tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72872152135430480232024-02-19T23:45:03.291-08:00FortheloveofmysteryJiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-54957921989421876712012-06-02T16:52:00.000-07:002012-06-07T16:53:12.177-07:00The Book<h2>
<span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I SHOULD HAVE TOLD</span></span></h2>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-45518148542488143532012-06-02T13:23:00.000-07:002012-06-12T15:25:38.984-07:00The setting<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This blog will - for starters - be a way to publish a mystery novel I have written in bits and pieces and hopefully get loads of good critique from other kindred souls. The setting of the novel is an island off the rugged coast of Norway. Looking forward to this experience!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">NOTE: To read the following chapters, you have to click the "Older Posts" at the bottom of this page. I still haven't figured out how to change that! </span></span>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-45233668788820551362012-06-01T18:52:00.000-07:002012-06-07T16:42:00.157-07:00UP<span><span style="background-color: #f4cccc;"></span></span><div style="background-color: #f4cccc;">
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<span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">Red is a color not commonly found in nature. Some flowers are red and some roots turn water nearly red when boiled. But the result of such dye on sheep wool is more like brick, or terracotta, or blood. Red is the color of fury and senseless passion. Red is the color of murder.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-27346595716101369522012-05-29T18:55:00.001-07:002012-06-07T16:18:29.415-07:00Chapter 1<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“You know it’s coming.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Of course. Not to worry.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“You got enough fuses, matches? Toilet paper?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Jonas min, I have lived here 7 years. I have enough toilet paper to last me to the second coming.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“I wish I could be there, but we have the state tests all week. I’ll try to get out Wednesday.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Don’t push it if it’s still howling. Jonas, you know I can take care of myself. Bamse says hello.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Jenta mi, no matter what the Beaufort scale says, your cell still works. Call me. How many candles do you have?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“With the boxes you brought at Christmas, I’d say at least 20 gross. When the power goes, I’ll be the best lighthouse on the island.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Well, then.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Gotta go, Jonas.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“OK. Stay warm, OK?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Goodnight, mommy.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Very funny. Goodnight. I – well – I – I – I care about you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“I care about you as well. Go grade some essays.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">She pushed the red phone button and sighed, smiling. Life could be worse than having an overprotective “friend.” “Let’s not go analyze that right now,” she thought. “Save that for a better time.” Now it was time to batten down the hatches, bring inside anything that would get blown around, and do a final check on the moorings. It was just another winter storm, but with the churn of the week-long northeaster still roiling around the water’s edge, a sudden increase from the southeast could do some serious damage. Already the mercury was dropping precipitously. She glanced at the old barometer on the wall, which was heading below 1000 mb. It was famously unreliable. It had been stuck on “sunny, fair” during the entire northeast gales the week before. Well, that was normal for the northeasterners of winter. No change in air pressure, but the winds would make a man piss on himself no matter which way he turned. She grinned. And it had. But her grandfather’s German barometer got one thing right: it knew when the wind back-hauled. She didn’t need the marine forecast; a southeast blow was coming. A northeast is fierce but a southeasterner in the winter brings the monsters up from the deep. They would be catching strange fish for weeks afterwards, Gerd knew.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">She checked her fire set-up and was satisfied. Bamse had curled up in the chair closest to the stone fireplace; he knew where the warmth would come from when needed. Gerd peered out the kitchen door: silent. No question about it, she’d have to move her sjekte around from the east to the west of the dock. The anchoring was much worse on the west side, nothing but sand mostly, but she needed to be in lee of the wind. Time for a land-line? Yes, maybe two even. She had a bad feeling about this one. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd grabbed the wool sweater that she had knitted herself (good god, but it was ugly), snickered at her own non-domesticity in the knitting department and thought “but it’s warm! So I have stitches running all down the seam – do I care? Knitting is a plebeian occupation anyway.” She showed her feet into the rubber boots waiting by the door, shrugged into a windbreaker (no rain yet), and went out. Bamse watched her go, unconcerned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">It was beautiful out here in the calm before the storm. Pink sky at 3 pm. Soft, high, feathery clouds, none of those dark massive cumulous thunderheads. Gerd raised her eyes to the sky and the tree line and thought of the new weaving she was planning. This was perfect: pink and salmon streaks within a thousand shades of blue and grey. “The annunciation,” she thought. Damn, how the childhood indoctrination never leaves you. It even colors beauty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">She moved quietly down the path toward the dock. When she had retreated to the island so many years ago – intending to make the sojourn short and to find a final resting place in its coves of soft sand – the dock had been a few 2x4s hammered together barely hanging on to some rotten pilings. But later, when she had decided to remain among the living, she had actually entered the town bank and asked for a loan to build an unyielding wooden pier with cement pilings in a T shape: storm from any direction could not dislodge her. There it was. Dark, heavy, solid, defiant. Her sjekte – her wooden 22 ft fishing boat with a captain’s helm and a hold for the industrial amount of fish she was supposed to catch – rolled softly in the drag. Gerd hauled in the painter, stepped on board, and started the 4 liter Volvo Penta. She brought the painter on board and nimbly moved to the stern to pull up the anchor. A minute later she was on the other side of the T-shaped pier, nosing into it while idling the engine. She stepped ashore, fastened the painter with a very long slack, and let the boat float while she threw the anchor further out. Leaving it loose, she got back on the pier and walked down to the rock-strewn shoreline. She had a heavy line fastened in a hundred-year old bolt for just a situation like this. Grabbing that extra line, Gerd crab-walked back along the pier, onboard the boat, and fastened it to the stern. How much slack to run? Too much, and the boat would be dashed against the shore rocks. Too little, and it would be pulled apart. She made her best judgment and pulled in the painter so she could barely step back on the dock. Done.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">At that very moment the first squall hit. Gerd looked up to the southeast. The dark line toward Denmark was approaching rapidly. Time to huddle close, pray to the god of dry firewood, and hide.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">As she pushed against the growing wind up toward her house, Gerd saw a figure barely outlined against the storm clouds. Who the hell could be out in this weather? The faltering gait revealed him: pilot Joacim. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Los Corneliussen, what are you doing out in this?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hei, lille Gerd. Jo, I thought I just needed to see to it that all was secure.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">The retired pilot, Joacim Corneliussen, was ninety at least. He hadn’t piloted a ship through the treacherous entrance to Storesand in more than twenty years since they all got their GPS’es and whatnots. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Thank you, los. Yes, we’re all settled on this end of the island. You know the Vegaards went back to town after Christmas. I just came down to put out an extra line on the sjekte. It’s back-hauling. They say it’s going to be a rough one.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hmm,” said pilot Corneliussen, as if any fool born yesterday couldn’t see that. “Well, I’ll just make my rounds, then. You have enough firewood and matches, don’t you? If you don’t, you’re welcome to come over and stay with me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Right,” thought Gerd. “If I came over to your house, I’d have to suffer through two thousand descriptions of every storm since God was a boy. And drink your dandelion wine, to boot. Guess I’ll pass.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">To Corneliussen, she said “I’m fine, thanks. Call me if you have any trouble. You know my phone number, right?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hmmmm,” said Corneliussen, and moved past her. Telephones were the devil’s own invention as far as he was concerned. Why, when he was a boy …….</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd watched him limp over the grass toward the outside. The old man was running on whiskey and milk, as usual. He could probably order the storm to take another course just with a look. Good man to have in your corner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd felt the hairs on her neck stand on end. “There it comes.” From where she was standing at the corner of the Viking Graves, she couldn’t see the southeast horizon. No need to see, though, that wet wool blanket of the approaching storm front left no doubt. She started up the path just as the gusts started talking seriously.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">It was no more than half a kilometer from the dock to her house. Across the low sands to the lilacs (well, lilacs in spring, anyway) and up the narrow path. By the time Gerd yanked open her front door, the rain was a wall of cold water and the wind was flattening small bushes. Put up the shutters? No, it was too late for that; already the view from her living room windows was nearly completely grey. But not totally: a monster of frigid water was heaving up 12-foot waves over the breakwater her grandfather had built. She hoped Los Joacim had had the sense to turn back. Well, he could probably breathe water, the old fish.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Bamse glimpsed up at her from his throne in the brown leather chair, unconcerned. Gerd tapped the ancient barometer and watched it sink 10 more millibars. She wandered restlessly around the living room and in and out of the kitchen. Make some food? She wasn’t hungry. Settle down and try to paint while the power was still on? No, better get the oil lamps out and put the candles and matches on tables and sideboards. Light a fire, in case it went suddenly. Rearranging the kindling and the wood (she had carried in three armfuls earlier) was good therapy. Gerd redid the fire set-up with some torn up sketches she didn’t like, added a few more sticks of dry kindling, and laid three spruce logs, cut side in, in an Indian tent over the starter. She picked up the nearest matchbox and ------- she went blind. From one second to the next, she could see nothing. She fumbled with the box in her hand and shakily lit one match. It gave a tiny bit of vision and she saw the nearest edge of the paper under the logs. Bending close, she touched the match to the paper just as it went out. Faen i helvete. Try again. This time the fire stayed lit until the paper caught. Gerd quickly pulled closed the glass shutters of her fireplace; in this old house, the wind found its way through cracks no one could see or find. A tiny spark, a real flame, and the kindling caught. She frantically grabbed a few more sticks of kindling that Jonas had split for her (“I love you for this”) in case the spruce wasn’t as dry as she thought. But it was, of course it was. Slowly and inexorably the light from the fire pushed back the darkness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd walked around from one oil lamp to the next, lighting the ones she thought would keep the storm outside. No way was she going to go upstairs to her cold and creaking bedroom tonight. She would have laughed, but the truth that she admitted only to herself was that she was panicked afraid of the dark. Yes, she was afraid. Without reason – is there ever reason for fear? Fear of a wolf staring you down, perhaps. But it wasn’t fear of the actual storm Gerd felt. It was the marrow-deep fear of the unseen. “Oh shut up,” she thought. “Don’t go there.” “God natt sang nylig den fugl på kvist og gjemte sitt nebb bak sin vinge ……” she hummed. There is nothing lonelier than a solitary human in a storm. She needed some other sound. Music, yes. With no power she could run her laptop for a few hours on the battery, but she didn’t want to deplete it. The old CD player, where was it? Oh, useless of course, no power. Wait, didn’t she have an old radio with a cassette player somewhere? One with batteries? Yes, in the back of the closet in the spare room downstairs (she wasn’t going to go upstairs) was where she found it. Searching for a battery-driven radio holding a candle aloft; if her heart wasn’t hammering 140 beats a minute it would have been funny. And batteries – Cs or Ds? – are on the top shelf in the kitchen next to the useless fuses. Behind the radio she found two cassettes: Jan Gabarek and Lillebjørn Nilsen. Not exactly Carmen, but plenty good enough: Gerd found and inserted the batteries and shoved in the first cassette a bit roughly. Dulcet tones of Jan Gabarek in a mellow mood filed the room. Breathe, just breathe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">The only clock in the house that ran on batteries was her grandfather’s carved mantelpiece monstrosity. Love for her unknown grandfather and his delicate hands carving roses and cherubs in soft wood filled her. The clock hands showed the short hand between 5 and 6 and the long hand straight down. 5:30, she deduced. “Here I am pretending to be a tough, self-sufficient pioneer living alone on a godforsaken island in a storm, and I can barely tell the time.” She made a mental note to be better prepared for the next time as her heart beat slowly steadied.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Food. In dire straits people need hot liquids. Oh, shit, of course the refrigerator is out as well. And so is the stove. Forget the microwave, how ridiculous. Gerd knew she had an old propane one-burner somewhere in the shed; did she dare venture out that far? No other option if she wanted hot food tonight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">She found the big maglight – yes, full of superb batteries – and tested the kitchen door. It faced north, so it opened. Something was slamming in the wind like Tor’s hammer. The shed door, probably. Gathering her courage around her like a prayer Gerd pushed out the door and down the five steps. Black as evil surrounded her with a wind force that tore her hair out by the roots. “The shed is there; ten steps away; it hasn’t moved.” She felt her way around the corner and moved into the northwest cone of silence. What’s slamming? Just some old hemp rope she had hung on the door; how she had even heard it over the howl of the wind she couldn’t imagine. She hauled the right side of the double barn doors open. The door nearly flew out of her hand and she didn’t care. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd shone the flashlight cone into the maw of the shed. Evil, evil. “Get a grip, girl, there is nothing here that wasn’t here in daylight.” She knew – thought she knew – that the propane burner was on the top west wall shelf. Yes, there it was: dark green and solid. But was there propane in the canister? At this point, she couldn’t care. Food or no food; all she wanted was to get back into her safe house. She pulled down the burner and dropped a few other things on the floor in the process. No big. With the propane stove tucked under her arm, Gerd backtracked, showed the big door closed and secured the latch, and, head down, forced her way back to the stairs, up the stairs, in the door (close the door), and into the kitchen. She trembled as she put the burner on the counter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“I need a glass of wine,” she thought, “just one, to steady my hands.” She went into the living room and to the big corner hutch where she kept liquor. Grabbed a glass – don’t care if it’s a white wine glass – and held it under the spout of the red wine box. Filled the glass; took a sip. The effect was instantaneous; liquid warmth spread through her icy veins. Holding the glass and feeling much more competent, Gerd went into the kitchen, opened the valve on the propane burner, and held a match to the hiss. It lit like this was its only purpose in life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Throw some water in a pot for starters and put it over the flame. What’s in the little refrigerator freezer compartment? Aha! Two slices of cod from long ago when she was planning to prepare something-or-other for Jonas and they had ended up in bed instead. She tore the plastic bag in half with her hands and dumped the frozen cod into the simmering water. Needed some vegetables, but all the perfectly blanched and frozen vegetables from her extensive garden were in the box freezer in the shed. No way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd dug in the veggie compartment of the warming fridge and came up with some green beans and carrots that had seen better days. In the pot they went. Onion? Don’t have any. But look – there are a few slivers of garlic that are not totally rotted. In fact, they look just fine. Throw them in – we can fish them out later. Need some stock of some kind: no, it’s all in the box freezer. OK, how about a Maggi vegetable cube? Yummy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">It was 6pm and time for the evening marine forecast. The Gabarek tape had ended and she switched the radio over to FM. She turned the knob and Abba was asking for money, money, money. Herrejesus after that ridiculous movie Abba had had a resurgence. “Hell must be an infinite loop of Abba,” she thought sourly. The second-spaced beeps started and finally a tinny voice said “This is the southern marine forecast, broadcasting from Havnsheia.” All-crafts warning; all local ferry traffic suspended. The man with the West coast accent didn’t say it, but the implication was clear: stay the hell off the water if you weren’t there already and if you were, head for shelter. Nothing she didn’t already know. She turned off the radio and jumped when her phone started playing Solveig’s Song. Nanna.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hei Nanna”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hei yourself, how’s it going?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Bamse and I are fine; we have wine, cat food, and candles. How are you and Peder?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“We’re good. You know we are in a wind-shadow here; can’t feel the southeaster much.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“So what do we say now?” thought Gerd. Better not chat too long; I have no way to charge this thing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Want to come over and spend the night with us?” Nanna asked. “Elise left two days ago and the spare room is just sitting there all alone.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Thanks, but no thanks,” said Gerd. “I’m totally watertight with the new windows and we’re snug as bugs in a rug.” How snug can a bug be in a rug? She smiled at herself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“OK. Stay in touch, though. I’m going to check on Gamlefru Andresen. You know she forgets to eat.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Forgetting to eat, that would be a serious charge in Nanna’s book. Nanna was big, blond, generous, loving, and a horrible cook. People thought twice before accepting an invitation to dinner at the Høgdes. Actually, Nanna had retained her family name of Dalsenga, but no one paid attention. She and Peder were the Høgdes, whether she liked it or not.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Now don’t give her food poisoning on top of her arthritis, right?” joked Gerd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Not to worry; I’ll just bring her one of my famous pasta dishes. You can eat that cold and it’s just as good.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd refrained from the obvious response. Everyone needs a Nanna, she thought. Nanna was the mother of the island. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“OK, girlfriend. I’ll stop by when this blow is over. I have to go before my batteries run out.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“You don’t have a spare battery?” Nanna asked anxiously.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Shit. Shouldn’t have said that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Yes, of course I do. I was just joking.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Not like you to joke, Gerd.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">True indeed. When god handed out the gift of the gab, Gerd must have been busy with something else. Thinking about colors of yarn, probably.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Nanna, my soup is boiling over. I’ll see you later, OK?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“OK, honey. Stay warm”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Nanna hung up the phone. Gerd went into the kitchen and retrieved the mangled so-called fish soup from the propane burner. She actually was a decent cook, she thought. Really she was. But this concoction? Another glass of wine would make it taste just right. Gerd mused about it: seven years on the island in all kinds of weather and every season. She knew every herb in her garden, every rock to stumble over, every sound of the cherry trees in wind, rain, and sun. Why was she thrown into a catatonic panic in darkness? “I’m genetically afraid of the dark,” she thought. Some people are genetically predisposed to anaphylactic shock if they ingest a peanut, some become invalids from a single toxic blueshell while others feel nothing at all. Me, I’m afraid of the dark.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Blaming it on genes rather than on moral weakness made her feel better. She sat down to swallow some of the awful soup and sipped her glass. “But I can turn it into something,” she thought. “I can weave darkness on my upstairs loom.” Weaving darkness, what a god-awful idea. But potentially therapeutic? Not tonight. Tonight she would huddle by the fire to banish all demons, drink herself insensate, and wake in the morning to clear skies and birdsong.