No Greater Love - Eris Field Page 0,8

the type . . .” He stared at the cup in his hands before saying with a quiet acceptance, “The type doesn’t really matter all that much.”

Carl said tentatively, “There is no history of leukemia or any cancer in your family that I know of.”

“No, my father died young. He was only 55 years old, but it was cardiac arrest, not cancer.”

“That is young.” Carl frowned and then asked abruptly, “What year was your father born?”

“He was born August 21, 1945.” Pieter stared at Carl. “His mother would have been pregnant during the Dutch Hunger Winter, wouldn’t she?”

“Yes,” Carl answered slowly. “There have been some studies showing an increase of certain health problems among people who were conceived during that time and also among their children, but . . . leukemia?” He paused. “I am not aware of any connection.”

“I’ve gone over all the known risk factors. I don’t smoke. I don’t think I’ve had the Epstein Barr virus, and I know that I’ve never worked with benzene or pesticides.”

Carl stroked his chin thoughtfully as he lived again that terrible moment when he heard the news that a nuclear power plant in the Ukraine had exploded spewing 400 times more radioactive material into the atmosphere than that released by the atomic bombing of Hiroshima. He remembered his horror on hearing the calm words of the newscaster saying that the fallout was expected to spread across all of Europe contaminating water and food sources. The Netherlands would have been one of the first countries in the path of the fallout. “How old were you when the Chernobyl explosion occurred?”

“That was in 1986. I would have been 12 years old. I remember that we could not drink milk and had to buy bottled water.” He continued thoughtfully, “The official reports say that no definite association has been found between the Chernobyl explosion and increased cases of leukemia.”

“Hmm, there are conflicting opinions and some say that the studies need to be longer.” Carl shifted restlessly in his chair. “As you know, we often never know the cause of an illness.”

Janan paused in the doorway. “There is a weather alert for more snow. I think I’d better sleep here tonight.” She turned to Pieter. “I’ll pick you up at the Inn in the morning and drive you to the hospital.”

Pieter stood up and answered quickly, “No, you don’t need to do that. I can drive myself.’

“No, no, my dear boy,” Carl said soothingly. “It is better for Janan to take you. Her Subaru can go through anything.”

“It will be an early start,” Pieter warned in a tight voice.

“Then I’ll turn in now.” Janan smiled at both of them. “You relax and have a nice visit and I’ll see you in the morning. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Pieter nodded briefly and turned to Carl. “I should be going too.”

“No, please stay a little longer.” Carl settled more comfortably into the old Morris chair, with his arms resting on the flat, wooden arm rests. He put his feet up on the matching ottoman and gestured toward the chair facing his. “You haven’t told me about your work.”

“I’m still with the Department of Psychiatry at the University, teaching and mentoring the residents, but in the last few months, I’ve had to cut back.” He had fought against the body-numbing fatigue as long as he could before requesting part time. “I work a few hours each day with the children and adolescents in the holding centers.”

“Holding centers?” Carl’s words rang out with startling ferocity.

“Places for unaccompanied asylum-seeking minors—children without parents or children who became separated from their parents as they fled their countries.” Pieter’s expression remained that of a professional describing a clinical situation but the gruffness of his voice gave away his feelings. “Orphans, most of them.”

“Dear God, holding centers. Have people forgotten? The Nazis turned the Dutch Westerbork refugee center into a holding center before they put the people on trains for the concentration camps.” He stared at Pieter. “Are you telling me that children are put in Dutch camps?”

“Carl, today we have one of the highest number of refugees seeking asylum of all the European countries.” Pieter stood up and began to pace. “There are 23 refugee centers scattered throughout The Netherlands, eight in Amsterdam alone.” He paused to let Carl appreciate the scope of the problem. “The Holding Centers provide medical care, teach them Dutch, and keep the children safe from predators while they wait to learn if they have been granted asylum.” Exhausted,