No Greater Love - Eris Field Page 0,33
father to take me too.”
What courage that school teacher had shown. He had risked so much to save someone else’s child. Pieter asked gently, “Why did you not stay in Germany with them?”
“I have always wanted to be a nurse, a baby nurse,” she said shyly as she smoothed her palms over the shabby material of her skirt. “My father had told me that the best nursing schools were in Holland but that there was a good nursing school in Urfa and he promised to send me there.”
“Urfa? I don’t know where that is?”
“It’s really Sanilurfa, in Eastern Turkey,” she explained quickly. “It’s not far from Kirkuk.” She lifted her head proudly. “He believed that the nursing schools in Holland were the best and I was determined to come here.” She held out her open hands as though trying to make him understand. “To honor my father.”
“I see. You decided to come to The Netherlands to seek political asylum and maybe to study?” Pieter wrote the information on the agency form and then sat quietly for a moment aware of how little he could do to help her. “Let’s pull the pieces together so you can plan.”
“How can I plan?” she whispered. “I don’t know if I will be granted asylum or deported.” She threw up her hands. “If I’m deported, I have no place to go.”
“You say that you are alone, your family has been persecuted and killed because of their nationality, because of their belonging to the Turkmen ethnic minority. You believe that you would not be safe if you returned.” He spoke slowly, feeding her the information that she would need to support her application for asylum. “If your application for asylum is approved, you will need to find a way to support yourself.” He waited for her speak, but when she did not, he continued. “Before refugees can work legally in the Netherlands they must pass a Dutch proficiency test showing that they can read and speak Dutch.” He leaned forward slightly. “I know they offer Dutch classes here but it would be helpful if you did some studying on your own.” He thought for a minute. She would consider any gift from a man to be inappropriate. Any study materials would have to come from a woman. He continued smoothly. “My mother is very concerned about refugees in The Netherlands. She plans to donate some books to Osdorp that you could use.” He made a mental note to stop at the bookstore on his way home.
“Yes, but what happens if I study hard to learn the language and am not granted asylum?”
“Knowing another language is always a good thing.” He posed his question in a nonthreatening manner. “Perhaps you already speak some other languages? Some French?”
She gave a brief nod. “In school.”
“Some Kurdish?”
A faint smile crossed her face. “Everyone in Kirkuk speaks some Kurdish.”
“Some Arabic?”
“No.” She shook her head and said vehemently, “No Arabic.”
“Because you have already learned two other languages. Dutch will come easier for you.”
She stared at the floor for a moment and then asked in a rush without looking at him, “What happens if I am not granted asylum?”
Pieter’s hands tightened on the sides of the table. How could the authorities not accept this young woman, barely more than a child? She had seen her family killed, escaped from an arranged marriage that would have doomed her to a life of misery, and walked most of the way from Iraq to Amsterdam. She had no one to protect her if she was sent back to Iraq, and she would be subject to persecution for her refusal to register as an Arab. Who could be more deserving of Dutch asylum? He forced himself to answer, “We will be here to help you if that happens.”
Chapter 9
It was only midafternoon but early October dusk was already shrouding the steps and front porch of the old house that Janan had known for so many years. She picked up the snow shovels that always stood on the front porch and carried them to the garage where its emptiness echoed that of the house. Box after box of Carl’s belongings had already been shipped. She sighed remembering the blankets, clothes, books, china, and favorite mementos that she had packed under his close supervision. Her own packing had taken little time—clothes, some favorite books, and the few pieces of newborn clothing that she had not been able to resist buying. The boxes were already on the way to