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">The fire was roaring, Bamse was imitating a warm, furry rock (OK, a very large, furry rock), and she was beginning to doze off when the cell phone started blasting again. This time it played Beethoven’s 5</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 8px/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>th</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Gerd.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“God, glad I got you. Can you come help?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Help what, Henrik?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“The Englishman’s boat has pulled its moorings. It’s floating about 50 meters off shore. The fool’s totally useless. We need all the help we can get.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Carmichael? What has he done now?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Oh, nothing. Just that he may have a scout’s book of knots and badges to prove it but tie up a boat on the right side of the dock he couldn’t do to save his life.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Jonathan Wayne Carmichael was a fairly recent addition to the island. Through some convoluted means of inheritance, he had found himself the owner of a rather nice white, wooden, one-story house just behind Henrik and Jutta. He couldn’t sell it – well not easily – because of the Norwegian laws of inheritance and permanent occupation of certain buildings. So he moved in. Two years ago, in brilliant summer light. Carmichael was not exactly anti-social, but he wasn’t an island rat either. How he made a living, no one knew. But there he was, with a huge wooden fishing boat far too large for him and a dock that was the envy of every legitimate island inhabitant. His tie-up facilities were superb. If he only knew how to use them, that is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Do you really need me, Henrik?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Girl, all the people in nyhusene fled before the storm and Old Einar’s house is dark. Peder is going to bring out his 14 footer, but we do sorely need someone to man the runabout while we try to get a line on Carmichael’s boat.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“OK. I’ll come. I’m just going to find my flashlights. 10 minutes?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Bless you, girl. And the Englishman would bless you if he had a thought in his head.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“I know. Over and out Henrik.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Out in the screaming dark. With the storm had come a wall of rain that made her think she was trapped in the Nautilus. Gerd pulled on rain pants, rain boots, a slicker, and an old southwester from her grandfather that had a flap down the back to keep the water from running down her freezing spine. She pulled open the door and entered the elements.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Down the path wasn’t so bad; she was sheltered by the trees. Once she came out of the path, though, she’d have to traverse the lowlands of the “Viking Graves” before once again reaching the relative shelter of the beach. She pushed through, not caring what devils were riding the wind. Once on the asphalt path, she could almost stand upright. She trudged up the hill and down again and there was Peder’s house. And Nanna, standing in the doorway waiting for her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Hei”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“They’re at the dock, waiting to cast off.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“OK. I’ll be back soon.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Nanna nodded, no doubt going back into her kitchen to devise something equally inedible for their return. Gerd slinked along the red boat house and out to the dock, gale winds nearly pushing her into the boiling water. She saw the Englishman’s boat rapidly receding to the north, dragging its anchor. Henrik and Peder were in the open 14 footer, which looked like a child’s toy in the undertow of the storm surge. They nodded to each other; she got in.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">The minute they rounded the main pier, the surge caught them. It wasn’t so much the size of waves as their power that made navigation a joke. The 25 HP Mercury engine screamed and fought. They were gaining on the huge fishing boat. And where was Carmichael? Probably blissed out in his cottage, she thought. Carmichael had some interesting habits, very macrobiotic and very potent. Henrik was in the bow with a boat hook. Peder was hanging on to a coil of hemp rope. The fishing boat was nearly in reaching distance.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">A rogue wave caught them just as Henrik was about to get his hook onto the boat railing. They rose like a tidal wave above the line of the fishing boat. Herregud, they were going to land on top of it. The wave receded and pulled them back out of reach. Once more, Gerd shoved the throttle to maximum to gain leverage. This time they got close. Henrik hooked the boat and pulled it dangerously close. And he jumped. At least a meter up, Henrik jumped onto the fishing vessel. He turned around just as Peder threw him the rope. Making it fast on something – whatever – he signaled to Peder to start pulling. Gerd reversed the motor, which didn’t appreciate that one bit. They got about 10 meters of rope between them, Peder making his end fast around a thwart. Henrik was obviously staying on the vessel. Gerd started turning the runabout into the wind to tow the huge boat. Up six feet of freezing water, down six feet. The runabout could take anything, but the engine didn’t like its propeller hitting air at the tops. They made slow progress toward the shore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">The three got the fishing boat back to shore and tied it up the way it should have been in the first place. Where was the owner? They could have trudged up to his house to give him an earful, but no one wanted any more trouble tonight. Nanna half-heartedly invited them in to eat, but Henrik and Gerd shook their heads. At the gate to his house, Henrik stopped.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Gerd, I worry for you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“No need to worry, Henkie, I’m water and wind-tight.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“How is your sjekte?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“I tied her up on the west side hours ago. She’s fine. Los Corneliussen as much as said so.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Well, he hadn’t, but if she had missed even the slightest thing, he would have let her know. Henrik didn’t seem satisfied. Finally, he said “Where is Einar, I wonder?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Einar?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“I haven’t seen him since Friday. His house has been dark. He’s not getting any younger, you know.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“He might have gone to see his sister. You know his sister lives up behind Berget. On top of the hill.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“He has a sister?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Twenty years you have lived here, Henkie, and talked to Einar every day and you didn’t know he has family in Storesand?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Nope. We don’t talk about family.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“You wouldn’t. But he does. I’m going home to sleep, Henrik. Say hi to Jutta for me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Goodnight, then.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">“Goodnight.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd tucked her head down and walked slowly up the hill from Henrik’s. Up one hill, then a little dip, then another hill and down to the beach. Although the storm was still blowing fiercely, it seemed to have lost some of its appetite for destruction. Even in the pitch dark, Gerd didn’t want to click on her flashlight. Halfway across the sand, she stopped and marveled. The storm-leaden sky was breaking up and tiny flashes of stars showed through. “Up above the clouds, the skies are always blue.” She trudged on, thinking of old Einar. Yes, he had a sister at Skyteplassen behind Berget, but she knew they hadn’t seen eye to eye since childhood. Not very likely he’d go there. Einar was known to have a great thirst for beer. He hadn’t mistaken day for night, had he? And thought he had to bring in his lobstertraps before sunrise? No, no matter how sodden he might be, Einar knew wind and water. Although there was that old story …..</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">Gerd amused herself with island gossip as she at last made it to her own front door. Bamse made a major effort and heaved his 12 kilos off the chair and down to her feet, demanding treats or at least canned cat food. He allowed her to feed him, noblesse oblige. There were four messages on her phone, all from Jonas. The first three were frantic, but by the 4</span><span style="font: normal normal normal 8px/normal 'Times New Roman'; letter-spacing: 0px;"><sup>th</sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">, he had calmed down. “Sleep well, jenta mi, and dream of me. I’ll be there holding the devils at bay.” Gerd smiled, felt her customary nagging worry that someone knew her too well, and decided that on a night like this she’d stay in the extra room downstairs just to keep Bamse company. Sleepwalking, Gerd blew out all the candles and oil lamps. She limped into the spare room where she had a small bed. Complete darkness, but a cozy darkness. She pulled off her stiff clothes, threw them in a heap (tomorrow is another day) and fell asleep on the cot before her head hit the pillow. She didn’t even feel Bamse hauling his weight into her bed. Her last thought was “Where is Einar?”</span></span></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-6818430140341194292012-05-28T14:51:00.000-07:002012-06-07T16:10:13.110-07:00Where is Lyholmen?<div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Lyholmen's place in the universe .......</span></div>
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<br />Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-45831073686108012242012-05-27T14:52:00.000-07:002012-06-07T16:11:17.705-07:00Gerd's world<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-71181686836210912672012-05-25T16:16:00.000-07:002012-06-07T16:17:20.446-07:00Chapter 2<br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She was having a heart attack. There was a weight on her chest that could not be dislodged. “I guess I’ll just die,” Gerd thought, ”since I don’t know where my phone is and no one could rescue me in this weather anyway.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Next thought: “Is that weight purring?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She opened her eyes to slits. All 12 kilos of Bamse were in her face pawing her nose and suggesting – delicately – that it was time to get up and feed him again.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Get off, cat!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">With a mighty heave she sent him sprawling. Or tried to. Bamse never accepted any heaving: coming or going was entirely his choice. He stretched languidly on her chest and turned around once. Then, and only then, did he deign to gather his forces and jump off the bed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Goddamn cat.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bamse paid her no attention and started strolling in his slow regal way toward the kitchen, where he would meow up an ear-splitting racket for hours until she got up to feed him. Gerd gathered her senses about her and listened. She didn’t hear the howl of the southeast gale. In fact, the only thing she heard was seagulls cawing and maybe – yes! – the chirping of a few sparrows that had wintered over in her shed roof. She was alive – no doubt about it – and she was needed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She had been so exhausted last night that she hadn’t bothered with a nightgown. Gerd ran a hand down her side: no, no nightgown. She was naked under the down quilt and all alone. Well, except for Bamse, but he hardly counted in bed. Her body felt watery, weak. She pulled a hand out from under the quilt and looked at it. It looked like her hand: brown, short fingers, very un-artistic, her mom would say. She pulled the quilt down a little; would it be cold? But her bedroom – actually her spare bedroom downstairs since she hadn’t dared to go upstairs last night – was warm and cozy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Something bright caught her eye on the side of her bed. Her phone; she must have put it there just before collapsing last night. She grabbed it: 7am. Jonas would be just getting his breakfast before heading off to school. Skies or bicycle? She thought the latter. Gathering the phone and peering at the recent messages she touched his latest from the night before. On her end it was just rings, but she knew it played the hallelujah chorus on his end. Was he in the shower?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Jenta mi.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“It’s so quiet here.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Did the power go off?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Yeah. Bamse kept me company.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I should have been there.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Are you up? I’m still in bed.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I’m on my way out the door, Can I come out after school?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Please.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I love you, baby.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I love you, too. Don’t let the kids get to you.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“No fear. I’ll be there around 5.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bamse’s howl of incipient demise from starvation registered in her brain. “OK, OK, I’m on my way.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gerd tentatively put one foot on the floor. Not impossible. The other foot followed. When she shucked off the quilt, she felt the cool of a fire she had let die the night before. No problem, she could stoke it back to life. Her soggy clothes from the boat-saving expedition were in a wet heap on the floor. She shivered and ran naked up the stairs to her proper bedroom, yanked open the armoire, and pulled out some pants, a T-shirt, and a sweater. Wool socks from the dresser. As she made it down the stairs a little more respectably, she realized she was going commando. Ummmm, feels good.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Bamse was nearly in hysterics about the absence of breakfast. She grabbed a can of whatever-catfood from her pantry. In usual circumstances, a gourmand like Bamse would turn up his nose at such fare, but this morning he was subdued. He fell upon the gelatinous mass like a sinner at his last confession.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She needed coffee. But the coffee maker needed power. Gerd flipped the light switch near the door to see if the power had been restored. The two 60-watt bulbs in the overhead light clicked on at once. Hello! </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gerd ground some Fair Trade coffee and measured it into the basket. Water from the tap (she had city water!), and the “on” button glowed welcoming red. Gurgling ensued. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">When she had enough to steal one single cup, Gerd carried it to the windows in the living room. A pale February morning greeted her. Steel blue light on the water. The ocean surface was deceptively calm. Out there, the waves would top 6 feet, she was sure, but you couldn’t see that from the window. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The blasted phone rang again. Gerd had moved to the island to get away from the constant commerce of people but at the same time she had wired the house for wi-fi in every room. Maybe it wasn’t so much that she wanted to get away from people altogether as wanting to keep them at a distance. Too many people knew her cell number; that was the problem. Change to an unlisted number? The phone rang the troll dance from Peer Gynt. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Hello mother.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Did you send the flowers?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I hope you’re well, too.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“What? Have you lost your mind, Gerd? Did you send the flowers or not?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I’m sure I did,” Gerd thought this response would calm the Valkyrie.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“You don’t even know what I’m talking about, do you? The funeral? Hans Tobiassen? Yesterday?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Old Tobiassen died?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Good god, girl, have you completely gone to seed out there on that godforsaken island?”</span></span></div>
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Gerd through silently for a while. “No, I don’t think I have.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Did you send the wreath to his funeral like I asked you at least 20 times? Did you send a big wreath?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Of course I did, mother; would I forget a thing like that?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Silence at the other end. Fru Katrine Amalie Ljoset would never know if the wreath had been delivered or not. No one in Storesand communicated with her any more. Most of her contemporaries were dead and those who weren’t avoided her like the plague.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“How are you, mother?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Well, I’m, I’m, I’m OK I guess.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Still involved in that knitting club?” </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Well, when you are my age, you’ll know that the arthritis will get you. I ache all the time, daughter. Knitting becomes pure torture at my age. You should know that.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Yep, knitting is torture all right, thought Gerd. Aha – insight! That was why she hated knitting, why she mangled every knitting project while her weaving of the same yarn and thread came out like joy personified. </span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Are you there?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Yes. I’m just about running out of batteries, mother. I’ll call you later, OK?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“You won’t,” responded her mother, somewhat subdued Gerd thought.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">No, she wouldn’t, actually. Gerd and her mother had parted ways many years ago. After her father died of prostate cancer at the early age of 55, her mother had moved up to Lillehammer, “to be with family,” she said. Gerd was in Thailand at the time. The house on the island had come to her through the unlikely source of an uncle Andreas, a midshipman who never touched shore and whom everyone had forgotten. Turned out he was the first cousin of her father Fred Carlsson Ljoset, a first cousin who apparently had no other kin anywhere. She had learned of the bequest of the house a month after her father had passed away and she hadn’t been there for the funeral. At the time, an unknown uncle’s bequest meant nothing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">How she came to inhabit the old house was another story. She needed to finish the present.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“We had a southeastern gale last night,” Gerd said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“What?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“A storm.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Her mother was silent. Nature was not her thing.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Mother, I just got the electricity back. I need to charge the phone and make sure the freezer is on, OK?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“OK”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“I’ll call you later.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Her mother just hung up the phone. No “I love you,” no inane “take care.” Nothing. Well, if there is nothing, you can’t lose it, thought Gerd.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Her coffee had grown cold. Instead of reheating it, she gave herself the luxury of throwing the old coffee into the sink and pouring a new cup from the now-functioning coffee-maker. She really did need to get a generator. Not that power outages were all that common, but her life depended more and more on electricity. When she moved to the old house at the edge of the ocean seven years ago and had decided to stay, she had promised herself that no matter how far she was in miles from her friends and acquaintances around the world, she would be present in digital communication. The island had sprouted a cell phone tower the year she moved in, and she took every advantage of it. A couple of years ago, that connection no longer sufficed, and she had prevailed on the local council to budget a cable line to the island. Gerd was the first subscriber. Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, she was connected to them all. However, with every receding year she cared less and less. How connected do I want to be?</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gerd looked out the living room windows to the south. The sky was clear, only a few high wisps of clouds. The storm had dumped a lake of water all over the island. What should be a February of glittering white snow was a muddy mess. Her salmon nets hadn’t been tended for two days now. Time to get your ass in gear, thought Gerd. While humans might disparage the loss of pristine white beauty on land, the fish in the water would thank god for his manna. The ocean would be churning with krill and other minute organisms. Every ocean creature would be looking at a feast.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Breakfast, that was what was missing. Funny how no matter how little she ate, her figure remained round. Voluptuous, said Jonas. But then, he’d say anything. Gerd was grateful for her strong back and solid legs. She was not one to be blown away by a gale.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She went into the kitchen and rummaged through the bread drawer. About ¼ of one of the four loaves she had baked a week ago remained. It didn’t look too moldy. She pulled out the toaster from under the counter, cut two slices, and shoved them into the slits. A good burn would surely incinerate any mold spores that might think they had a chance. When the toaster popped, she dug in the fridge for butter (the fridge was humming like the blackout had never happened) and found both butter and strawberry jam perfectly serviceable. She ate four pieces of toast with jam standing up at the counter.