in our home. And I again insist firmly that we are under quarantine and I again cough loudly into my handkerchief; making it sound as phlegmy as I can.
    I mumble something about typhoid fever or tuberculosis and the man takes a step backwards. Then he tips his hat and quickly moves along to the next house.
    With a sigh of relief I close the door and lean against it. A grin spreads over my face as I realize I’ve just pulled the wool over the enemy’s eyes. Of course it is only a reprieve, they’ll most likely darken our door again in a month’s time.
    Hopefully I’ll be home on that day too. If my father is home we will be sunk, he is so scared of these people that he will let them in. Then I will have to share a bed with Betty again and give up Theo’s room to the soldiers. At least we would not have to feed them, though they steal enough from us with this strict rationing. I can’t remember when we last had enough food for dinner.
    I leave the dark hallway and settle on the sofa in the sun. My sister slowly pushes off the blanket and looks at me, then asks: “Did you get rid of them? It was me that scared them off, right? Oh won’t father be proud of me.” On and on she goes, not realizing that she only played a part and that father, in fact, will be furious that we stood up to the Germans like that.
    “Sure, Betty, sure,” I say to placate her.
    I have homework to do, and more knitting too. Summer might be on the way, but building up a stash of socks for winter takes time, especially if I have to carefully measure out the amount of wool I have with all this rationing and inflation.
    Mrs. Jansen in my textiles and crafts class wants to see my lace edgings improve as well, and I so hate knitting lace with these thin steel needles. They prick my fingers.
    Her motto is that “just because there’s a war on we should not let our standards slip.” We are ladies after all, and some day when the war is over we will all be seeking employment as teachers or getting ourselves married to nice young men who appreciate beautiful lace edgings and well-made socks.
    And to think, I could have gone to the University of Amsterdam to study mathematics if this war hadn’t happened…and if my mother would have let me.
    “Maggie?” my sister asks, “are you still brooding over Hendrik? He’s probably in some prison in Germany. He shouldn’t have joined the resistance. It won’t do any good anyway.”
    She prattles on, but I have learned to ignore her. It’s not easy though when she says such stupid things.
    My thoughts do turn to Hendrik from time to time. I miss seeing him about the village making deliveries for his father. I miss the way he would wink and smile at me.
    After I finish my homework I go out to bring the washing in off the line. The sun is still out but it is getting closer to dusk now. I work slowly to enjoy the last bit of sunshine—it might well rain again tomorrow.
    I slowly fold each item before placing it in the basket, and I put the clothespins in the bag on the line.
    “Hey, Maggie,” I hear a loud whisper from the other side of the fence. “Maggie,