THE DUTCH WOMAN'S MESSAGE
FRAGMENTS:
Buenos Aires, Sunday 24 September, 1991
I don't know how to explain what happened. It's something about the diary of the Dutch woman that I found in Silvina's box.
It had only three days written when it came into my hands. I have verified it by looking at my last entry on these same pages. Three days. But when I looked at it again today, I found two more days listed that, I'm sure, weren't there. And that is very strange.
As soon as I mentioned it, Juan Carlos said, as if dismissing it: "You must be wrong. Maybe you don't remember the date." I insisted: "I tell you that there are two more days listed, which were not there when I found it." He looked at the journal and looked at me again. "The ink does not seem any different from that of the early days. It could be that you were confused, or that it had the pages stuck, and you did not realize..." "Yes, it could be," I said, annoyed, although unsure. I must have been wrong. And it's actually the first thing I thought of when I saw the new dates this morning. Maybe the old yellow pages got stuck together from moisture. That is more reasonable.
..................................
FRAGMENTS:
Buenos Aires, Sunday 24 September, 1991
I don't know how to explain what happened. It's something about the diary of the Dutch woman that I found in Silvina's box.
It had only three days written when it came into my hands. I have verified it by looking at my last entry on these same pages. Three days. But when I looked at it again today, I found two more days listed that, I'm sure, weren't there. And that is very strange.
As soon as I mentioned it, Juan Carlos said, as if dismissing it: "You must be wrong. Maybe you don't remember the date." I insisted: "I tell you that there are two more days listed, which were not there when I found it." He looked at the journal and looked at me again. "The ink does not seem any different from that of the early days. It could be that you were confused, or that it had the pages stuck, and you did not realize..." "Yes, it could be," I said, annoyed, although unsure. I must have been wrong. And it's actually the first thing I thought of when I saw the new dates this morning. Maybe the old yellow pages got stuck together from moisture. That is more reasonable.
..................................
Friday 29
Today, Juan Carlos signed a contract to lead the department with the company. They had arranged a dinner for him tomorrow night. It is a big step for his career, and I am happy for him.
Since yesterday, I have had other things on my mind, much more immediate and worrying.
And I can't tell anyone. I don't know if it's tiredness, but I can't explain it. I don't want to talk to Juan Carlos again about the diary of the Dutch woman, which, incidentally, now has a name.
Even if it seems odd, impossible, or strange, this is happening before my eyes. I better explain myself. For example, the book’s first page, which was blank before, is now written and says, "This Diary belongs to Tessa Duyker Barreveld." And the last entry is dated March 23, 1941, which was not there when I wrote last week on these pages. It is much longer and more revealing than the previous notes, and I’ll copy it verbatim below. Let it be handwritten here, in addition to the original that I keep locked so that Juan Carlos cannot find it.
It reads like this:
“ Amsterdam, 3/23/`1941, Sunday
Walking leisurely today with Lieke Eisbertse between the Whertheimpark and the Botanical Gardens, on the way to the weekly lunch with our friends, and forced to stroll through numerous cars, we had the opportunity to talk a lot and alone. She brought up the subject I wanted to avoid. She asked for details of how I managed to get my forearm totally purple the way I did. First, let me explain it better. Lieke caught a glimpse of the bruises when I carelessly took off my cardigan and put it back on right away. But it was too late. She had already seen the terrible marks that Klaus gave me two days ago. Lieke said that she suspected something but that my explanations always seemed reasonable up to that point. I cried while confessing partially what was happening between Klaus and me behind closed doors. What a shame! If my parents, God bless their souls, would have known! They thought he was the best husband in the world for me, so they arranged the wedding, despite our age differences."
................................
Today, Juan Carlos signed a contract to lead the department with the company. They had arranged a dinner for him tomorrow night. It is a big step for his career, and I am happy for him.
Since yesterday, I have had other things on my mind, much more immediate and worrying.
And I can't tell anyone. I don't know if it's tiredness, but I can't explain it. I don't want to talk to Juan Carlos again about the diary of the Dutch woman, which, incidentally, now has a name.
Even if it seems odd, impossible, or strange, this is happening before my eyes. I better explain myself. For example, the book’s first page, which was blank before, is now written and says, "This Diary belongs to Tessa Duyker Barreveld." And the last entry is dated March 23, 1941, which was not there when I wrote last week on these pages. It is much longer and more revealing than the previous notes, and I’ll copy it verbatim below. Let it be handwritten here, in addition to the original that I keep locked so that Juan Carlos cannot find it.
It reads like this:
“ Amsterdam, 3/23/`1941, Sunday
Walking leisurely today with Lieke Eisbertse between the Whertheimpark and the Botanical Gardens, on the way to the weekly lunch with our friends, and forced to stroll through numerous cars, we had the opportunity to talk a lot and alone. She brought up the subject I wanted to avoid. She asked for details of how I managed to get my forearm totally purple the way I did. First, let me explain it better. Lieke caught a glimpse of the bruises when I carelessly took off my cardigan and put it back on right away. But it was too late. She had already seen the terrible marks that Klaus gave me two days ago. Lieke said that she suspected something but that my explanations always seemed reasonable up to that point. I cried while confessing partially what was happening between Klaus and me behind closed doors. What a shame! If my parents, God bless their souls, would have known! They thought he was the best husband in the world for me, so they arranged the wedding, despite our age differences."
................................