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gerd began to get excited thinking about her salmon nets out at Bakkebåene. She had never quite figured out the laws and legal opinions, but somehow she had inherited the right to set standing nets at Bakkebåene, east of Ørneredet, the lighthouse. In the past, a man could feed a family on what he caught in the standing nets. There were four: one leading to the next to the next and finally into a corral no salmon could get out of. Why didn’t cod fall into the same trap? She never knew. She did pull up some ling cod and a few bewildered mackerel now and then, but in general all she got was kilos of ocean salmon and an occasional trout. She might keep one or two to smoke or salt for gravlax, but the majority went to Fiskebrygga in town to be sold to households all up and down the coast. She could picture a family in some inland valley gathering around a 3 kilo salmon fresh out of the oven, with potatoes and dill butter (if they had any left this time of year); the adults toasting one another with aquavit and beer and the kids saying “was there any roe? I want the roe!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Well, the day was wasting. A February day is short as a butterfly’s life. Before you had gotten used to the light, it would be waning over Våget. Get going, girl.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gerd went into the spare room where she had so cowardly slept the night before and collected her rain gear. It wasn’t raining any more but she would get plenty wet. Starting with wool leggings, she layered on long-sleeved T-shirts, a turtleneck, and finally a wool sweater. Wool socks. (Her knitting might not win any prizes, but she could keep herself in wool socks.) On top of it all she pulled on her rain pants, the rain jacket, and her southwester. She waddled out into the kitchen to get the rain boots. Some fishermen said that one should never wear rain boots because if you fell overboard they would drag you down and you would be fish food. Since the same old tobacco-spitting gents also swore that learning to swim was just prolonging the inevitable, she generally paid them no heed. Gerd liked her feet cozy warm.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">When she opened the kitchen door it felt like breathing pure oxygen. The storm had pushed aside all yucky particles and left the world open for business. Gerd went into her shed, picked up a nearly full canister of gasoline and a bucket of dry ice for her expected haul, and hurried down the path. The still-wet branches kissed her hello, but there was not a trace of snow on the ground. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She untied the extra stern line and loosened the pulley line just enough so she could pull the boat close. Her 1952 wooden sjekte was her first major purchase, and her best one, she thought. It had been owned by a series of fishermen and their families, who lovingly cared for the Volvo Penta motor and every single one of the boards inside and out. For an old lady, she was in tip-top condition. 22 feet, not big but steady as the granite rock the country was built on. Some generations ago someone had installed a key starter. Luxury! Gerd turned the key and the reliable motor at once came to life. Did she need to hand bail after all that rain? Nope, the self-bailer seemed to be able to take care of it once the engine was going. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">As Gerd was pulling out around Tørnforbi and into the west channel, she saw Henkie’s much larger fishing vessel coming in. He had the shrimp-poles out, must have gone out when the storm was still raging. He saluted her with his cap as they passed. She waved back.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">She had been right; once she passed Tørnforbi the waves were indeed considerable. Up one hill and down the other side. Luckily Gerd had never suffered from seasickness. She could see the froth of spray at Bakkebåene, still at least one nautical mile away. But her nets were in lee of the skerries (couldn’t really call them islands), so she should be OK. The waves wouldn’t get any worse out there, she knew.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Out at the nets, Gerd idled the motor and watched for a few minutes to see how bad the drift was. Pretty strong; she would have to run the motor at trawl speed just to stay in one place. She nosed up to the nearest buoy with the boathook in her hand. Once she caught the lead rope to the buoy, she pulled it over the drum net hauler, securing it to the hook. Given her size and strength, she had had to install a motorized net hauler. She started the hauler and the rope soon gave way to the main catch net. Eureka! Even at the very beginning she saw a huge silver salmon. At least 6 kilos! The net hauler groaned; there must be quite a catch there today. Gerd hooked the first fish, expertly tossing it into the hold. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">An hour later she had emptied the nets and set them out again. She glanced at the hold. What do you think – maybe 80 kilos? Actually, it was probably more since the hold was nearly full. She’d get 40 kroner per kilo for fish like this; it was even sushi quality for anyone who actually wanted to eat raw fish. 4000 for 100 kilos. Not bad for a morning’s work. She thought of the gold yarn she had seen online. It was 500 kroner a skein, but of course you didn’t need very much. She would hold back one of the smaller, 3-kilo fish for the rakørret Jonas liked so much, but all the rest would go straight into her savings account. If her mother only knew what she earned! Of course fishing contributed only a minor amount. No, Gerd’s true income was from what her mother called her “artistic pretensions.” A one-of-a-kind Gerd Ljoset coat sold for 20,000+ kroner in Oslo’s most exclusive fashion venues. Not to mention Paris, Rome, New York, Tokyo ……… Gerd threw some dry ice on the fish; it wasn’t truly necessary since it was less than half an hour to town, but old habits die hard and all that. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Right then the sun peeked out behind a cloud and Gerd saw a flash of light to the southwest. Another and another. What on earth? The flashes seemed to come from Treungene, a group of small uninhabited islands west of the lighthouse. She debated: could someone be in trouble? Gerd looked around to see if there was anyone else out who could drive over, but she was alone on the ocean this morning. Well, it wouldn’t take her more than 15 minutes to swing by just to take a quick look. Gerd turned the wheel and the flow of the waves hit her to port. At least they would be in front of the mid-line. She added a little speed to get this side-trip over with.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Closing in on the little islands she saw what had flashed and alerted her. The windows in the bow of an old fishing boat had caught the rising sun just right. An old boat – didn’t she recognize that boat? It was. It was the Annelise, Einar Iversen’s wreck of a tub. When had it last been seen? Had Einar been caught in the storm and taken refuge on the island?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Gerd pulled in next to him, threw out an anchor and made the painter fast in an iron ring on shore. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Einar!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Einar, are you there?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">His boat was tied up properly – what could be the problem? “Einar!!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Oh god, he was lying on the floorboards. She jumped on board without asking permission. “Einar, are you all right?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">No, it was obvious that he wasn’t. One leg was folded under him and his right hand was clutching broken glass. Had he had a heart attack out here? She bent down to check his breathing. There was no blood, but if he had lain here in the torrents of rainfall from the storm, it would all have been washed away. She really didn’t need to check: Old Einar had gone on to the eternal fishing grounds.</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">But wait, there </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-decoration: underline;">was</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> a sound. Not from Einar, but from somewhere close – on the island?</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Is someone there?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Come help me!”</span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;">No answer, but the sound increased. It sounded like whining. Gerd crossed the bow of the dilapidated boat and went ashore. More whining. It sounded like – well like a dog. A dog out here? Einar didn’t have a dog; he had been a cat man. Gerd got closer to the keening sound but saw nothing. Finally she located a miniature cave behind some boulders. She bent down; the sound was coming from there. It </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px; text-decoration: underline;">was</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"> a dog; a tiny one. No, a puppy. A hungry and scared puppy, gold colored. </span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Where is your mommy, little guy?” Gerd asked the puppy, who of course did not answer. She stretched out her hand and received a tentative lick. “We have to see if your mommy is here as well.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">The puppy inched forward, finally allowing Gerd to pick him up. Yes it was a he. She moved carefully up and down the crags of the little island shouting, but neither she nor the puppy heard any other sounds. At last she gave up.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Let’s get ourselves to town, little guy. We have to get Einar to the morgue and we can find out where you belong afterwards.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Tying Einar’s painter to her stern, Gerd prepared to tow the old boat to town. She had some emergency supplies of canned food in a cabinet near the bow, found the can opener, and opened a can of Spam for the shivering little dog. He inhaled the food. She opened one of her 10-liter containers of fresh water and poured some in a coffee mug for him. He lapped that as well, made three turns on the sweater she had laid down on the floorboards for him, and promptly fell asleep.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Finally within range of cell reception, Gerd called the hospital and told them of her sad errand. They would have an ambulance ready in Vika when she came in. They did, and the ambulance driver told her he would take charge of the boat, notify the police, and bring Einar’s body up to the hospital. She gave him her cell number (one more person who had her number) and drove over to Fiskebrygga. The puppy slept through it all.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: small;">“Strange,” she thought. Something didn’t make sense. What was Einar doing out just as all the forecasts had said small-craft warnings, southeast gale coming, all unnecessary traffic suspended? He had a radio and he was an old salt: he didn’t need a forecast to tell him it was going to blow. And where did the dog come from? All the way back out to the island, Gerd brooded. Something was not right.</span></span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"></span></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-79970563188218957052012-05-24T16:42:00.000-07:002012-06-11T16:47:56.965-07:00Chapter 3: Monday Night<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Cómo
quisiera poder vivir sin aire,” Gerd sang along with Pandora radio.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="ES-MX">“C</span><span lang="ES-MX">ó</span><span lang="ES-MX">mo quisiera poder vivir sin agua. </span>Me encantaría …….”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And what she would love appeared as a dark shadow outside her kitchen
door. She hadn’t heard his steps, hadn’t heard a thing over her own tone-deaf
accompaniment to Maná. She turned and smiled as he opened the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">He walked in, grabbed her around the waist and swung her nearly to the ceiling.
Not such a feat: the ceilings were low in these old houses. But for all her 1
meter 68 centimeters, she ducked her head and giggled anyway.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Jonasito, put me down. I’m making the roux for the soup.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“The what? I’ll make you rue such a request. And me a starving man.”
Jonas bent his tall frame over her and nibbled her neck. “Mmmm. Something
smells good. Are you baking?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd laughed again and turned to the stove. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Simplest of dinners after a hard night and a long day. Fresh baked
bread and fish stew.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“You had a hard night? Let me tell you ….”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“No,” Gerd interrupted. “Me first. I just need to add some more milk to
this, then I can push it aside. Could you get me a glass of wine?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas loomed tall in her diminutive kitchen, 1m. 90 in his stockinged
feet. Tall and somewhat gangly, Jonas van der Linden was a few years older than
her 33. Sometimes he grew a brown beard; right now he was clean shaven. Brown
curly hair a tad too long (she liked it that way); hair one could run one’s
fingers through and hold on to when necessary. Brown eyes. Long face, gentle
mouth. Jonas was a teacher at the local high school. He had arrived in
Storesand as a substitute teacher a few years ago, not long before they met.
And that had been nearly three years ago now, on a cold night much like this
one. He had taken one look at the short, plump woman arguing with the fish
buyers like a longshoreman and promptly decided to stay. They had offered him
tenure soon afterward. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">He pulled two glasses off the shelf and filled them both from the wine
box. Nearly spilled the wine when something soft touched his leg and tried to
lick his pants. “What on earth is that?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Does it look like a dog?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“It decidedly does. Hey little dude, where did you crawl out from?” He
gave her one glass, put his on the counter and pretzeled himself all the way
down to the floor. He rubbed the little dog’s ears and was treated to ecstatic
face-washing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Two questions. One, where did he come from and two, how is he holding
his own against Bamse?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The feline in question was glaring at them both from his throne in the
living room. Such shenanigans were beneath contempt as far as Bamse was
concerned. He has just started getting used to the male human – it had only
taken 36 months – but now this almost-respectable human had shown that he would
lower himself as far as greeting a stinky dog before coming directly to him to
pay his respects. Completely unacceptable.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Thereby hangs a tale.” Gerd added homemade vegetable stock and a cup
of fish stock (her own recipe) to the roux, emptied in the vegetables she had
cut up, and put all to simmer. The fish and shrimp would go in last. She added
a few sprigs of dried herbs tied with string that she would ladle out before
serving the soup. The bread probably had another 30 minutes to go. She brought
her wine into the living room and sat down on the couch. Jonas settled in
beside her. The as-yet unnamed dog lay down by her feet, another slave to love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I went out to empty the salmon nets this morning,” Gerd began. Jonas
started to interrupt but thought the better of it. He nodded.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Over 90 kilos!” Gerd continued proudly. Then a shadow came over her
face. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“When I was coming back I suddenly saw some flashes of light over by
Treungene. There was barely a cloud in the sky; it couldn’t be lightening. I
saw it again, several times. Actually, I thought someone was signaling with
something. I was the only one out (Jonas glared at her, but she paid no
attention), so I decided I had to go investigate. It was so sad.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“So? Are you going to make me guess?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She shook her head. “No, no. I was just thinking ….. When I got out
there I saw it was old Einar Iversen’s boat. It was all properly tied up, not
shipwrecked. He was inside. Jonas, he was dead.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“And you were all alone? What’s with you and dead bodies, anyway?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“It’s not as if I make a habit of this, Johnnie,” Gerd said
defensively. Yes there had been that time last year when she had had to help
the police interpret graffiti that was continuously sprayed on the wall of the
kiosk in the central plaza in town (the language had turned out to be Catalan)
and then one of the innvandrer gang members had turned up dead, and ……. Better
not to think about that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I was about to tow the boat into town with Einar’s body in it when I heard
something that sounded like whining. It took me a while to find, but guess,”
she looked down with a maternal smile, “Nurket there was hiding in a little
cave all wet and hungry and very lost. I brought him home, of course. We’ll
find out later who he belongs to.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas wasn’t going to argue, neither with her grammar nor with her
stated intentions. It was obvious that the two had already bonded and Bamse
realized it as well. Intruder number two. What was the world coming to?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“That’s his name, Nurket?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Well, he’ll need a better name later, but for now he is.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The object in question was dozing, tummy full to stretching and
snuggled up against a warm, human foot. Life was good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“How old do you think he is?” Jonas looked at the paws so out of proportion
with the rest of the furry ball.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t know. Three or four months, I guess. He still has his milk
teeth.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“So what happened with Einar?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“When I got within range, I called the hospital and they sent down an
ambulance to meet us. An orderly, I think his name was Jenssen, said he’d take
care of the boat. I gave them my number; I’m sure the police will need to talk
to me. Funny that they haven’t called yet.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She smelled that the bread was almost ready. “Could you set the table?
Plates and the deep soup bowls. I’ll just add the cod and the shrimp to the
soup and let it simmer a few more minutes.” She went into the kitchen, lifted
the lid off the pot and inhaled the aroma. The lemon verbena she had dried in
the fall was heavenly with fish stew. She had steamed the cod pieces and
defrosted the shrimp earlier; they would need no more than 5 minutes to warm
up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd opened the oven door and knocked on the bread crust. Nice and
hollow. Yes, they were done. She brought out a crock of home-churned butter she
got from the Metzinger farm in return for salmon and the occasional woven
piece. “Never eat newly baked bread,” her mother had always warned. “You’ll get
a stomach-ache.” No, she wouldn’t. Gerd had put that maternal advice into the
big basket of “things my mother believes she knows but truly doesn’t.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas carried the big pot to the table and they ate peacefully, talking
of inconsequential things. He was suddenly reminded of their morning, so out of
character, but wisely decided that this was not the time to bring it up. More
of that later – he smiled to himself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After dinner they tidied up the dishes. Jonas made two espressos in the
fancy machine he had given her (he knew she mostly used the regular coffee side
of the machine, but when he was here it was espresso and cake or cookies for
dessert). Gerd brought out some coconut macaroons Gamlefru Andresen had baked
and they munched happily down to the last coconut crumb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Want to go for a walk?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Well no, that wasn’t what Jonas wanted most, but it was only 6:30 after
all. In February the sun at this latitude – when there was sun – rose around
9am and set before 3. But the twilight began before 7 in the morning and lasted
well past 5 at night. L’heure bleu. Now, though, it was black as midnight. He
glanced out: actually it wasn’t as dark as it should have been. Ah, full moon. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, let me get a sweater. How cold is it?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Not cold at all, 2 above zero. We haven’t had much snow this winter,
have we?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“No, not nearly enough.” Jonas was a skier – only recreational of
course – but he did love to stretch out his long legs on cross-country skis and
cover the miles. Down here on the south coast of Norway they either got 2
meters of wet snow dumped on them or nothing. This seemed to be a nothing year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They pulled on sweaters and parkas and headed out. Gerd grabbed two
flashlights, but the moon was so brilliant that they didn’t really need them.
Halfway down the path, Jonas stopped.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Something wrong?” </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Not a thing. I just remembered that I hadn’t kissed you properly.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd smiled and let him embrace her. One of the best things about
Jonas, one of the many best things, was the way he kissed. Soft yet firm,
insistent but not demanding. Several heartbeats later she was somewhat out of
breath. Even through layers of clothing she felt his obvious response. She
pulled out of his arms and pointed to the big spruce at the entrance to the
path.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“He has grown so big I’m thinking of asking Henkie to cut him down.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She was thinking what? Oh, the tree. Jonas grinned and offered her his
arm. They could barely walk side-by-side on this narrow path, but they made a
good attempt.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The beach was breathtaking in moon- and starlight. A few patches of old
snow from Christmas lingered in hollows here and there. Not a soul on the
water; anyone sensible would be inside, kids probably playing video games and
the grown-ups waiting for the news at 7. Waves the color of petroleum and rose
pink watered silk lapped the shore and the sand was moon-bleached white. Only a
few seagull tracks marred its perfection.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They passed the old customs house and several closed-up vacation houses
and cottages. Gerd really did live in the most isolated spot she could have
found on this island of less than 50 souls. In the summer of course the
population tripled and quadrupled, but for now it was just them. The locals.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In Tante Anita’s window the porcelain dogs turned their eyes to the
sea. They had never been turned any other way that anyone could remember. Who
was she waiting for? Anita never said and no one dared ask.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Coming down the second hill, Gamlefru Andresen’s house was on the left.
