Mrs. Steenwijk Character Analysis

Not till later, when he described it to his children, did he realize what primitive times he had witnessed.

This moment—his father cut out in black against the snow, his mother outside on the terrace under the starlight—became eternal, detached itself from all that had come before and all that would follow, It became part of him and began its journey through the rest of his life, until finally it would explode like a soap bubble, after which it might as well never have happened.

Not till much later when he was in college did Anton learn that the man thought he could tell by her walk whether she was Jewish.

Mrs. Beumer made the sign of the cross. “It’s always the best ones,” she said softly, “that God calls to him first”

Then Fake Ploeg was the best of us all, thought Anton.

He was fascinated by the delicate equilibrium that must be maintained whenever the butchers planted their knives in someone—this balancing on the edge between life and death, and his responsibility for the poor human being, helpless in unconsciousness.

“We’re in the same class, your parents are shot, but you’re doing medical studies all the same, whereas my father was shot and I repair water heaters.”

[….]

“If it really is your opinion that social justice caused this difference between us… then you should have been a Communist instead.”

The only truth that’s useful is that everyone gets killed by whoever kills them, and by no one else. Ploeg by us, your family by the Germans. If you believe we shouldn’t have done it, then you also believe that, in the light of history, the human race shouldn’t have existed. Because then all the love and happiness and goodness in this world can’t outweigh the life of a single child. Yours, for instance. Is that what you believe?

His eyes fell on the white table lighter with dice markings, a present from Liesbeth’s parents. Restless, he began to wander through the whitewashed, irregularly shaped rooms and went up and down the spiral staircase with the uneven steps. Now and then he tried to sit down, but this made it so much worse that he stood up at once.

“Everyone did what he did, and not anything else.”

And at that instant he knew for certain that Truus Coster had told him the same thing, word for word, or almost. Then all of a sudden, almost thirty-five years later, he heard her voice, faint and distant; “…he thinks that I don’t love him…” Frozen, he listened, but all grew silent once more: nothing followed. Tears came to his eyes. Everything was still there, not a thing had disappeared.

Though at first Anton was aghast, his horror was soon replaced by a feeling of acceptance and peace, as if he had finally been vindicated. Thirty-three years ago Peter’s death had already been avenged. What would Takes have said to that? Three years after he had aimed at Ploeg, there had still been another victim.