She became more and more obsessed with her friend. For a long time she was ashamed of her feelings and denied them

“Bea meets Erika at their mutual friend’s house. Soon, the two of them rent an apartment, trying to make ends meet in Amsterdam, which is haunted by the specter of a German invasion. Erika, a reckless young journalist, falls into passionate, violent affairs with other women. Bea, a reserved secretary, becomes increasingly obsessed with her friend, but she is ashamed of her feelings and tries to deny them. She comes to terms with them only when she discovers that Erika is half-Jewish and a member of the Dutch resistance movement, and her life is in danger. ” – we learn from the press release about the book “The Guardian of the Home” by Dola de Jong. Interestingly, the 1954 novel could not initially be published either in the United States, where in McCarthy’s times artists were doubly censored, or in the Netherlands, where it was considered a “shameless, unpublishable” work. However, in recent years it has been rediscovered. Thanks to the courtesy of ArtRage Publishing House, we are publishing a fragment of the book in advance.

That evening at Wies’s, Erika’s life became part of mine

Erika was lying on the sofa with the balcony door open. She hesitated for a moment as to whether she should stand up or continue lying down to introduce herself, but my outstretched hand made her decide, and with a lithe turn of her legs, she slid off the sofa. Something about her attracted me from the very beginning, so much so that I forgot about the burdensome circumstances of my visit to Wies. Now, years later, I can still see Erika sliding off the sofa at that moment and taking my hand. Her face was youthful and full, but the corners of her mouth were slightly drooping, giving the outline of her lips a slightly faint look; brown eyes looked piercing and with a certain melancholy. She wore sandals, bright blue wool socks, a pleated skirt and a collarless red sports blouse. The blond hair was cut short and a bit frayed at the nape of the neck, like a boy who urgently needs a hairdresser. She looked like a member of the Youth Socialist Organization, a species in whose presence I always felt uneasy. We had a similar set of girls in our office and I stayed out of their way. But Erika seemed different. On the first night, she seemed as if she couldn’t accept her adulthood and that’s why she stubbornly stuck to these types of clothes. Only later did I come to the conclusion that it was the simplest solution in a difficult financial situation. Now, however, I do not attach any importance to this discovery.

‘Guardian of the Home’ press materials

That evening at Wies’s, Erika’s life became part of mine. The meeting was accidental, and I often wonder what my life would be like without her. For a long time I thought that my role was mainly that of a spectator, but now I know that I changed course because of Erika. Was it better this way, or would I be happier without her, who would judge? Definitely not me. What I mean is that we moved in together just a month after we met. I was planning to move anyway. I was fed up with the housekeepers and the boarding school routine in the boarding house for girls, where I lived after my father’s death and where I stayed out of sheer convenience. Erika was just looking for an apartment after the last and decisive argument with her mother.

I was the one who signed the contract to rent the floor at Prinsengracht. Erika worked at the Nieuwspost newspaper and was paid a beginner’s salary. She was only a step above a volunteer, and volunteering in those days was a lure for young people to exploit. For two years she worked as a volunteer at a provincial newspaper and for her part, she was a parasite on her mother’s income. Now she was paying off “Mama”, stuck in a vicious circle – the fate of many young people during that period of unemployment. That first year, the way Erika talked about her mother made me laugh. Whatever happened, she always managed to bring out the humorous aspect of the situation. At the time, I didn’t understand what was behind the jokes, and I absorbed Erika’s talent for describing “Mom.”

“Mom called,” she called to me from the stairs, coming back from the office. – The general goes on vacation, but Mom isn’t allowed to. – And when she got upstairs, she gave a vivid account of her mother’s complaints about the retired soldier for whom she was running the house.

The first year was full of surprises

This first year with Erika on Prinsengracht was full of surprises. Now it’s hard for me to imagine that I didn’t oppose her and accepted her often bizarre behavior without comment. Of course, I noticed its flaws and conflicts, but then they were only projections of silhouettes on a white screen – only later, thanks to the background, the images gained perspective, shapes and colors. In the first year, I was spared the agony of understanding and knowing because I behaved with reserve. We decided that each of us would lead our own lives. It was a condition that we set for ourselves, inspired by an infantile desire to maintain a certain – imaginary – freedom, a concession that we obviously did not expect from ourselves, and which at that time appeared to us as a concept without any major coercion. It was an aggressive reaction to our childhood, in which we both – Erika, perhaps more than me – had little opportunity to develop our own sense of freedom. Now I see that we have been clinging to it. This reservation kept me from offering and accepting more intimate forms of friendship. The effort to stay out of the other’s life made the first year of living together a tour de force – a feat that turned out to be a long exercise in self-discipline for me. Due to Erika’s moodiness, there was no regularity in our household. And yet, a certain routine had developed that we were able to follow without any reservations. We didn’t waste words on it, our life together evolved by itself.

I convinced the owner of the apartment to remove one wall, thanks to which Erika’s room gained an additional alcove. My bed was next to the sliding door, and although it was closed all the time, in the evenings, before going to bed, we could even talk: she lying in this alcove, me – behind the sliding door.

I closed the door between our rooms before signing the lease. We went to look at the apartment for the third time, wanting to make sure we had made the right choice. Renting a place and the responsibility it entails filled me with anxiety, especially at night. However, I didn’t reveal anything about myself. That Sunday afternoon, I stood in a room at the back of the house and Erika stood in her alcove. – Are you sure you want a room facing the street, Erika?

She nodded confidently. – Yes, I prefer the noise of cars and streets in general to this. – She pointed to the open balcony door, from which there was a view of the back of the houses standing on the street parallel to our street above Gryt. “Shoppers and marital quarrels,” she added. – This is beyond my ears.

I didn’t know what it was about, because the general’s house, where she lived with her mother, was located on the elegant Minerva Avenue. But I got over it. – Well, we’ll remove this wall and you’ll have a small bedroom. Otherwise your part will be too tight; my room is bigger. You can put a bed and a table there…

– “Then we’ll take down this wall,” she mocked me. – Come on, do you think the owner is an idiot?

– Leave it to me. – Suddenly I felt confident. – And if not, we will finance it ourselves.

She looked at me searchingly for a moment. – You know very well that I have no money… But since you are convinced that the owner…

– Deal? – I asked. – So, do we sign this contract?

She nodded slowly, unenthusiastically, without looking away from me. As if playing for time, I first closed the balcony door and then, looking knowingly at Erika, closed the sliding door; she didn’t react. This gesture was to seal our agreement that we would leave each other free. At that moment I didn’t know how to put it into words.