It was a huge house, probably built in the 1880s. Two full stories with stone
steps down to her docks (there were two) and the boat sheds and other sheds.
The story was that Captain Andresen needed two docks so that when he came home
the worse for wear, if he missed one of them he could always make the other.
Andersen had passed away long before Gerd came to the island. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They saw flickering blue light in the downstairs daily room. As she
aged, fru Andresen needed less and less space. She lived in the kitchen, the
day room with the sleeping alcove, and– wonder of wonders – the running water
bathroom she had installed to everyone’s surprise. A tub for soaking in, a
flush toilet, a sink, and even (it was rumored) heating cables in the floor
under the marble tiles. She was probably dozing in front of the news; Gerd and
Jonas didn’t want to disturb her sherry dreams.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But Jutta Juve was in the window doing the dishes and she noticed the
strollers. She waved at them and made gestures for them to come in. Jutta was a
delight. Never one to really gossip, she could tell the most hair-raising
stories with a look of utter innocence on her wide face. “Come in, come in out
of the cold. What are you crazy people doing out at this time of night?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Cup of coffee?” Jutta was pouring their cups full. Henrik dozed in
front of Dagsrevyen and hadn’t noticed them yet. They didn’t want coffee, but
coffee and Maryland Cookies they got. They sipped dutifully.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“What is this I hear about Einar? Is it true you found him Gerd?” Jutta
did not go round-about into anything. Full speed ahead and damn the torpedoes
was her way. But it was never unkind.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes. It’s really sad.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t know. At his age, I would think a heart attack.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I doubt it.” Henrik had come alive in front of the old TV. “He just
had a full exam a week ago. Told me his doc said his heart was as strong as a
thirty-year-old’s.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I think he was murdered,” Jutta said ominously.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“What??”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jutta considered her words. “So here it was Friday morning. I had just
finished a load of laundry and was wondering whether it was warm enough to hang
them on the line. So I’m in my back yard, right? In winter with no leaves on
the trees, I can see right into Einar’s house. He was in his kitchen window agitated
as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Jumping up and down, talking on that
old black rotary phone of his. Next thing I see him running toward his boat
coat all askew. What am I going to think?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They stared at her, dumbfounded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“But …… but you didn’t tell anyone he was gone?” It was Jonas who got
his words back first.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I found him today, Monday,” was Gerd’s low and measured voice. It
sounded a trifle icy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Didn’t need to, did I? Frank Åge called me around noon to say not to
worry.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Who the hell is Frank Åge?” Three voices collided together.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jutta turned to her disheveled husband. “You know Frank Åge Samuelson,
Henkie. That old geezer on Vågen. Always telling stories about the war to
anyone who will listen.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Hmmmmm,” was all her husband could say.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Why would Frank Åge call you, Jutta?” Gerd’s voice was mild. Jutta
blushed a little.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well, you see, I knew him back in my younger days. Knew him quite
well, actually. Very well.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Silence. Everyone knew Jutta’s wild past. Even if Frank Åge had been 40
years older than her ……. Jutta had been a kind-hearted whore. She found it very
hard to turn down anyone.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They stared at each other. “So,” Gerd started again, “Frank Åge called
you – here – to tell you not to worry about Einar. And then what?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well, I assumed that the two of them just went on a bender, that’s
all. I couldn’t know someone would do him in, could I?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t think anyone did him in, Jutta,” Gerd said soothingly to the
upset woman who was about to burst into tears. “But I do wonder,” she continued
softly, “what he was doing out at Treungen. And with a dog.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“A dog?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes.” She had to tell the story again. “I found a small dog, a puppy
with no collar out at Treungen. Cold, wet, and hungry. I took him home.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“What kind of dog?” This was Henrik.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“A Labrador, I think. Or something like it. He’s a puppy. Someone must
have lost him.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">No way they could. You couldn’t accidentally lose a puppy on an
uninhabited island miles from shore. But Gerd didn’t want to go into that.
Something dark began to shine in her eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They turned the conversation over to more pleasant subjects and, as
soon as politely possible, made their farewells. Gerd wound her scarf (woven,
not knitted) around her neck as they exited.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Neither wanted to continue their walk. Without a word, Gerd and Jonas
started up the hill again. At the beach, they stopped, seeing a lone figure at
the end of Patelsen’s dock. The Patelsen family were in Havnsheia; they never
set foot on the island if the weather wasn’t perfect. Who was this?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas motioned to Gerd to stay back and he walked a few steps out on
the dock.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Hey there, is everything all right?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The figure turned and they saw Los Corneliussen. His face was red. Had
he been crying out here on the dock?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Hei, los,” said Gerd, “Shall we help you get home?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The old man looked at her as if he had never seen her before. “Gerd
Ljoset?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, los. It’s me. And Jonas. You know Jonas. He’s a teacher in town.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Lille Gerd. I’m so sorry,” said the pilot. He started walking past them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Los Joacim, we’ll help you get home. It’s late now,” said Gerd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“No thank you, young folks. I know where I live. I was just sitting
here thinking about what these waters have seen. Back in ’43 there was a
February just like this one. Mild and soft. But ’42 was the coldest winter in
memory. Do you remember 1942?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">No, Gerd couldn’t actually remember, having been born in 1977. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She said, “I have heard about the winter of ’42, los. They say the sea
ice went all the way out to Ørneredet.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“It did,” said the pilot. Meters thick. We drove trucks all the way out
there. Couldn’t fish, the ice was so thick. People starved that winter, girl.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“It must have been terrible,” said Gerd mildly. “Come, los, let us see
you home.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The three of them walked and shuffled up the path and down again toward
the pilot’s house. At his door he stopped to thank them, but another thought
had formed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“That was were the Sieg went down, you know. A mile outside Ørneredet.
The ice out there was mushy, couldn’t get anything through. Neither trucks nor
boats. And their radio had fried. They had no contact with anyone. Starved to
death, every one of them.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I have heard that story, los,” said Jonas, always interested in
history. “Did you see the ship?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh yes I saw it, young man. I saw it every day for a month. Only one
man could make it out to that ship, and he only brought one person back.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Who made it out, Los Corneliussen?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Don’t you know, girl? Frank Åge Samuelson, it was. And he returned
with her.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">With this, the old pilot shuffled into his house. Jonas and Gerd looked
at each other, surprised. In the space of an hour, someone’s name had been
mentioned twice. Someone they hardly knew and then only as a bitter old geezer
slowly freezing to death out at the tip of Vågen. What was the connection? No
connection at all? What had really happened here in the winter of 1942, the
coldest winter in memory?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-19367873994123276262012-05-23T15:24:00.000-07:002012-06-12T15:24:19.305-07:00Chapter 4: 1942<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Thump!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Frank Åge hunched his shoulders a bit more and lowered his head. Any
lower and his nose would touch his textbook.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Thump! Thump!!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Pretty soon there would be no school, no books, and no more teachers’
dirty looks. But today, February 9<sup>th</sup>, 1942, there was still
homework. Had he known that the teachers’ vocal anti-Nazi protests would
provoke a month-long “holiday” in less than 3 weeks, perhaps Frank Åge would
have been less studious. But the light was fading, there was no electricity
today, and other than a borrowed Superman comic book (which he had promised
himself he would read burning a precious candle when all was winter quiet in
the house), all Frank Åge had to preoccupy himself was an ancient Norwegian
history textbook. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Thump!! And a groan, the only shout his bed-ridden father could
produce.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">If he didn’t go up there soon, the widow Jonsson from across the alley
would be here scolding him endlessly. Frank Åge sought the lesser of two evils.
He dragged his long limbs from beneath the scarred and wobbly table and started
up the stairs with the enthusiasm of a man going to his own execution.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Father, can I get you anything?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">His father could only whisper, but even that stank of evil. “Come in
here, son.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Frank Åge opened the door a crack. The room was dark, but the smell was
unmistakable: his father had pissed himself again. He couldn’t do it; he just
couldn’t. “Do you need something, father?” he asked from the doorway.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Get me a beer.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Yeah right, sure he could scare up a beer in this winter of minus 20
with no power and barely enough firewood to heat the downstairs so the ice
didn’t form on the floor. “I’ll go look,” said Frank Åge and closed the door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">His father had been a strong man, never tall, but with arms of steel.
Had been a steel-worker, in fact, a smelter. But around the miserable Christmas
with neither tree nor presents, old Samuelsen had suddenly not been able to get
out of bed. His left hand dangled over the edge of the bed and his voice had
been reduced to a hoarse grunt. The left side of his face slacked like a horror
movie and his eyes didn’t focus. Frank Åge had brought a doctor who only said
“stroke” and left, not asking for money they didn’t have. Since then, Frank Åge
had brought him the bed pan and emptied it behind the shed, and fed him as best
he could. They had been alone, father and son, for three years since his mother
died. And a blessed death it had been – for her – because Petra Samuelsen had
known nothing but abuse and disdain from her husband since the boy had been
born so weak. One leg shorter than the other and that right eye that never
pointed the same way as the left. But Petra had loved her son as only a mother
could and her death was a constant ache in Frank Åge’s chest.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">He went outside with the brimming, foul-smelling bedpan. Smash! A
snowball hit him square on the head and he dropped the bedpan. The contents ran
over his shoes before they froze.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="NO-BOK">“Åge, Åge, sistemann
på toget!”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The taunting of the little kids didn’t bother him so much anymore. He
was 16 now, had in fact turned 16 two days ago, not that anyone noticed. He was
a man. He could quit school, he suddenly realized. He could just walk out the
door and leave. The thought was exhilarating – the best thought he had had in
months of cold and darkness. Somewhere, there was light; he was sure of it.
Somewhere the other men wouldn’t avert their eyes when they saw him coming.
Somewhere there would be a girl, a pretty and quiet girl, who would smile at
him and let him hold her hand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Pissed on yourself, did you? It’s not easy when it’s so small, that’s
for sure.” Einar Iversen stood leaning up against the fence, smoking a
home-rolled cigarette. Where he got the tobacco in these rationing times, no
one knew. Frank Åge couldn’t tell whether what he had said was a slight on his
manhood or just a statement of fact in minus 11. He mumbled something. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“What?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I said I just tripped.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">He heard laughter. From behind Einar’s trim frame a girl peeked out. An
embroidered shawl covered her hair and she had on at least two coats, but she
was still skinny. “Frank Åge, are you coming to the dance this Saturday?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">No, he goddamn well wasn’t going to no dance. With his lame leg he
could barely walk straight and he had never danced. Even in the bitter cold,
his face flushed in shame. The girl trilled out another laugh and tugged on
Einar’s arm. “Come, honey, let’s get away from here. It stinks.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Einar shrugged and made a face at Frank Åge, but he let himself be
pulled away for all that. Frank Åge found the bedpan, which had rolled up
against a tree, cleaned it with snow and hurried back in to the little warmth
there was in the shack.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In the ancient, sooty fireplace was an iron bar that could be moved
back and forth. Frank Åge guessed that in the far past, they had done what he
was doing now: fill an iron pot with snow and swing it back over the fire to
melt. When the water was boiling, he’d put in three potatoes, just three, and
one of the rutabagas Fru Maisen had given him. He’d cut them up first; that way
they got softer. Then he’d add the tiniest pinch of salt (salt was precious)
and, when the whole mess was softened so his father could masticate it, he’d
bring half of it upstairs with one of the salted herrings they had left.
“Leave,” he thought, “I can leave.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After they had both eaten, his father finally fell asleep. Frank Åge
lit a stub of a candle and reverently pulled out the Superman comic from under
his textbooks. Einar had handed it to him only a few days ago, saying “Hey,
check this out. I have read it; you’re welcome to borrow it.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The cover showed Superman in front of the American flag, the proud
eagle looking fierce. Frank Åge wanted to postpone the reading and sat staring
at the cover for a long time. Was it an eagle? It looked more like a fish hawk.
Frank Åge looked at those strong wings. An airplane pilot, he thought. That’s
what I’ll be. A bomber pilot doesn’t need legs. The candle stub sputtered.
Frank Åge banked the fire and pulled all the blankets and quilts he had over
next to the fireplace. He fell asleep thinking of his mother and dreamed of
flying.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In the morning, after a meager breakfast of watery oatmeal, he was
about to put his textbooks in his bag when there was a knock on the door. He
opened it, cautiously. He had never known any good news to come in that way. It
was one of his father’s old buddies from the smelter works.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Hey, kid. Your father up?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“No, he’s not feeling well.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you going out to the lighthouse?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">To the lighthouse? Whatever for? Frank Åge just looked at him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Didn’t you hear, kid? A German warship went aground on Hysebåene last
night. Stuck in sea ice. Theyre waving flags to signal, guess their radio is
out.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This was the first winter in his 16 years that Frank Åge had known the
ice to freeze solid all the way out to Ørneredet. He had seen trucks driving
past him on the ice and people had skied and pulled sleds as far out as they
could, some to gape and some to fish. He could dig out his old skis and join
them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The hell with school, this was something new. Why didn’t the German
fleet come to rescue their own? Didn’t they know where it was?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Frank Åge strapped on his old, wide skis and set out. It was probably 5
nautical miles from him to Ørneredet. It took him two hours, but now he was within
close reach of the island. He was a bit nervous about the rocky edges; sea ice
was especially treacherous there, but there were several dozen people ahead of
him and a huge truck had driven all the way out and up the boat ramp in the
island itself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The warship was huge, bristling with guns. But it was also far away –
way out at the Hysebåene skerries. He didn’t have binoculars, but someone lent
him a pair. At the railing stood a man in the ugly beige German uniform. He
seemed to be directing something. They were running different colored flags up
and down the lines. No one knew what they meant and if anyone did, they kept
silent about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A week went by and nothing happened. The ship was still there, but now
less of a tourist attraction. The crew had resorted to throwing bottles with
messages into the water. Some of them were found. In the beginning the messages
were angry orders, “Get your lazy treasonous asses out here and help us!” Another
week passed, and the messages became meeker, “We are running out of food,
water, and fuel for the stoves. Please help.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On February 24, Frank Åge found a bottle himself. He had gone out by
himself. Out by the lighthouse he ran into a group of boys from school – he
rapidly changed direction. Near the eastern side of the lighthouse, the solid
ice was turning mushy and he was just about to turn around and go home when he
spied the bottle. He picked it up and put it inside his jacket.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At home, he used up another half candle to pry open the bottle and
retrieve the message. It was in German. His German wasn’t very good, but he
understood a few words. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="DE-LU">Todes – hilfen –
tochter.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Something about death, help and ….. a daughter? <span lang="DE-LU">Meines einliche kind. </span>The message was
signed Oberst Gernleitner. There was a woman on board?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">All night Frank Åge tossed and turned, wondering what to do. That the
soldiers and sailors could freeze and starve to death he had no problem with.
