Hester Hase 1

         May had been a very strange month indeed. The things I could see from my window were changing. Amsterdam was a quiet city then, but by mid-month, there was always noise in the street. I spent that whole week crocheting in the windowsill, and I made so many beautiful things. I did not ride my bicycle for fear of getting in someone's way.
         But sometimes, I would glance out from the safety of my apartment to watch bizarre spectacles unfold. The commentary on the radio gave those events context. One day, as soon as Holland was formally “occupied,” I watched a parade, and it held my attention for hours. Never in all my years of living in my building and observing from above had I seen such a display. My home was my very own amphitheater, and the German army was putting on a show for my entertainment, marching to the jubilant songs, with trumpets and drums and all the other instruments. I was exhilarated and deeply impressed. Perhaps it was wrong for me to cheer for them, even in private, but they were making such a spectacular performance, so I felt it was only polite to applaud and smile as they passed, even if they could not hear me from behind my glass veneer.
         Days later, things had already returned to normal, it appeared. The street below was as empty as it had always been. Nothing had changed, at least nothing within the view that my window provided. I would occasionally see army men passing by, and each time they did, I would set my crafts aside and watch them from hidden vantage point. They were especially handsome in their going-out uniforms, and it made me jittery when I saw them out there walking about.
         I had to go out for groceries eventually, so I chose a time when there were lots of Germans out so that I could have a closer look at them on my way. My curiosity carried me down three flights of stairs and out into the street, where they were all standing around chatting. I crossed their path to retrieve my bicycle. They must have noticed me, but I could not discern whether they had gotten quiet to tell each other secrets or to say something impolite about me. They were too mysterious.
         There truly were consequences to be seen in the other parts of my neighborhood, but not so many that it was unsettling to me. Signs had been put up on some of the buildings, and the words were in both German and Dutch, but I did not care to read them, so I kept on pedaling instead.
         I got to the market quickly. Thankfully, it was not crowded, and I could take my time picking out my cheese, bread, milk, and eggs, some other things I liked to eat, and some flowers, just because it was spring. I habitually patronized the vendors who were patient with me. I had a method, and they did not mind. I packed up my bike's basket when I was finished, and pushed off of one foot to start my trip back home.
         When I got close, I could see two Nazi soldiers leaning against my building, just beside the entrance. I had thought they would have been gone by the time I returned. Perhaps they had nothing serious to do besides stand around and smoke. They did not look like particularly important men, but they were still a bit frightening in their grey smocks and helmets. I did not want to have to pass by them on my way inside, and I did not want to start a conversation with them. I stood with my bike on the other side of the street and hoped that they would walk away.
         “Come here, girl! Do not be afraid of us!”
         I did not know whether this was an order or a request, so I crossed the road and tried to go inside, but they imposed themselves between the door and me.
         “Stop and talk to us,” they insisted. They asked me what my name was. I told them that I was Hester Hase. Their names were Friedrich and Adolf, and they were enlisted men. Friedrich kept demanding that I look him in the eye, and Adolf said he liked my hair. They made me embarrassed, and I wanted to go inside, but they kept on asking questions that I thought were much too personal, and I continued answering. No, I was not married, I told them. Yes, I lived alone. They kept on pestering and blocking my way. I did not know how to ask them politely to leave, so I asked them if maybe they wanted to come upstairs and have a snack. After they had eaten, they would likely go away.
         Adolf and Friedrich followed me into my apartment, and just as I had feared, they made themselves at home. I could not stop observing them. They were sitting at the table while I made ham sandwiches, and I noticed that Friedrich was watching me. Adolf kept asking about the things I had crocheted. He did not seem to believe me when I told him that I had made them all myself, so I showed him how I did it, and he said that he was impressed. They declared that I was a nice young lady, and that the other army men would like me. I was flattered, although I was unsure of what they meant. They promised that they would introduce me to their friends before they finally left.
         Sure enough, the next morning, Friedrich knocked at my door and invited himself inside. He wanted a tour of my home, so I showed him my kitchen (with which he was already familiar), my windowsill where I did crafts, and the place where I kept my radio. He asked to see where I slept, so I showed him my room, and he sat on my bed.
         “Come here,” he said. “Come sit with me.”
         I thought that all he wanted was my company, but when I got close enough, he tried to peck me on the mouth.
         “Why did you do that?” I asked him, and he said some vulgar things that I will not repeat. I told him that I wanted him to go, and Friedrich said he would leave when he got what he came for. So I offered him a sandwich, but he laughed.
         “That is not why I am here,” he said. He stood and trapped me in his arms, and he held mine to my sides. He kept on laughing while I wriggled in his grasp. He assured me that he would not hurt me, but he already had. The harder I resisted, the more he squeezed, and soon he squeezed me so hard that I thought my body would pop.
         “Stop struggling,” he instructed me. “Just lie down and let me do this.” He shoved me. I fell backward onto my bed, and he fell on top of me. I was unsure of his intentions until he drove his tongue between my teeth. It was an unwelcome invasion, so I bit his lip hard. He shot up straight and started to yell. He called me a bitch, among other things, and then he hit me, straight across my cheek.
         Soon, it became clear to me that Friedrich was not a friend at all. He wrapped his hands tightly around my neck, and he did not let go until I lay still. I acquiesced to his demands. I let him turn me over, kneel behind me, and pull my skirt up to my waist. I did not move even when he pulled his trousers down to his knees and exposed himself. I buried my head in the blankets and wished for him to leave, but he had not gotten what he wanted from me yet.
         This was the first time that any man had touched me the way he did. I thought I was being torn up when he forced his way inside, and the pain only worsened throughout the ordeal. Perhaps he did not hear my muffled pleas, or perhaps he was ignoring them, but he pushed and pushed, hammering at my insides and shuffling everything around in there. I cried, but he kept on.
         It was finally done when he stopped and oozed warm fluid onto my back. He got himself dressed, and he told me that he enjoyed himself, and that he would return another day. Even then, I did not move; I waited until I heard the door to my apartment shut and footsteps on the stairs below.
         That incident marked the beginning of something sinister. It was the first in a series of many events, some terrible, and others not so, which led me to the place in which I now exist.