Lcharacters are quickly forgotten. The stitched together skin is immediately hidden from view by a plaster. After healing, the damage is usually hidden under a sweater. Sometimes it still hurts, itching occurs, but the irritation is soon rubbed away. This was once upon a time. Not now. Now other matters are at stake.
I understand, but I don’t agree. I would prefer to see every person including their dents, scratches and wounds from the past. We cannot be understood if we do not dare to show our pain.
And so this week I told my sons about Dirk Roskam’s scars. When his children asked him how he got the strange dark spots on his leg, he replied vaguely: “Oh, that’s a bit of metal from an accident.”
“Why don’t you go to the doctor and have it removed?”
The fierce “No! Never!” was significant, but what exactly became clear just before Dirk’s death. Only then did he explain why he went to Friesland once every year. “Visiting a friend,” he usually said. But that friend was his past. That friend was a grave where he laid flowers. A bouquet for a girl.
During the war, Dirk had gone into hiding with a loving Frisian family. The daughter in the house caught his eye. A look that he didn’t let go of. They kissed and became inseparable. One day, Dirk and his girl found an iron object in the yard. They threw it away carelessly.
The impact the grenade made was immense. Dirk’s leg was punctured. His little girl died immediately. He never spoke about her again. Only when he was too old to travel to Friesland did his story come out in fits and starts. The story of the flowers, the grave, the love that shattered against the earth. The story of the spots on his leg, the bruises in his soul. Butsen about whom he could hardly speak, but who should never be forgotten.
Dirk’s son Jaap sent me his father’s story. I’ve written it here before. I’ve told it before at home too. But some stories you have to keep repeating. Especially now.
The sound of ‘Lest we forget’ is currently drowned out by a cacophony full of fierce expressions about protest yes or no, October 7, words like genocide and when to use them and when not to use them. All these discussions may, no, must be had. But can it please be quiet for a moment on May 4? Just two minutes?
Especially now, on a day of commemoration, no new wounds should be created. Let us be silent and remember the old. About what once happened and of which we said: this should never happen again. With no one. No people, country or race. But never again only comes into focus when we reflect on the pain that was. At the scratches on Dirk Roskam’s legs. For scars that should never be buffed away.
Comment? [email protected].
Roos Schlikker (1975) is a journalist and writer of books and plays. Every Saturday she writes a column for Het Parool.
Tags: impact grenade immense Dirks leg perforated girlfriend killed immediately
