Page 9 of Who We Think We Are
“Katje!” calls Tamara, using Kate’s Dutch nickname.
“Tamtje!” Kate calls back to her, responding in kind.
“Give me your bag; you must be delirious.” Tamara takes Kate’s bag. “Are you hungry?”
“God no, I just want to sleep.”
“Alright. The houseboat is a ten-minute walk from here. I’m sorry, it seems rude to make you walk, but honestly, it would take more effort to drive and try to find parking. I stocked you up with a few basic groceries—fruit, eggs, bread, wine, and tea.”
“Thanks. Can we slow down the pace a little, Tamara? If I walk this fast on the cobblestones right now, I’ll fall flat on my face.”
“Sorry. I forgot you’re not used to cobblestones.”
“Thanks.” Kate looks around at the canal, boats, walkway, mixture of historic and modern buildings, restaurants, and trees lining the canal.
“I forget how beautiful it is here. I feel like I’m in a whole different world.”
“We are so sorry about Oma dying. You all must be so sad. We loved her, too. But why are you here instead of with your family?”
Kate has decided to stick with the “Suze lie” for now. “I had to get away and do something useful. I want to get some childhood stories from de ooms (the uncles)—your grandfather, Oom Dirk, and Oom Cor—and see if they have any photos, and I want to get stories for Oma’s eulogy.”
“Of course. We can go and see them tomorrow after you’ve had a good night’s sleep.” They walk up to a low-lying houseboat moored in a quiet canal under a giant weeping willow tree. The houseboat is lit warmly, welcoming Kate, who has stayed there with Jake and the girls several times.
“Do you want to visit?” asks Kate.
“No, you’re tired.”
“You said there’s wine? Let’s have a glass of wine and sit on the dock and visit for a little while. These chairs look comfy. I need to stay up for a little while longer anyway so I can sleep through the night.”
“Sounds good. Have a seat. I’ll take your suitcase in and bring out the wine.”
Kate and Tamara visit for about an hour until Kate almost falls asleep while she’s talking. Tamara says, “Go to bed, Kate. When do you want to visit de ooms?”
“Let’s go at nine.”
“No, they don’t take visitors before ten. I’ll meet you here then, and we’ll walk over.”
“I appreciate that. Thanks for everything, Tamara. See you in the morning.” Kate lowers herself into the houseboat. She gets into a light nightgown, brushes her teeth, crawls into bed, and falls asleep to the gentle rocking of the boat.
The next morning, Tamara knocks on the houseboat door at 10:00 a.m. Kate is finishing blow-drying her hair.
“You are so annoying, Kate. You never gain weight, you don’t age, and even with jet lag and wearing jeans and a turtleneck, you manage to look put together,” Tamara says when Kate opens the door.
“Thanks, I think?” Kate laughs. “You’re looking mighty fine yourself, Tamara. You’ve lost weight, and I love your hair. Very chic.”
“Eighteen kilos. Forty pounds. But I had to fight for every ounce of that. A few weeks ago, I went to Paris with some friends, and we all got our hair cut and bought some clothes. I wanted a severe black bob. So, my hair is actually chic for once.”
“Well, it looks great, and congrats about the weight.” Kate throws a red, black, and gray shawl over her shoulders. “Speaking of weight, let’s stop at Schulte’s Bakkerij to pick up some goodies on the way. I can’t arrive empty-handed.”
“Of course. You would never be forgiven!”
They walk to the bakkerij, and just inside the door, Kate takes in the aroma of freshly baked everything and pauses to take it all in.
When she was a child, Grandad and Oma would take her to White Rock, a half-hour drive south of Vancouver, to go to the beach.
They would always stop at Scholten’s Bakery, and Oma would tell her it was what bakeries should look and smell like.
There is nothing like the smell of baking bread.
With such attention to every detail, every item sings its own song—impeccable, artistic, precise, and delicious.
Together, they are a symphony. Quality over quantity.
Oh God, Oma, how am I going to carry on without you ?
“Where did you go, Kate? You look like you traveled in your mind.”
“I was thinking about Oma. This bakkerij reminds me of her.” Kate wipes a tear from her eye.
“Oh, sorry, Kate. I keep forgetting. I can’t get used to the idea that she’s gone.”
“Me neither. And then I remember, and it washes over me like a tidal wave all over again. But I have to focus on the present. We are in this lovely shop in this beautiful city on our way to visit de ooms, who must have their pastries.” Kate selects a variety, and they walk the rest of the way to the building where Oom Dirk and Oom Cor, both widowers, have flats.
