It
was June 1945. More than three years had passed since the troops of the Imperial
Japanese Army conquered the beautiful island of Java riding on their portable
bikes. For almost two years Marianne, her mother and sister had lived in
‘internment camps’ in the vicinity of the capital Batavia, now Jakarta.
According to the occupational Japanese forces this internment was intended to
protect the Dutch women and children from the wrath and fury of the hostile
Indonesian population; an opinion which was not at all consistent with the
abominable treatment the prisoners were experiencing. Moreover, the
‘hostile’ population around the camps gladly helped to smuggle food for the
famished women through the fences of the compound, thereby risking their own
lives.
A
day of great importance was approaching: Marianne’s tenth birthday, her first
decade. As every child would have done under normal conditions, Marianne lived
in a kind of dream: what wonderful things would happen on that momentous day of
celebration?
For
a few days the little girl was not so severely preoccupied with the gnawing
hunger she felt and with the disgusting hygienic circumstances in which they all
had to live. Forty people in the sleeping barrack: that could signify forty
presents. Forty presents for Marianne alone: it was unimaginable! What would her
friend Joke, whom she admired so much, give her as a present?
Joke
and Anne-Ruth were Marianne’s best friends; they were almost the same age.
When Joke, the oldest, was ten years, Marianne and her mother had presented Joke
with a beautiful drawing of the whole room. They drew all the bedding on a small
piece of cardboard, using the three stumps of crayons that were left. They wrote
down the names. In the corner lived an old lady called Rappaport-Rappaport. She
had been married to her cousin, but was a widow now in her seventies. Mrs.
Rappaport was as slender as a bamboo shoot, but she did not succumb as did the
others of her age group. She taught card games to the children; together they
played endless games of gin-rummy and solitaire, which made them forget their
hunger completely.
Nora,
Marianne’s younger sister, slept on the mattress at Mrs. Rappaport’s left
side, beside that was Marianne’s mother and then there was her own little
mattress, with her most precious belongings in a cardboard box at the head. The
cardboard box was covered with a cotton fabric, dark blue with tiny white
flowers. It was a most lovely box. In the box were Marianne’s marbles, her
piece of white coral that looked like a lamb and the Magical Card Deck. Magical,
because some cards were missing and no game could ever be won.
On
Marianne’s left lived the Weisfisch family: two small boys and their mother.
The oldest, Herman, slept next to Marianne. He was her confidant and
‘adjutant’ as he called himself.
Thus Marianne and her mother sketched all the people on the four sides of the
room and presented this major piece of art to the grateful Joke.
Marianne
looked for signs of women and children working on a present intended for her own
birthday, but could not find a trace of activity anywhere. “Do you think they
will forget my birthday?” she asked her mother. Her mother answered that other
things were more important nowadays than children’s birthdays, which was
probably the case. The night before she could hardly sleep. She felt the bites
of the ugly smelling bedbugs, she heard little Heidi, who was five and very ill,
cry a little and she was disturbed by the movements and mutterings of Herman in
his sleep. She woke at dawn.
Her
mother and sister were already up and busy cleaning their sleeping place. They
congratulated Marianne and kissed her on the cheek. She was ten years now. Her
sister presented her with a drawing of them both on a piece of slate. Her mother
said she had to wait for her present after the roll-call. The breakfast arrived:
bluish starch in a large pot. The starch was ladled out to all the inhabitants
of their room. While they stood in line for breakfast, some girls came and
kissed Marianne. “Happy Birthday!” they said. They did not have presents.
They did not sing. Roll-call was a long and tedious affair.
When
Marianne walked slowly back to the barracks, not expecting much any more, she
heard people sing. They all sang “Happy Birthday” for
her! Then the head of the room, Hannie, came forward and presented her
present on a enamel platter. It was unbelievable! Everyone in the room had saved
a little bread for several days. In exchanging all those small pieces of bread,
Hannie had been able to convert them into two whole bread halves! Two halves
were one person’s ration for two days! Marianne felt dizzy with thankfulness.
Her head swam. How could she thank all those dear people?
When everybody had been kissed and went away, Marianne’s mother gave her own present. It was a tablespoon full of sugar, in a small cup. “And now,” said Marianne’s mother briskly: “we are going to serve a treat to everybody.” They cut up the beautiful two bread halves in forty thin pieces. They put three grains of sugar on each sliver. Marianne offered everyone a birthday treat. One piece was left for herself. She ate it, too stunned with the procedure to really take notice of what she was eating.