Invading bastards. But a girl? “My only child?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In the morning, he had decided. Blind Olav up the hill had a horse, old
and decrepit, that was true, but still a horse. Olav had asked him to come cut
some firewood many times, and he hadn’t done it. Now he could say that he would
cut several cords for him if he could just borrow the horse for a few hours.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">No problem – Olav had no use for the horse this winter. Practically no
hay left, anyway. It was as good as sausage, or at least glue.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The rowboat was in the falling-down boatshed. In the freezing morning,
Frank Åge hauled the boat out on the ice and fixed a kind of rope around the
horse’s neck. After a few false starts, the contraption worked. They made
progress across the ice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Frank Åge and the nameless horse pulled the row boat across the ice. It
was early and there was no one out. They reached the end of the solid ice and
the beginning of the mushy sea ice. Frank Åge released the horse from its
harness; he might be here later or he might not, but either way these were end
times. He pushed the boat into the slushy water and got on board.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Rowing was a challenge; he kept hitting ice with every stroke. But
slowly, he gained on the huge German warship. He said nothing, just looked up
at the railing 20 meters above. A haggard face appeared.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They had nothing to say to one another, couldn’t speak each other’s language,
in fact. The face disappeared and reappeared with a rope ladder. He threw it
over the railing.<span> </span>A second figure
appeared, small and huddled. The face hugged her and kissed her once and then
pushed her to descend the ladder to Frank Åge’s boat. She made the boat and
cowered on the floorboards.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Frank Åge turned around. He didn’t understand anything, but it seemed
that this Oberst Gernleitner was about to release his daughter to the mercy of
the enemy. He rowed and pulled and slowly got the boat back within reach of
solid ice. Not solid enough; he couldn’t get close. The old horse, the one who
was just about sausage, appeared. Frank Åge threw a rope from his boat to the
horse in desperation. The horse grabbed it with his teeth and pulled. As they scraped
the ice, Frank Åge grabbed the shivering girl and shoved her onto it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There was no way to get the boat back on the ice. He left it. Showed
her onto the back of the ancient horse and began the long trek home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">*************************</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Her name was Lise lotte. After she had thawed by the meager fireplace
and he had been able to heat some soup for her, she revealed a head of
spun-gold hair, a little face, and eyes that already looked on eternity. Frank
Åge kept her downstairs; his father never knew they had a guest.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Days passed, then weeks. Nearly a month after he had rescued the girl a
storm came up and when it was over, the proud warship was gone. Lise Lotte
looked out the window and cried. Frank Åge did everything he could for her:
found her food and chopped firewood with abandon to heat their little nest. She
never smiled. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A month later, he was about to fall asleep on the blankets he kept near
the fireplace when he felt her nearby. She lifted the blankets and rested
beside him. A tentative hand came out and stroked his chest. Frank Åge was
paralyzed. Some time in the night, he turned to her and began to explore her
tiny body under the coats. Without a word, the two became one by ancient
prerogative.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">All his remaining life, Frank Åge would remember the month of March,
1942. They woke up together in the morning rolled up in blankets and quilts,
his dick hard and she soft, warm, and welcoming. They kept house. He didn’t go
to school. With gestures, he forbade her to go upstairs. They cooked soup out
of what he could fish and spent the long dark evenings exploring bodies and a
few, tentative words.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">One day, his father fell out of bed. Frank Åge was out fishing. Alarmed
at the noise, Lise Lotte ascended the rickety stairs. The old man was lying on
the floor covered in filth. She tried to clean him. He asked her something she
didn’t understand.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Wie bitte?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">His eyes grew wide. “German whore,” he muttered. Lise Lotte fled.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She had to go outside sometime. To the necessary, to the woodpile, or
to hang their ragged clothing, freshly washed in the freezing water, on the
line. Sometimes a few boys would gather across the fence. They stared at her
with malicious intent. Lise Lotte bowed her head and escaped inside as soon as
possible. One time there were three of them. The dark-haired boy who seemed
sympathetic, the fool they called Gunnar, and the brown-eyed Alexis. They
decided something among themselves and climbed the fence. Lise Lotte tried to
run to the shack, but they were faster and stronger. They dragged her into the
woods.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She never told him, her rescuer. She bled a few days, but she smiled
and hinted that it was that time of month. By the end of May, the weather had
turned and the days were getting long. Lise Lotte realized that her time of
month had not come twice. She was innocent, but no fool. She knew.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">That morning, she made Frank Åge her best oatmeal, with a dab of
precious butter and salt. He was a man in paradise. The fishing had been good
and he had even been able to trade cut firewood for a dress for her. It was
blue, with little daisies. After breakfast, he went to sea again.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Frank Åge came back late that day. He had hit upon a school of herring
and had hauled the boat full to the gunwales. He had sold almost all of it and
had actual coin in his pocket. She would be so proud of him.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Opening the door, he knew something wasn’t right. Something was
dangling from the rafters, thin, shoeless feet and something blue with flowers.
There were small brown drips on the floor. His heart imploded.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Much later, he cut her down. He laid her on the quilts and blankets
they had used for a bed and closed her eyes. In the dark of night, he went out
with a shovel to do the worst thing in his life. Up on top of the hill there
was a little clearing where he thought the soil would be deep enough. Frank Åge
dug with the strength of Hercules. An hour later, he went back down to the
shack to collect her. He gently rolled her into the blankets, and for the last
time, carried her close to his heart up the merciless hill. The dirt hit her
face like thunder. Then he went back home, up to his father’s bedroom, and put
a pillow over the old man’s face until he stopped struggling.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The grave remained unmarked. Only Frank Åge knew where it was, and he
brought her fresh flowers every Sunday.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Two weeks later, Einar and Lexis showed up while he was chopping wood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Where’s your girlfriend?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Frank Åge only shrugged.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Tyskert<span>ø</span>se,” said Alexis, and spat. “Only good for one thing.”
Frank Åge kept chopping. Einar looked a bit shameful.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“We didn’t mean any harm, you know,” he finally muttered.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh, fuck you Einar,” said Alexis. “You had her, too.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Frank Åge stared at them as realization dawned. “What did you do to
her?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“She had it coming, filthy German whore.” This was Alexis.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“What did you do?” he shouted. “What did you do to Lise Lotte?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The two shook their heads and walked away. Frank Åge started after them
along, long while. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They would die, every one of them. They had killed the only woman he
had ever loved and who had loved him back. They would die, and slowly.</span></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-31829917779658268322012-05-22T12:35:00.000-07:002012-06-14T12:35:23.422-07:00Chapter 5<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Nurket woke with
a start when they opened the kitchen door. He threw himself with abandon at his
two humans – he had generously included Jonas in his circle of best friends.
Gerd let the puppy out a few minutes to do his business. She didn’t think cat
food was the right thing for him so she defrosted some cooked chicken and mixed
it with gravy from a few days ago. He thought it was heavenly. Bamse was
normally somewhat picky, but with the little whippersnapper getting all the
attention, he decided that he would also allow a morsel of chicken to cross his
bowl. When Nurket slid up to appropriate that piece as well, Bamse just turned
and glared at him. Nurket retreated. He knew who was boss.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd looked at
Jonas. Their evenings were mostly spent over wine and conversation, but the
undercurrents of this day made conversation less attractive. “I think I’ll
brush my teeth and go to bed,” said Gerd. Jonas nodded. Sometime in the 60s,
the then owner of Gerd’s house had incorporated the outhouse / wash house into
the main building about the same time the pipes were laid for city water. The
cost to bury the water pipes deep enough so they remained unfrozen throughout
the winter must have been astronomical. They had put in a branch line – over a
mile long – to the main island sewer as well, and as a result Gerd had both
running water and an indoor WC year round. Her second major expense with the
house – the boat had been the first – was to refurbish the bathroom. Not to put
in IKEA closets and doodads, but to winterize it fully down to a double-layer
floor and insulation in the walls and ceiling. She had installed a radiator on
one wall, which gurgled warm water happily and kept it snug in all winds but
northeast. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Like an old couple,
Gerd and Jonas did their ablutions together. With Jonas here, Gerd didn’t
hesitate to head up the stairs to the main bedroom with her huge four-poster
bed, made of endangered mahogany wood and probably acquired by a ship’s captain
coming home from the Far East more than 150 years ago. She pulled out a couple
of blankets to make a bed for Nurket on the floor and pulled off her layers of
clothing, throwing them all on a chair. Jonas did the same and they crawled in
under the warm down quilt with its Egyptian cotton cover, one of Gerd’s few
“necessary luxuries.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He stretched out
his arm to her and she snuggled contentedly on his shoulder. Death and fury
were suddenly far away. She had thought she had no desire whatsoever, but Jonas
had his internal furnace going and she thawed slowly. She kissed his shoulder
and he pulled her on top of him. She gave a little grin: the difference in their
sizes was so obvious. She‘d have a choice of her toes tickling his knees if she
wanted to reach his mouth or of kissing his chest if she wanted the feet to
match. Gathering the quilt well around her own shoulders, she made the only
reasonable decision and straddled him. Afterwards, she fell into a sleep so
deep not even a storm could have woken her.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas was a
morning person; Gerd was not. His internal clock always woke him at 5:30.
Smiling at the compact little figure she made with only her nose and some dark
hair peeking out from the covers, he got out of bed and headed down the stairs.
Nurket followed him with his eyes, not quite sure whether to trail the man –
who might have food! – or to stay with his first love, the woman. Food won.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas made an
espresso for himself and an Americano for her. Toasted some bread and found
butter and jam. He let Nurket out and the dog bounced around from bush to tree,
marking a little at each one. Jonas chopped up some of yesterday’s leftover cod
with the last of the mashed potatoes Gerd had made, heated it all briefly in
the microwave, and presented this to the dog. Ambrosia! Now here was an
undiscriminating eater. He made up a tray and carried it upstairs.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>By 7:30 they were
on their way to town. Gerd had various things to do and Jonas had an 8am class.
Jonas’ skjægårdsjeep easily outpaced Gerd’s sjekte. Within a minute, he was a
speck on the horizon, the wake flying like wings.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd pulled into
Vika just as the Vågen ferry was leaving. She waved to Captain Finsrud, who
waved back. She threw out her smaller anchor and tied up. Practically no one in
town by boat on this dreary February day.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>In summer there
could be up to 20 cafes in town, most of which would have at least a few tables
and chairs outside on the sidewalk. This time of year only two were open:
Jordal Bokkafé and Kaffekoppen in the REMA shopping center. Jordal was a
basement hangout for pierced and tattooed teenagers, artists, and graying
hippies. She went there.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Three people
greeted her as she entered and most of the others nodded. She sat down next to
Bente (what was her last name?), an ICU nurse at the local hospital. Lighting a
cigarette, Bente turned to Gerd:</span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Didn’t you bring
in old Einar Iversen yesterday?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I did. It is so
sad.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You’d think he
would know better.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“What do you
mean?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Don’t tell
anyone that I told you but he didn’t have a stroke or heart attack. He had a
flask in his coat pocket. Pure methanol.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“He was
poisoned?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Well, no, what
makes you say that? He surely drank it himself.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Einar hadn’t had
anything stronger than beer since his wife died. You know how she disapproved
of strong drink. He was practically on the wagon, despite his thirst.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Not this weekend
he wasn’t. It’s a shame.” Bente turned to greet a younger woman in a red parka
who just walked in.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Not a chance,”
thought Gerd. Einar swilling wood alcohol? In his youth, maybe, but she knew
for a fact that despite his continuing great thirst, he stuck to low-alcohol
beer in memory of his beloved Anne Lise. She finished her coffee and started up
the street to the library.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She crossed the
market plaza (rather grand name for such a little cobblestone square) and
kitty-corner to the library. The temperature had dropped; it was probably some
3 or 4 degrees below zero Celcius. The air had the metallic smell of impending
snow and the low clouds confirmed it. About time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>At the library,
her old friend Elspeth was at the information counter. Gerd had requested more
mystery novels by a few of her favorite authors. Yes of course she could just
as well download them to her Kindle, but at the library she would get both the
grainy feel of a paper book in her hands AND good conversation. Two for one.
Elspeth waved her over.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Hei, Gerd. I’m
so sorry about Mr. Iversen.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Who needed email
or texting? Was there a soul left in town who hadn’t either seen the ambulance,
heard it, or spied Gerd coming in towing Einar’s boat? While she loved her
fellow locals, at least on the island she might spend an evening doing whatever
she wanted without setting the tongues wagging. But then, tongue-wagging was
what she was here for. Oh, and the books, of course.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Yes, it’s a
shame. But you know, he was nearly 90.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“87, I heard.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Probably. I
don’t know who his closest relatives were. I never saw anyone visit him on the
island. I think he had a sister up on Berget.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I think so, but
he kept pretty much to himself. Mom told me that during the war and for a long
time afterwards, he was very social, if you call get drunk with your poker
buddies in the woods being social.” Elspeth was only a little disapproving.
Alcoholism was rampant.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Poker buddies,
huh? Wonder who?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I don’t know but
mom might. Do you want me to ask her? Are you investigating?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>No, she was
definitely not. Just because she had had the bad luck of being able to assist
the police in identifying some graffiti “artists” a year ago, the rumor had
spread that she was an amateur detective. No such thing!</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No, not at all.
There’s nothing to investigate, is there? He died of old age, I’m sure. Bless
his soul,” said Gerd, who had no relationship to speak of with the Almighty.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You know,”
whispered Elspeth conspiratorially, “mom did tell me there was a mystery about
that poker club. She thought they played for real money, big money. Where they
got it, no one knows.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Well, give my
regards to your mother,” said Gerd, knowing full well that whatever Fru
Torkjeldsen knew, her daughter would be privy to by tomorrow morning. “Do you
think my books have come in?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd had two more
stops after the library before she could escape back to Lyholmen. The first was
the yarn store 2 Nøster, conveniently located right behind Vinmonopolet.
Vinmonopolet, literally the “Wine Monopoly,” was Norway’s state wine and liquor
store. It had outrageous prices because Norway loved to levy sin taxes on
whatever was sinful at the moment. (Funny how sugar and yeast was so cheap.) Of
course she needed to make a visit there as well to do her share to keep the
pretend-socialist economy humming along. But first 2 Nøster. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>There was a new
girl behind the counter. Dark, pixyish, and with the requisite three visible
piercings (nose, eyebrow, and lower lip). She looked up with bright,
sparrow-like eyes when Gerd entered. Must be dreadfully boring to sit around in
a store in the winter when there would probably only be a handful of customers
a day. She left Gerd to wander around a while before she couldn’t wait any
longer: “Hei, can I help you?” Gerd smiled and said she knew where to look.
They kept the weaving yarn in the back, huge rolls of tightly twined wools. She
had had an idea for a line of shawls when she and Jonas came across the beach
last night on their way home from Jutta’s: teals, silver blues, peaches, some
hot pink. A winter ocean by moonlight. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Excuse me, but
are you Gerd Ljoset?” the girl said a bit hesitantly. Gerd was surprised: she
was hardly ever recognized.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I am,” she
answered. “How did you know?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“There is a
wall-hanging of yours in the library, isn’t there? The big one, with the
seagulls?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You’re right,
that is one of mine. I’m surprised you recognized seagulls; they’re rather
stylized. But I don’t think there is a picture of me, is there?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The girl looked
down a bit shyly. “No,” she said, “but I was there a month or so ago when you
came to check out some books and one of the librarians told me.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Do you like
art?” asked Gerd gently.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh, yes.” The
words began to rush like a river let loose from a dam. “I do. I’m not much
good, really, and my teachers say I’m just lazy, but I love to draw and paint
and …..” she ran out of breath.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Keep on with
it,” advised Gerd. “Art is really just for yourself. Art is when doing anything
else is unthinkable. You know, there is going to be an interesting exhibit up
at Bakkene in two weeks, many new painters. You will probably meet someone
interesting here. There is a bus,” she added helpfully, “in case no one can
drive you, that is.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd brought her
selections of skeins to the counter. “Do you think you can make a note of these
dye lots? And enquire for me whether the factory has more? If they do, I’d like
20 more of the two teals, 15 of the light blue, and 10 each of the peach and
the pink. If they don’t, not to worry. I can select something else. Here is my
email address; do you think you could let me know what you find out?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The girl nearly
blushed from pride at being asked such an important task. “Of course I will,
Ms. Ljoset,” she said trying to sound adult. “Will there be anything else?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No, I’m fine,
but where is Fru Mattias? I hope there is no problem.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Not a problem
exactly, but, well, did you know her nephew is one of the main guys in that MC
club? The leather guys? Really Harry. Well, the police took him in for
questioning – something about a gas can with sand in it or whatever - and Fru
Mattias went down to the station to talk some sense into the lieutenant. Or
that’s what she said.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Ah, well, I’m
sure she’ll clear it up in a jiffy. Thanks and goodbye,” Gerd said as she
accepted the 3 burlap bags with her purchases. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I hope to see
you again!” The girl was hopeful.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh you
definitely will. I come at least a couple of times a week. I’d like to see some
of your work some time.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Ah,” said the
girl and blushed even more furiously. “OK.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Outside the first
few flakes of new, wet snow had started their dance on the light wind. Better
hurry, this could close in quick. Vinmonopolet was taken care of in less than
15 minutes and then it was groceries. She wanted to go to </span><span>Østerås Daglivare for a few more viewpoints on the
Einar Iversen story, but since the snow was falling thicker and she had to get
back to the island before it became a white-out, she reluctantly went to REMA
instead for dairy products and few indulgences like black salami and some
surprisingly good olives they sold by the pound. She also needed paper goods
and dish liquid. And some fresh vegetables; never mind that they came from
Chile and the eco-footprint was bound to be enormous. “Woman does not live by
salmon alone,” Gerd said to herself as she added two nice – and expensive –
steaks to her cart. Oh, yeast and sugar. She knew she had raisins and every
kind of canned good. Wasa frukost knekkebr</span><span>ø</span><span>d, her favorite in the morning with goat cheese. Oh,
of course: cat and dog food. Now her cart was getting heavy. She had a freezer
full of stuff: did she really need those steaks? Jonas wouldn’t be back until
tomorrow and if this became a real snowstorm, it could be a week before she saw
him. She didn’t want to be eating steak alone, so she put them back and picked
up some kefir and dog treats instead. OK, enough! When she paid, it all came to
six bags’ worth. With her skeins of wool, 4 library books, and two wine boxes,
it would be no fun to schlep it all through town to her boat.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Could I possibly be of assistance?” a
voice from behind seemed to be addressing her. Gerd turned around, frowning.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Forgive me for being so forward, but I
remember you. You brought in the body of Einar Iversen. Yesterday.” He looked
at her hopefully; would she recognize him?</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>It was the big guy who had come with the
ambulance to collect Einar’s body. Gerd smiled.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Yes, I remember. I forgot to thank
you.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No trouble at all. I brought his boat
over to the West Marina after we had gone by the hospital. They called me this
morning to tell me they think they knew why his boat wouldn’t start. Sand in
the gasoline, they said.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“That’s weird.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I see you’re all
loaded down with bags – going back to your boat?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Yes, I have it
in Vika. In fact, I really need to get back.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Let me help
carry some of those; it’s the least I can do.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I won’t say no.