They always meet at Oom Dirk’s. Kate suspects that it’s so Oom Cor doesn’t have to do the work of hosting.
Oom Dirk, tall and thin, opens the door and welcomes them in. “Katje, it is so good to see you!” He kisses her on each cheek.
Behind him is Oom Cor, short and squat. “Katje, welcome to the Netherlands and to my brother’s home,” he says and takes her by the hand, guiding her to sit in an antique chair.
Oom Dirk and Tamara bring tea and coffee in china cups and saucers, and the pastries arranged neatly on a plate.
They talk about the weather and express their condolences to each other about Oma, and Kate looks around at the fussy living room filled with antiques.
Oom Dirk hasn’t changed it a bit since his wife died ten years ago.
Then Oom Cor smashes the veneer of niceties with a sledgehammer. “Katje, why are you here?”
Kate knew Oom Cor would be the one to question her. Kate tells him the “Suze lie,” but he just looks at her. “I’m not having any of it, Katje. It is not normal to leave your family, especially your grandfather, right after his wife dies. No. There’s more to it.”
“We feel bad that we have so few stories about Oma. I feel guilty that I didn’t ask her more questions while she could still answer them. We were also wondering if you have some pictures of her.”
Oom Dirk says, “Ja, natuurlijk (naturally), Katje.”
Oom Cor jumps in. “Ja. But we could have helped you with those things by mail and email.”
As a child, Kate thought Oom Cor hated her, but Oma told her, “That’s just what he’s like, but what’s worse is he’s usually right.”
“Alright, Oom Cor. I was trying to ease into this conversation. You know that people tell me I’m most like you, don’t you?”
“Ja, I’ve seen that in you since you were a girl, bossing your cousins around.”
Kate takes a sip of her tea. It seems apt that it is bitter.
“OK, I’ll tell you. A few days before Oma died, she talked about being in the Hitler Youth.
” Kate waits to see Oom Cor’s reaction. There is none.
“I had brought her chocolate and licorice. Oma told me she got treats for winning competitions. She said they had races and games and even went camping and that it was all fun and games at the beginning.”
“Was Tante Katrina in the Hitler Youth, Oom Cor?” asks Tamara.
“Nay, of course not. This is what you came to the Netherlands for, Katje? This delusion of an old woman with dementia? I mean no disrespect to my sister; may she rest in peace. I am sorry that you are so gullible, Katje.”
“Yes, she was, Tamara. Grandad confirmed it.”
“Did he now? What did he say?” Oom Cor takes a big bite of his pastry.
“He said that when he came back to Holland after the war was over, Oma was at the farmhouse with you two. Her parents and cousin Jaap were in a detention camp for Nazi collaborators. But she was placed on house arrest because someone had to be at the house to take care of you boys. He said that he and Oma got married then so he could stay in the house with you until your parents were released from the detention camp.”
“What else did he say?” asks Oom Dirk.
Kate turns to Oom Dirk. This is the first time he’s spoken since she started.
Maybe I’ll make more headway with him . “He said he had told her he understood that you all had to make difficult choices during the war, and he didn’t hold it against her.
When she learned the truth about the Nazis, she quit the Hitler Youth and joined the resistance.
But he also told her he wanted to keep it a secret from his family.
They hadn’t been in Europe during the war, and they might not understand.
He said he felt very bad about that, so he wanted me to come here and discover more of the truth.
So, I came to talk with you so you could tell me more of the story. That’s it. That’s everything.”
Oom Cor speaks before Oom Dirk can say anything.
“I am so sorry, Katje. I didn’t realize that your grandfather was suffering from dementia, too.
I’ve heard that people can share a delusion.
Our parents and Jaap were in The Hague working.
I’m sorry you came all the way to the Netherlands for nothing. ”
Oom Cor finishes off his pastry and, with his mouth full, says, “It is not Holland, by the way. Holland is a province. The country is the Netherlands. Get it right, Katje. This is where your family is from. You don’t want to sound stupid.”
He thinks he can stop me by being a bully.
Kate wants to push the subject but stops when she remembers her promise to Grandad.
If they don’t want to talk about it, leave them alone.
Don’t make trouble in the family . Kate decides she will dig up the truth another way.
It would be easier if de ooms helped her, but they are not her only option. She will get to the bottom of this.
“I am sorry, Oom Cor and Oom Dirk. Maybe you’re right.” Let them think they’ve won, and let Tamara remain naively unaware .