Mr. Monday and other tales of Jewish Amsterdam

150 Air. Monday and Other Tales of Jewish Amsterdam

"That's not normal," Oreste told me. "When I read that in the reports, I knew that man was pretending. Love for one's country is a splendid thing, of course, but singing the "Wilhelmus" (the Dutch national anthem) twenty-four hours a day and keeping it up for two months, means that this fellow wants to hide something from us."

From the moment that he had read the report, there wasn't a doubt in Oreste s mind that Jan Gerrit Bronkema was a spy masquerading as a fugitive from Naziism.

"I knew for certain that this blighter was no good. I admit that I started my investigation with a strong prejudice, but that's the way I work," he explained to me. "In cases such as this, I start with the conclusion, as if someone whispers it into my ear. Then I go to work in order to prove that I was right in the first place. I start by accusing the suspect, and when they deny my charges I turn on the screws. In the end they always confess—always. I have never failed. And once that spy pleads guilty, I send him hack to his mother."

Oreste always used that peculiar phrase when he wanted to say that he had sent someone to the gallows. He had "Sent him hack to his mother..." I had never heard this expression with such a cruel connotation used before.

From the moment his intuition had told him that Jan Gerrit Bronkema was a spy, Oreste followed his trail like a bloodhound. He read and reread all reports about Bronkema until he knew all the facts about him by heart. However, he didn't mention his suspicions to his superiors yet, because in fact there was no shadow of evidence against Bronkema except that he bored everybody within hearing to death with his patriotic songs.