Thanks.” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>They walked out
together, the unnamed man (Jeltsen? Franssen?) carrying the heaviest bags. “Dag,”
he said.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Excuse me?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“That’s my name,
Dag.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh, pleased to
meet you.” Gerd had her head down against the thickening snow. She really did
have to get going and not spend time on social niceties. They crossed Church
Street and along Harbor Street, which was almost totally deserted on a fading
February Tuesday. She could barely make out her sjekte under the snow – of
course she hadn’t put the tarp up since it was completely clear a few hours
ago. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No problem
starting?” he said.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No, I’ll be
fine,” she said as she went on board and he handed her the last bags. “She’ll
start right up. Thanks ……. Dag.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“My pleasure,” he
said as he pulled the hood of his parka down his forehead. “I’ll just stay here
to make sure, OK?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>There wasn’t any
way she could stop him. Gerd nodded and stowed her bags in the bow. First turn
of the key (bless the person who put in a key-starter) and the motor caught.
Dag whatshisname shouted something inaudible. She waved and pulled up the
anchor rope. He loosened her painter and threw it on board. Waved.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She navigated
slowly out of Vika and into the channel. Snow was falling in huge, thick
flakes. Vågen looked like a sleeping polar bear in its blanket of white. If she
hadn’t known this channel like the back of her hand (or Jonas’), she would have
gotten totally lost in the wall of snow. It was like navigating in fog: even
locals who had grown up here had been known to spend hours circling the same
island in thick fog, all the time protesting loudly that they knew where they
were going.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Once she passed
the light at Knatten, which barely made a dent in the snow-wall, she sent up a
grateful thought to Henrik who had taught her how to use the onboard clock and
gamboled compass to navigate home. Engine at ½ power, so many minutes / seconds
on one bearing, then another, then another. By Henkie’s teaching, she should be
hitting the dock right about now. She reduced power to barely moving. With a
shock, the dock appeared, no more than 5 meters ahead. Gerd glided in, picked up
the stern line, hooked it, and idled the engine. She sprang up on the forward
deck and made fast the painter. Then she hauled up all her bags onto the dock
and pulled the tarpaulin over the entire boat. Since she hadn’t planned to buy
so much in town, she hadn’t brought down her wheelbarrow for all the groceries.
OK, she’d make two trips. And, given the amount of snow that had already
accumulated, perhaps she’d bring the sled instead of a wheelbarrow. On the
island, there was no way to get lost.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She made her
first trip up to the house with three of the bags. Opening the kitchen door,
she was nearly run down by Nurket (he did need a new name), who launched
himself joyfully at his new mom. She dropped the bags on the landing and bent
down to stroke him and tell him what a good boy he was. “Let’s go get the rest
of the stuff, boy!” she told him, and he enthusiastically agreed.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Nurket bounced
and played in the new snow, rolling around and pouncing on the falling flakes.
Bounding down the path, he was soon belly-deep in snow. The path from the house
to the dock widened out after passing the screen of lilac trees, their bare
branches forming ghostly fingers pointing up to the infinite white. “Nurket!”
Gerd called, trying to get the little dog to stay close. He didn’t know the
island yet and could get lost. He answered her with little yips of pleasure.
She rounded the hill of small boulders that they called the Viking Graves
pulling the sled behind her. “Nurket! Come here, boy!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The golden puppy
appeared on her right, bouncing up and down like a demented hare. He was having
the time of his young life. Out of the snow-curtain a figure was approaching;
Nurket stopped and peered ahead, on guard. The figure looked a bit like a mast
with flying sails, but coming closer, it dissolved into the familiar shape of
Anita.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Anita Vadoma had
grown up on Lyholmen ever since her mother had stepped off the family’s Colin
Archer in 1939. Her young, pregnant mother had not been able to tell her strict
father that the child she carried was not that of her fiancé, Emilian. She had
disappeared one dark night and hidden away with another rebellious runaway
until the search had abated. The two women found work in the bustling tavern
that the island then hosted, and Lala Vadoma was able to rent a small house. In
that very house Anita was born five months later, brought into this world by
her surprised mother who didn’t expect a visit from the stork for several weeks
yet. Anita had not cried then (not a good omen), and she hadn’t cried since. She
had never married. Rumors flew about Anita, most of them good. Now called Tante
Anita by all who had benefited from her vast knowledge of human behavior and
motivation, Anita dressed in flowing layers of coats and dresses, shawls, and
scarves, many of which had been contributed by Gerd.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Tanta Anita,
what are you doing out in this weather?” Gerd asked, a little concerned. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Why, miere, I’m
dancing with the stars,” laughed the older woman. “Who is your little
companion?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Nurket peeked out
from behind Gerd’s legs. He wagged his tail tentatively.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I found him out
on Treungene when I discovered Einar,” said Gerd. “Someone must have lost him.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Not likely,
draga mea. I think he found you. So Einar finally got what was coming to him?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd was a bit taken
aback. Anita was never vindictive. “Why do you say that, tante?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Those boys,”
said Anita, “always running around in the woods and up to no good. That Alexis
was the worst of them.” She spat into a snowbank.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Alexis who,
tante?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh, that
scoundrel with the French name. Dubois? DuLac? No, it was Dupreux, I remember
him well. Him and that Gunari, and the poor boy they taunted. They called what
they did a poker club, but I don’t think they could tell the Jack of Hearts
from the Ace.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I never knew any
of this, tante. Maybe I can come over to your house later and hear about it?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Ah, fetita, I
shouldn’t be telling old stories. Better to let the past be, right? But come on
over any time and I’ll brew some nice tea for us. Shall I help you up with the
bags?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No thanks,
tante. I only have five to go and I have the sled here. And Nurket to help me,”
Gerd answered. The puppy, understanding he was being praised, wagged his tail
furiously and tried to look bigger.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Well then. Go in
peace,” Anita responded and continued her dancing way over the snow. Gerd
picked up her bags and loaded them on the sled. Shortly they were back inside
the house, where Gerd put a match to the fire she had laid that morning. Cozy
warmth filled the room. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Her mind was
filled with thoughts of the patterns she wanted to weave with the blues,
greens, and pinks she had bought in town. She opened a can of dog food and
scooped half of it into a bowl for the puppy. He didn’t seem to think it was as
good as the chicken, but he ate it gratefully anyway.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Turning on the
lights and going up the stairs, Gerd’s thoughts briefly flashed back to the
many mentions of Einar’s name that day. That a man who had lived almost
anonymously on little Lyholmen nearly sixty years could be so known was a bit
disconcerting. The war had ended 65 years ago and few were still alive who
remembered it. What had really happened?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-17317582023038943552012-05-21T09:59:00.000-07:002012-06-20T09:59:44.028-07:00Chapter 6<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQOsZFKiWS35VKk2Y5khQekygakgLfNHUdnLOk1M9nUkm6id5W1aPIxEhoBlmuqVs0-xI76mYTONxLqtTW1iwba9Dje2goM9VOzDG86DlAwbWSZSj0du08vlAHMVptY0mpdFrhW0RhQ/s1600/Gerds+hus.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQQOsZFKiWS35VKk2Y5khQekygakgLfNHUdnLOk1M9nUkm6id5W1aPIxEhoBlmuqVs0-xI76mYTONxLqtTW1iwba9Dje2goM9VOzDG86DlAwbWSZSj0du08vlAHMVptY0mpdFrhW0RhQ/s320/Gerds+hus.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Jonas called her before
leaving for school. Since this was the first real snowfall of the season, he
figured the kids would be a lot more interested in snowball fights than in
English grammar, which was OK with him. He was itching to get his skis on. It
was 45 minutes uphill skiing from his house out on Fillene to the high school,
and he relished the challenge. “Got plans this evening, honey?” he asked. Gerd
laughed. Of course she had plans: she was going to update her blog – hadn’t
done it in several days – break open the new packages of Gustave Sennelier
Extra-Fine acrylic paints that she had picked up last week in town, discover
what Nurket’s true name was. Oh, she had plans.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Come on over if
you can,” she said. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It was still
snowing, but much more gently. Gerd wasn’t even out of bed yet, but she could
smell the snow. She made a bet with herself: if more than 30 cm. had
accumulated, she would open her last package of Brazilian Bourbon Santos
coffee. If less, she would make do with Ali Kaffe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">If she leaned out
her bedroom windows to the southwest, she could see the little bay called
Sandvika. Not very imaginatively named: it literally meant “Sandy Bay.” Very
descriptive, though, because there was indeed a little beach there in this
improbable spot facing the wrath of the ocean. Of course, it wasn’t always a
beach: some years she had nothing but boulders. Gerd loved it whether sandy or
rocky; it was – in her opinion – her very own private spa. That her actual
property line ended 25 meters inland from the beach meant nothing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">This morning she
imagined the view would be a Norman Rockwell winter wonderland. Shades of white
in all directions: blue, purples, yellows, greens, even pinks. To paint snow
was one her biggest artistic challenges. Snow in January was a totally
different proposition from snow in March. She sniffed the temperature: still
not very cold. Maybe 4 below zero. A blond furry ear was followed by a black
nose peeking out at the foot of her bed – guess who had taken advantage of her
artistic stupor last night and availed himself of the opportunity to crawl into
bed with her. Gerd knew she was supposed to shoo him off right now or she’d
still have him in bed when he weighed 40 kilos. Ah well, the bed was big enough
for all three of them – Bamse never came upstairs. Gerd realized that she was
not going to search for Nurket’s original owners. Anyone who would abandon a
dog on a cold, uninhabited island didn’t deserve a dog.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After a brief
breakfast accompanied very nicely by Brazilian coffee, Gerd pulled on some
leggings, a long-sleeve T-shirt, warm pants, and a sweater. Her ugly orange parka
(a present from Jonas so her cadaver could easily be found in the snow) was in
the downstairs closet with her brand new ski boots. These modern boots were a
marvel: so light and soft that they were practically slippers. She dug out a
hat and some mittens as well, grabbed her phone, and called Nurket.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There was enough
snow to ski on. Because they hadn’t had any snow to speak up so far this winter,
her skis were still way in the back of her large shed. Blue wax was probably
the right thing – did she have any? Gerd rummaged around in some drawers in the
old bureau in the shed and pulled out a few sticks. Sure – plenty of that. Last
winter had been so mild she had mostly used red wax, yuck. She did a 60-second
ski wax job, found her poles, and tested the glide. She set off.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The creek from
Dyrevann in the middle of the island ran almost parallel with shore here. It
probably wasn’t frozen yet, but it was so narrow that she could easily take her
skis off and jump over. Gleeful as a child, Gerd pushed hard with her poles and
slid down the gentle slope toward the quiet ocean. Nurket hopped and barked
behind her. Near where the beach would be in summer she paused and looked
around. A few rocks along the shore were still visible, but most were sleeping
under the quilt of new snow. The sun had just risen, but since it was still
overcast and snow was falling, she couldn’t see it. Painter’s light, she thought.
Diffuse, erasing edges and contours, making objects recede or become mere
suggestions of lines against the blue-grey light.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Light.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd and Nurket
skied along the south coast of Lyholmen all the way to Forliset, a peninsula
that stuck out into the ocean like an angry finger of red granite. Now Forliset
was all but covered in white fluff. She had to turn her skis sideways to climb the
Forliset hill and then balance precariously along its narrow top while she made
her way nearly to the tip where granite, ice, and snow met the ocean. The
thought of Nurket made her turn back; he didn’t have enough sense yet not to
fall in. An hour later they had crossed the island through the “forest” and
around Dyrevann, which did not show signs of freezing yet. They made it home,
panting, tired, and happy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The snow had
intensified on their trip and was coming down in truckloads. Because of
prevailing winds, her front porch was almost always snow free, but it was
beginning to pile up along the north wall of the shed. She went in, removed her
skis, and thought about shoveling a path between the two buildings. No,
probably not necessary yet, but she had better bring the good shovel up to the
porch in case it was meters deep tomorrow. Would Jonas need her to shovel a way
for him? No, he’d bring his skis in the boat. He could ski up the path.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd wasn’t so
much hungry as what the south coast folks called “sjesken,” or “snack-hungry.”
She wanted to bake something savory. Maybe pastries with some kind of filling?
She had frozen the leftover chicken from last week. There wasn’t much –
especially after she had fed a large part of it to Nurket – but it would be
enough. It was made with rosemary and pink French pepper. She’d need some
vegetables to go with it, perhaps some leeks and onions? The leeks looked
pretty much expired, but she had two kinds of onions and plenty or garlic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She took out the chicken to defrost and made
the pastry. A bit of dried tarragon in the pastry – that would be good. She put
the pastry in the refrigerator for the time being and went back upstairs to her
“great room.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The stairs of her
two-story house were in the center of the building. At the top landing, going
right would take her to her bedroom and to the left there had originally been
two smaller bedrooms. One of the first things Gerd had done with the house was
to tear down the wall between those two as well as the wall toward the stairs
and install two ceiling skylights. The light here was fantastic: she had
windows on three sides, and the skylights in both slanted ceiling panes gave
her perfect light for weaving and painting in almost any weather.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She had two looms
in her “great room” studio, both well over 100 years old. The biggest one, the
one on which she wove her signature fabric for the luxury coats and wraps, had
a full 8 pedals and one of the more complex set-ups she had ever worked with.
All afternoon and evening yesterday she had struggled to set it up to her
satisfaction. At this time of year she was completing the orders for the fall collections
– a bit late, actually. Her favorite designers in Milan and New York were
screaming for delivery of the fabric; their fall shows were in May. Her
pink-and-petroleum coat fabric would be an unexpected addition to the line; she
had finished the 12 she had promised them before Christmas. 12 bolts of her
kind of fabric would make 60-80 coats or wraps that would most certainly sell
retail for over 20,000 kroner each. She would get an average of 30,000 per bolt
for a total of somewhere around 360,000 kroner. It wasn’t truly the money that
mattered to Gerd although such recognition was nice. In fact, this so-called
success had gotten a bit out of hand. She resolved to be even more exclusive
next season and produce maybe 70% of what she had done this year. One couldn’t
flood the market with Gerd Ljoset creations after all, she grinned to herself.
The new weft she had set up yesterday was a sudden inspiration; perhaps she
would let Tonje have the fabric. Tonje Hjerte was a Storesand seamstress and
budding designer who was trying to break into the middle market: somewhere in
the 2000-4000 kroner range. If Gerd made this fabric a bit looser than usual,
it could work well as all-year wraps, and wraps were so fashionable these days.
Tonje could design and sew them before the summer tourist rush and, given the
strong likelihood of lousy weather and bored tourists with their wallets open
in their Louis Vuitton purses, she could start to make a name for herself. Gerd
smiled: this fair trade system really worked. Fleece the rich and satisfy the
status hunger of the middle class, and then turn around and use the profits to
weave beautiful, non-label fabric for the poor, who sewed their own coats.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her second loom
was set up for a summer fabric. Just like Nurket, she thought, this fabric
needed a name. She would be doing linen. Most linens were earth-tones: flax,
wheat, mushroom. She wasn’t sure. Golden yellow, maybe, with that translucent
green of the first baby birch leaves. No hurry. Art came when it wanted to.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Looking at the
skeins she was going to use on the big loom, she was again reminded of water
and of Einar. She turned and descended the stairs. Her living room stretched
the entire width of the house, east to west. Four double windows flanked a wide
double door out to her patio and rose garden. Right now the rose bushes were
little humps almost swallowed up by the white blanket, but roses did especially
well if they had been given a good, long sleep under a snow quilt. To the left
of the stairs (coming down) were her sofas, love-chairs, chaise-lounges, an
ancient rocker, and several overstuffed chairs. And a huge, local stone
fireplace. On her right was a dining table that could seat 12 comfortably and
beyond that, her “office.” The office part of that side of the room held
hand-looms, rose-painted chests, some bureaus, and an antique roll-top desk
which was the electronic nerve center of the house. Only one of her own
paintings on the walls; all the others she had acquired from various artists
she admired.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd went to the
roll-top desk and slid back the top. She loved the slithering sound it made as
the cover disappeared into some mysterious place. Inside was a state-of-the art
Lenovo laptop, tricked out with every piece of software she could download.
Originally, she had had to have a satellite connection here at the house, but a
few years ago the cable had been laid (she had had something to do with that)
to the island, guaranteeing up- and downstream speeds most teenagers on World
of Warcraft could only dream about. Gerd pulled up her ergonomic chair and
logged on.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her main blog was
just called “Up.” Two letters, no by-line. In her blog, she mused on everything
from politics to fishing, and she had over 6000 subscribers to her RSS feed. Today,
Gerd wanted to reflect on the long arm of history and, maybe, original sin. She
wrote:</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt 1in;">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">How easy it is to find yourself on the
wrong side of the line. One wrong smile, a hand out to the wrong person, and
you can wake up one day labeled “traitor.” My grandfather told me once of a
friend of his who, in a fit of patriotism and generosity, packed his few possessions
and headed to Finland in 1939. It was summer and the birches were green
canopies. They were to fight back the invading enemy, the Reds. The gallant defenders
were vastly outnumbered, but the Soviets had lost most of their senior command
in Stalin’s purges. Inexplicably, the skirmishes dragged on. Winter approached
with its icy breath. The boys had nothing but summer uniforms. They froze and
starved. By spring 1940, the Mannerheim line had held. Some made it back to
Sweden and to Norway, many remained as mute skeletons in the breathless woods. My
grandfather’s friend did come back, but when he did, nearly senseless from
starvation and marrow-cold, the Reds had joined the Allies and he, who had
fought them, was shunned as a collaborator. He never recovered. Until he died
in the 1980s, he was spoken of as “that one, you know. The traitor.” He fought
for love and lost all.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Feeling that this
short paragraph summed up her emotions as well as she was able to put it, she
googled her local paper, the Storesand Courier. One of the many jokes about
this renowned newspaper had to do with a courier being supposed to run, while
the Courier could barely crawl.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd was looking
for names from 60 years ago.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After some
misspellings, she found Alexis Dupreux. In 1939, his name showed up among 11
who had been rescued when their French fishing vessel had gone aground outside
Ørneredet. In 1948, he was a hero of the Resistance. In 1983, his funeral
merited a small obituary. The 1948 article included a photo. The caption read
Alexis Dupreux, Frank Åge Samuelsen, and Einar Iversen. Tante Anita had
mentioned someone called Gunari, but she got no hits on that name.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Daylight was
fading already. Gerd realized she had been so caught up in her research that
all thought of making food had vanished. Nurket barked.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nurket was doing
a strange dance by the kitchen door. He whined and was almost growling. What
was out there? They did have a few white-tailed deer on the island in summer,
but in winter the somnolent seagulls were the major game. And Nurket had never
seemed to have a taste for seagulls. Maybe he just needed to pee.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd opened the
door and Nurket was off like an arrow. Gerd shouted “Wait!” to no avail. She
pulled on a sweater and her parka and set off after him down the path.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Instantly, she
was enveloped in snow thick as fog. It was coming from all directions and
daylight was disappearing by inches. She should have brought a flashlight. Gerd
wanted to shout the dog’s name, but what was it? It certainly wasn’t “Nurket.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She floundered
down the path and into the clearing. No clearing now; the expanse was a wall of
snow. She felt her way along the stone fence. “Nurket! Come back!”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd heard
barking ahead. The boathouse? She stumbled over briars and rocks that loomed up
unexpectedly in the swirling snow. An indistinct shadow of a squat building
began to take shape and the barking sounded closer. There was someone there!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Someone with a
long, hard something lifted up high and brought crashing down on something
soft, something that went crunch. Nurket howled as if in pain. Gerd shouted
“Stop!” she looked around for a weapon or something to defend herself with, but
there was nothing. “Stop!”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She was gaining
on the sound, heedless of danger. In her flight to save the little dog, she
nearly stumbled over the prone figure in the snow. Someone was lying at the
edge of the near-freezing waves. She located Nurket, whining next to the
bundle.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What the hell was
going on? Who was attacking and what and why?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd bent over
the fallen shape in the snow. With a shock, she recognized the white beard of
Los Joacim. She put her ear close to his mouth: was he dead? No, he was
breathing, but only barely. Phone – call 911.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She didn’t have
her phone. When she rushed out of the house, she hadn’t thought to bring it
along. How could she move all 100 kilos of Joacim Corneliussen?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The spare
wheelbarrow in the boathouse. Gerd yanked on the door – it was never locked;
nothing normally was on the island – and felt her way through nets, crab-pots,
and assorted ropes and gear. There was the wheelbarrow. She pulled it out
toward the door and over as close as she could get it to Los Joacim.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd was a small
woman. Well, short, if not exactly small. How do you get 100 kilos of a slack
body into a wheelbarrow? She hauled, pulled, and pushed. Got at least most of
him in and started pushing. Wheelbarrow in the snow? She almost cried. She
couldn’t budge it, nor him. Pull, that was it. Gerd made herself into a horse
in harness and pulled the enormous weight behind her. Nurket gave encouraging
barks.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After an eternity
of pulling and swearing, the house came into view. How to get him up the stairs
and into the house? There were some 2x4s in the shed; she could make a ramp.
With this improvised entry, Gerd was finally able to pull Los Joacim’s body
into the warmth of her kitchen. She dragged him toward the living room and
collapsed on top of him, exhausted.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Joacim was
mumbling something. He was alive! “What did you say? Don’t worry; I’ll have
help here shortly,” Gerd said inanely.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Skulle ha sagt
…,” said the pilot.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span lang="ES-MX" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: ES-MX; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Jeg skulle ha sagt noe.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Don’t tire
yourself out, Los. I’ll get you to hospital and they’ll fix you up right as
rain.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I should have
told,” he repeated. “I should have said something.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd searched
frantically for her phone. Found it at her desk where she had so peacefully and
self-righteously been writing her blog. Her frozen fingers dialed Nanna.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Hei Gerd, are
you loving this snow? It’s about time,” Nanna’s cheerful voice boomed out.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I would, except
I have a problem.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nanna instantly
switched tone. “What’s the problem?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Nanna, I found
Los Joacim unconscious down by my boathouse. I have him in the house now, but I
think he’s very poorly. Is there any way you and Peder could make it over
here?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Joacim?
Unconscious? What on earth was he doing out? Well, never mind. We’ll be there
right away. Can you take his pulse?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Nanna, I’m bad
at emergencies. I don’t know how to take a pulse. All I can say is that he is
alive. Please come as soon as you can.” Gerd hung up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The old pilot
looked uncomfortable on her floor. Gerd pushed and pulled to straighten his
legs. She ran into the spare bedroom to get a pillow and some quilts and
covered him as best she could. She lit the fireplace. At least he would not die
cold.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She soon heard
feet stomping on her landing. Nanna and Peder, both looking like they had
thrown on every conceivable piece of clothing they owned, pushed open the door
and came in. Nanna went directly to the old man on the floor while Peder hung
back in the kitchen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Where did you
find him?” he asked Gerd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“In the rocks by
my boathouse.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Good thing you
were there. Do you think he had a heart attack?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“No.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Peder, can you
call the hospital helicopter service?” It was nurse Nanna, giving orders. Both
Gerd and Peder sprang into action at the sound of the authoritative voice.
Peder pulled his phone out of one of the myriad pockets of his parka. “What’s
the number?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“370-9050,” said
Gerd, who somehow dredged that particular number out of the crevasses of
memory. Peder dialed and gave the phone to Nanna. A lot of very uncomplimentary
language ensued. Nanna threw the phone on the floor.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“They say,” she
mimicked, “that they can’t fly in this terrible weather and endanger their
delicate asses. They have to wait until the county central command gives them
permission, which will be in the next century sometime.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’ll get the boat.”
It was Peder, not at all uncertain. Nanna smiled at him, and Gerd saw in a
flash why they were a forever couple.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Please do.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Peder took off
without a goodbye. Nanna looked at Gerd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“He has a gash
across his temple that doesn’t at all look like he fell down on the rocks. His
left arm is broken. I won’t remove his clothes, but I’m willing to bet he took
a hit to the kidneys as well. What the hell is going on, Gerd?”</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd sank down
into a chair. “I wish I knew. Since Einar died, it has all been piling up.
People are muttering. I ran into Tante Anita last night and she was going on
about evil and some kind of poker club. None of it makes any sense. The librarian
told me Einar died of methanol poisoning, but you know he never touched the
hard stuff after his wife died. Some EMT said they found sand in Einar’s spare
gas can in his boat, as if someone had wanted him to be stranded. And Los
Joacim has been acting strangely, walking the island at all hours and talking
to himself. All the old folks talk about the war, but it ended over 60 years
ago. I don’t know anything, Nanna.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nanna observed
her friend closely. Even if she knew as a nurse that old scars never really
healed, she wasn’t about to say so. She turned to more practical matters.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How do you propose
we get this old man down to the dock so Peder can take him in?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd was relieved
to be able to do something.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’ll get the
sled from the shed. It’s plenty big enough.” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">After some
heaving and muttering about goddamn stairs, they got Los Corneliussen’s still
breathing body into the sled and down the path to the dock. As they were about
to manhandle the body into Peder’s waiting boat, he seemed to come alive.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I should have
told! I didn’t. I’m a coward. Forgive me, oh God,” the old man shouted and
collapsed into his delirious state. The three looked at one another. Peder
started the engine. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Come with us,
Gerd. He may need you at the hospital.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd felt a whine
at her side. Nurket did not want to be left behind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“OK. We’ll all
go,” she decided and jumped into the boat next to Peder. Nurket followed. Nanna
stayed. “If you need me, call me,” she said. They pulled away from the dock.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As they sped
through the whirling snow, Gerd thought, “what happened during the war that
still lingers? Was Einar really killed because of something that long ago? What
endures sixty years?”</span></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-47329686041697728172012-05-20T10:01:00.000-07:002012-06-20T10:01:46.336-07:00Chapter 7<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jonas van der
Linden, always a light sleeper, rose to consciousness with a (small) sack of
potatoes crushing his left arm and shoulder. It had long, black hair.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He stroked the
dead weight of her body and the silk of her hair. Gerd slept like a child,
boneless and trusting. She muttered something in her sleep.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He grinned wryly.
Last night Gerd and Nurket had shown up at his door at 11pm. Gerd had explained
Los Joacim’s accident in broad strokes, yawned, and proposed a hot bath for her
and a bowl of water for Nurket. He complied willingly. He brought a glass of
red wine to her in the bathtub and watched entranced as she floated,
mermaid-like, in the water. He had seen figurines like her in a museum in Lima,
Peru. He sat down on the edge of the tub.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Do you want me
to wash your hair?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Oh, please.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He wasn’t exactly
expert, but he had done this a time or two in the past. He took his shirt off and
filled a pitcher with clean, warm water. Laying her head back in his hand, he
rubbed and stroked shampoo into her hair until she was crowned with a cap of
bubbles. He rinsed her once in the now-tepid bathwater, then lifted her head
again and rinsed a second time with the clean water. Her eyes were closed.
Jonas bent down and kissed her lightly. Gerd brought a wet arm out of the water
and pulled his face close. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The claw-foot tub
was not made for a 6 foot man. It was tight, cramped quarters, but with the
familiarity of long acquaintance and no secrets, they made the best of it.
Minutes later they collapsed in a tangle of arms and legs at odd angles. How
they made it to bed he couldn’t recall.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The bedside clock
showed 6 a.m. Thursday was his late start day; he didn’t have a class until
10:30. With a prayer of thanks, Jonas let sleep wash back over him.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He woke an hour
later to gentle double snoring. Gerd was huffing in her sleep and Nurket was
echoing her under the bed. “I need to get a better bed,” he thought
incongruously. “She has that massive four-poster and all I have is this rickety
relic.” He resolved to begin searching for the perfect bed this very day. After
contemplating his reluctant muse for long minutes, Jonas finally felt alive
enough to meet the world. He slid noiselessly out of bed. Even Nurket didn’t
notice.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jonas lived on
one of three connected islands called Fillene right off shore from town. All
three were joined by pedestrian bridges, but no cars could enter. The bridges
were too narrow. Jonas didn’t mind; he hated cars. He had first rented the 200
year old house, but when he had met Gerd and had his fate decided for him, he
bought it. It was small and quirky, about half the size of Gerd’s house on
Lyholmen. Two rooms up, two down. The plumbing had been installed in the late
1800’s and was moody at best. No yard to speak of. But what he had was a view
to beat that of the royal yacht: Vågen on the right and a straight shot out the
channel to the lighthouse and to her. Jonas had originally had a small
powerboat, but once Gerd was in his life he wanted a faster connection. Now he
was the proud owner of a 16 foot speedboat with 150 hp. He could get out to
Lyholmen in less than 10 minutes. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jonas had had the
bad luck to be born on the “dark continent” of the southwest side of Norway.
His parents, who appeared mightily surprised at his arrival, were Haugianere. The
Haugianer sect basically believed everything was a sin. How they procreated was
anyone’s guess. Jonas was the second child. His older brother Jens, whom he had
worshipped, had died at 11 years of age of something as simple as measles.
Jonas was 7 when they laid his brother out on the kitchen table, cold and stiff
as marble. He had never liked his self-righteous parents up to them; now it
became hate. He got into all the trouble a teenager could in a small,
buttoned-up town. The day after his 16<sup>th</sup> birthday he left town,
still no forgiveness in his heart. He had neither seen nor spoken with them
since.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But now the joy
of love was softening him. Why had he thought of his grey parents right now as
he was tip-toeing down the stairs after having his heart wrenched out of his
body for the love of a woman? “Love wants to spread,” he thought, “love wants
to make more of itself.” He shook his head to regain his senses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jonas made a pot
of coffee and sat down at his wobbly kitchen table. Coffee was no sin for the
Haugianere; in fact their engines ran on it. “They should meet some Muslims,”
he snickered. He was never very hungry in the morning, but he knew Gerd was, so
he brought out bread, butter, and whatever he had in the fridge to put on it.
The local Pulitzer-Prize winning newspaper, the Storesand Courier, landed with
a thump against his front door.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The paper carried
Einar Iversen’s obituary on an inside page that everyone read. Gotta know who’s
dead so you don’t say the wrong thing. The obit gave his name, date of birth
and death, and …….. his membership in the Kiwanis? A war hero, they said. What
the hell heroic thing had Einar ever done? The obit was vague about it, but
something about the Resistance was mentioned. Jonas left the paper folded so
Gerd would see the obituary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">He would bring
her a tray, he thought. Breakfast in bed, wasn’t that suitably romantic for a
besotted almost-40 year old? Jonas rummaged through his ancient refrigerator.
He found some cheese with a blue mold cover. Was Jarlsberg supposed to have a
blue casing? He didn’t think so and threw it in the trash. The liver sausage
was equally slimy-looking. Aha! There was a glass jar of some high-falutin
marmalade he had bought on impulse from a cute young girl selling things off
the back of her truck. Organic marmalade, what the heck was that? But it
smelled good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jonas found some
bread that wasn’t exactly moldy and toasted it. Did he have eggs? Yes, a
10-package with no noticeable expiration date appeared. He’d make scrambled
eggs and toast with marmalade; even an absolute non-cook couldn’t screw that
up. And lots more coffee. There was a container that said orange juice, but it
smelled of vinegar and he didn’t think that was the right smell. On impulse, he
went outside in his slippers and cut a branch off a birch tree. It didn’t even
have the beginning of buds, but it was still a branch. He put the cold branch
into a tall glass of water.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Jonas scrambled
the eggs with a little water and some salt and pepper and remembered to take it
off the heat before it had set completely. He put four slices of toast
liberally slathered with butter and marmalade on a plate and hunted around for
a tray. With the birch-branch “flower,” the golden eggs and the orange
marmalade-toast, it looked positively festive. He carried the tray upstairs,
the pot of coffee snuggled against his side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd was out
cold, but her nose twitched a little at the aromas that arrived. She yawned and
stretched and opened her eyes a slit. Nurket crawled out from under the bed,
wagging his tail. Jonas put the tray on a small dresser and dragged it over to
her bedside, the glass with the branch threatening to keel over any minute. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Breakfast for
the queen,” Jonas announced proudly. Nurket looked like he approved.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">********************************</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Jonas had
left for school, Gerd got up and looked around. Jonas wasn’t messy, but he
wasn’t quite tidy either. What would it be like if they lived together? Gerd
loved her privacy – now that she had decided to remain in this world – but
Jonas was growing on her. Did she want to play house?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She only had the
clothes she had arrived in yesterday. The snow had abated, now it was
glittering in heaps on every street corner, window-frame, and gable. Gerd
poured herself a second and third cup of coffee from the thoughtful pot Jonas
had left ready for them, found and defrosted some moose meat in his freezer and
gave it to Nurket, who apparently was an omnivore.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Since she had
come to town with Peder last night and declined the lift back, Gerd had no
transportation until Jonas returned from school. That was OK; Nanna had
promised to feed Bamse, who got a bit perturbed if his breakfast wasn’t served
pronto. And she wanted to visit Los Joacim, partly to assure herself that he
was all right and – she had to admit – to nose around and find out if he knew
who had attacked him.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd dressed and
looked around for something to use as a leash for Nurket. He didn’t even have a
collar, poor guy. She decided to stop in at the town pet store and get him some
supplies. At the pet store, she found a perfect sky blue collar for him and
made a tag that said “If found, call Gerd at 370-1424.” No name; he didn’t have
his true name yet. She also got a long leash, useful for town excursions. She
had a 15 kilo bag of the best dog food sent out to her on the island. The boy
behind the counter promised he would find someone to bring it out as soon as
possible.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She put the
collar and tag on Nurket, who preened from the honor. The she attached the
leash, which he didn’t like quite as much but succumbed to with good grace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The county
hospital was situated on top of a rather steep hill. They could have walked,
but Gerd thought the better of it. There were buses every 10 minutes; Gerd and
Nurket got on one that was just leaving. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She walked into
the main reception area and was surprised that they didn’t immediately tell her
to leave her dog outside. She asked for Joacim Corneliussen and was directed to
the Intensive Care Unit on the third floor. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">At the ICU, a
harried nurse pointed to room # 3. Nurket was acting like an invisible dog and
no one noticed. She opened the door and entered.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There were two
beds in the room. One housed Joacim, lying as if dead with tubes hooked up
everywhere, He appeared to be asleep. When Gerd sat down and took his hand, the
patient in the other bed woke up. It was an elderly lady, head full of soft
white hair. She beckoned Gerd over, wanting to talk.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd dropped the
leash on the floor and sat down in the chair next to the other bed. “Hi,
grandma,” she said. It wasn’t her grandmother of course, but it could have
been.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Do you know who
that is?” whispered the old lady conspiratorially.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yes. He’s a
neighbor of mine,” Gerd answered.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“That’s Joacim
Corneliussen. I knew him well. I’m forgetting my manners: I’m Nora Svestad.
That’s an adorable dog. My youngest son had dogs just like that.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Her “youngest
son” must be at least 60, thought Gerd. She held out her hand to the old lady.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Gerd Ljoset.
Pleased to meet you. I beg your pardon, but you don’t sound like you are from
here.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“No, I’m an Oslo
girl,” said the 90 year old woman proudly. Joacim groaned lightly, and Gerd
hurried to his bedside. He didn’t open his eyes.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“He was beaten
up, you know. Probably Eigil, that miserable wretch.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Eigil?” Here was
yet another person Gerd had never heard of. “Who’s he?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Why, Gunnar’s
son, didn’t you know? He had a son with that little bitch from Trappene. She
told him all his life that his father had been a hero, but I’ll tell you, he
wasn’t. A lousy informer, he was.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd was totally
confused. “Who, Eigil?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“No, little girl,
of course not. Eigil wasn’t born then. Gunnar Katte.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">With this, the
old lady, Nora Svestad, closed her eyes and dozed off. The number of players in
this drama – was it a drama or was she just inventing one? – was multiplying
rapidly. Gerd shrugged it off and went back to Joacim. His eyes were closed but
he was muttering something. Gerd bent down so she could hear.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Collaborator,”
whispered Joacim. “He deserved it, and more. But I should have told. I didn’t.
I should have told.” With those last words, he sank back in a deep,
drug-induced sleep. The door opened and a nurse came in.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“How on earth did
you get in here?” she barked at Gerd. When she spied Nurket, she went
practically apoplectic. “Get out this instant!”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd looked at
her unapologetically. “We’re leaving. Joacim Corneliussen is a dear friend of
mine. I was the one who found him yesterday. Take good care of him.” With that,
she grabbed Nurket’s leash and walked with measured steps out of the hospital
room.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Outside the sun
glittered through ice-covered branches. It must have gotten a little warmer in
the night for so much ice to form, Gerd thought. It was around noon – maybe 1
o’clock or so – and she was getting a little hungry. Wonder if Elspeth had had
lunch yet?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">She left Nurket
tied up outside the library, which did not please him. He looked accusingly at
Gerd but believed her when she said she would be right back. Inside, Elspeth
was at her post at the information desk, helping some middle-schoolers with
their local research. She waved at Gerd.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Are you coming
to take me to lunch? You owe me, you know!” she boomed out, far too loud for a
quiet library. Gerd smiled and nodded.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I am. Let’s go to
that Chinese place on East Street.” Ever since her time in Thailand, Gerd had
loved Asian food. This was Norwegian-Asian, of course, and not the real thing,
but it was as close as they could get in this little snow-bound town in
February. There wouldn’t be many customers and she knew the proprietor. He’d
probably allow Nurket to lie under their table as long as he was well covered
by the drooping table-cloth.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They both ordered
hot-and-sour soup and lemon chicken. Both drank green tea – even if they both
secretly wanted wine. The wine list here wasn’t exactly stellar.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Oh, I forgot,”
said Elspeth suddenly in the middle of another topic. “I have something for you
at the library.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“More books I
might like?” </span><span lang="NO-BOK" style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: NO-BOK; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd smiled at her friend. </span><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Elspeth was always trying to get her
to expand her mind by pushing the strangest books on her.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Not this time.
It’s a box.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“What kind of
box?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Just a box. Like
a double-sized shoebox, really. Since you were the one who found Einar, I
thought I’d give it to you. It’s a bunch of old stuff; I only opened it once.
It has some old pictures in it and letters and stuff. I saw a picture of Einar
and his poker buddies in it. I don’t know how it ended up in our basement, but
there was this history researcher from Olso who wanted us to keep it. He was
going to come back and collect it, but he never did. So it’s yours.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“If it belonged
to Einar, it should go to his family, don’t you think?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Yes, but who?
Anne Lise died years ago and they didn’t have any children that I know of.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“He has a sister
up there behind Berget.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Oh her, Susanna
the almighty. I’m not giving that old witch the time of day. No, you would take
much better care of it.” Elspeth was insistent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“OK. I’ll hold on
to it until someone else wants it.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They moved on to
other topics: who was sleeping with who, whose kids had gotten into trouble,
whether Elspeth’s husband had truly wrenched his back or was just lazy. An hour
later, they walked back to the library to collect the mysterious box.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Elspeth fund the
basement key and they moved together into the bowels of the old library. Not
much down here, mostly crates of yellowing newspapers that they hadn’t gotten
around to scanning yet. Along both walls ran huge steel shelves; Elspeth moved
confidently to a shelf way in the back. It was indeed a double-wide shoebox
tied with string. Not heavy. Gerd took it under her arm and they ascended from
the musty remnants of time past. At the door, they hugged and Gerd promised
that she would definitely accept a dinner invitation some day soon. She
collected Nurket, who as always was ecstatic to see her, and the two of them
walked slowly through the nearly empty streets, Nurket sniffing and leaving
messages on every lamp post.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Back at Jonas’
house, she made another pot of coffee and decided to clean up a bit instead of
opening the box. She looked in his fridge: good god, the man would give himself
ptomaine poisoning from what grew in there. Fillene didn’t have a grocery
store, but there was a small mom-and-pop shop just on the other side of the
bridge. Gerd and Nurket made an emergency run to the store to stock up on the
basics for Jonas, who would probably never notice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When Jonas got
back from school, they had “high tea” together with Lady Grey (milk for Gerd
and lemon for Jonas) and the pastries Gerd had bought. Jonas was quiet and
thoughtful. Had something happened? No, he was just thinking of a poem. Did she
want to stay the night?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As sweet as that
prospect would be, Gerd didn’t. She wanted to get back to the island, to talk
with Nanna and Peder, to placate Bamse who was most certainly in a major huff,
and to open her mystery box. Jonas started the boat and in 10 minutes they were
at her dock. It was always a shock for Gerd to move across the water so fast;
it was almost as if her soul had been left behind. They hugged, a bit
impersonally at first until they realized what they were doing and then went
into a true embrace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’ll be out
after school tomorrow. OK?” said Jonas as she stepped onto the dock.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Of course. Can
you stay the weekend?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’m invited?” he
teased her.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“You are always
invited,” she responded gravely, then smiled. “See you soon.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd watched his
boat speed across Gryta (the local name for the water between Lyholmen and the
mainland) until he was hidden by some of the small island. She whistled for
Nurket and together they stomped up the snowy path to her house. Nanna had done
as promised: fed and petted Bamse, turned on enough electricity to keep the
house warm, and left her a note on the kitchen counter saying “Call as soon as
you get home!”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Gerd put the box
on the big dining table. She thought of Einar, of Joacim, and of the old lady
in the hospital. Nora, was it? She would open the box after dinner. Nurket had
gone to sleep on “his” blankets by the unlit fireplace. “Our past is never
really gone,” she thought. What of Einar’s past could the dusty cardboard box
contain?</span></div>
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<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-47087525951313034342012-05-19T10:43:00.000-07:002012-06-20T10:43:40.838-07:00Chapter 8<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd hadn’t slept
well. Disturbing dreams, not quite nightmares, had chased her through the
night. She woke in pitch darkness. Eyes open or closed, it was just as dark.
Her useless mind was reciting German accusative prepositions. An, auf, hinter,
bei ….. no, that one took the dative. She might as well get up; there was no
rest to be had in bed.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Shuffling down
the stairs, she saw the opened box on the dining table. It had yielded very
little: newspaper clippings that made no sense, letters in Norwegian, German,
some other language (Flemish?), and a small book where Einar had recorded his
catch. Each day was dated in his fine script and noted seasonal catches with
location and depth of each net. A treasure, really, but not relevant to his
death. Five photographs. She had felt like a voyeur looking into Einar’s
private things and had resolutely closed the box. Some other time. She stowed
it in one of her rose-painted chests.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>As Gerd was
sipping her second cup of Americano, there was a tentative knock on the kitchen
door. Nurket jumped up and down but didn’t growl. Two teenage girls stood
outside, dressed in awkward combinations of leggings, Ugg boots, mini-skirts,
and parkas. Peppi and Kaia, the Gundersen twins. The Gundersen family had moved
to the island less than a year ago; this was their first winter. Andreas
Gundersen was a CPA or something for an insurance company in town; his wife
(Ellen? Else? No, Eva) stayed home and kept to herself. The Gundersens lived at
the opposite end of the island from Gerd – way out on the eastern peninsula.
She didn’t think they had bought the old house; it had stayed empty for years
and was practically falling down. The girls took the daily ferry to town in
time to get to school and back again at 3. Petronella and Cayenne were their
names, they were fraternal twins. Peppi was the taller: gangly and skinny with
bad skin and too much cheap make-up. Kaia was shorter and had wavy dark hair
framing a little heart shaped face with sad eyes. They hadn’t said more than
“hello” to Gerd the 9 months they had lived here.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Come in, come
in,” Gerd said more heartily than she felt. They entered her warm kitchen
shyly. Peppi spied Nurket and instantly was on her knees petting him and
telling him what a wonderful dog he was. Kaia stayed behind a bit, but when
Bamse made his appearance in the kitchen, she began to thaw.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Would you like
some coffee?” Gerd had no idea why they were here, but she was sure they would
get to it by and by. They nodded. She made a fresh pot, toasted some bread and
put the jam out, and asked them to sit at the dining table.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She suddenly
remembered it was Friday. “No school today?” she asked just like every aunt,
mother, and grandmother must have asked a thousand teenagers. They shook their
heads in unison. “Didn’t want to go,” mumbled Peppi. “Oh?” “There’s a German
test today,” said Kaia as if that explained everything. And they obviously
hadn’t studied and had decided to ditch school instead. Now they would have to
find something to do until 3pm. Not easy on a nearly shut-down, small island in
February. Hence Gerd’s house.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>After some
dragging minutes, Gerd had run out of things to say. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You know, I need
to go out and check my salmon nets this morning,” she said. If you want, you
can stay here and keep Bamse and Nurket company.” They brightened at this.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I don’t want you
to open my computer, OK? I have a lot of files there that are important to me.
But feel free to read anything you find on the shelves.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>That Gerd’s house
had a lot of books was an understatement. Books flowed and fell from every
horizontal surface, including three huge bookcases. English, Norwegian, French,
Spanish, Gerd was an omnivore of books and languages. There would be no lack of
reading material for a day of skipping school.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’ll be back in
2-3 hours,” she said. “Depends on what the nets have caught.” As the sun just
broke through the clouds to the east, a ray of sunlight lit Kaia’s face.
“Goodness, girl, that’s quite a shiner you have there.” In fact, the young
girl’s right eye was swollen and nearly purple. Gerd hadn’t noticed before
because Kaia kept her face turned away from the light.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Fell down,”
mumbled the blushing teenager. Gerd let it go. It would all come out some time,
when the winds and currents were right. She filed the black eye away with her
other suspicions and decided that she and Nurket really needed to take a lot
more walks over there to the east side of the island.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Out at the nets,
the haul of salmon was meager, but she got a surprise with a huge halibut
caught incongruously in the net. This was unusual. Halibut was deep-water fish
and would normally never swim this close to the surface. Gerd decided that the
catch was too small to warrant the trip to Fiskebrygga. She would bring it home
to clean and freeze it and give it away to those who knew how to cook ---- and
even to those who didn’t, she thought generously of Nanna. Or maybe she’d smoke
a couple of salmon fillets instead and present them as a thank-you to Peder and
Nanna with some good beer and aquavit. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Coming home, her
house was empty of teenagers. There was a note on the kitchen counter:<span> </span>“Thanks for letting us stay here a while. I
used your landline to make one call. A friend came over and picked us up.
Please don’t tell dad.” It was signed Petronella.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>No “don’t tell
mom and dad” just “don’t tell dad.” Gerd read the note again, but it didn’t
give any more information. She had brought the sled with today’s catch up from
the dock to the big shed. Nurket danced out the door with her, entranced as
always with life, the world, and this lovely white fluffy stuff everywhere.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd as in the
middle of cleaning the big halibut when her cell rang. She had put the big
planks over two trestles, three 6x2 8 foot planks that she kept in the shed
just for this purpose. She had gutted the fish and removed the head, tail, and
the top and bottom fins and was just about to start cutting the thick slices of
the glistening iridescent flesh when “Millom bakkar og berg utmed havet, heve
nordmannen fenge sin heim” disturbed her zen concentration. Henkie – or Jutta.
She tucked her phone under her chin to avoid getting scales all over it.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Hei.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Hei Gerd.” It
was Jutta. Jutta, bless her simple soul, did not beat around the bush. “What
was in the box?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Come again?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Well, Elspeth is
my cousin twice removed; did you know that? We went to middle school together.
And she told me she had given you Einar’s box.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The librarian had
sworn her to silence. Much good that did. They used to say that the town was so
small that they delivered the mail to where you slept last night. Gerd didn’t
doubt it.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Jutta, that box
was probably from the war years or soon afterwards. Nothing there but some
fading letters and old photos. And besides, it’s confidential,” lied Gerd. “A
university researcher from Oslo had the library keep it and I’m just holding on
to it until he gets back.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>It sounded lame
even in her own ears. But it seemed to satisfy Jutta because she went onto
entirely different topics. Jutta had had two children before marrying Henrik
and had a third with him a few months after the wedding. She was worried about
Anne Grete, her oldest.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You know Gretta
married that weasel up in Tromsø; I haven’t seen either her or my grandkids in
several years and now she calls me and says it’s over and that she’s coming
home,” Jutta wailed. “Herrejesus, Gerd, what will we do with three more people
in the house?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh, pipe down,
you’ll love it. You’ll bake up a storm, whip those kids into shape, and have
everyone folding their hands at the dinner table within the month,” Gerd said
confidently.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Hmmmmm,” said
Jutta.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Look, I’m up to
my elbows in fish slime. Could I call you back later? Do you want a few slices
of halibut for dinner? I caught a monster.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Thanks, but no
thanks. We’re having pizza,” said Jutta, who was not overly fond of fish. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’ll talk to you
later, OK?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“OK. I guess it
will be good to see the kids again,” said Jutta and hung up.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd finished
cleaning the fish, cutting thick slices off the halibut. Then she froze whole
the smallest of the salmons and filleted the 2 and 3 kilo ones. It didn’t take
long. Thank goodness she had used up all her leftover mackerel from last fall,
so there was plenty of space in the freezer. The last of Einar’s shrimp were in
a box at the bottom; they would have those at a special memorial when the time
was right.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>By this time, it
was noon. The light was good, but somehow Gerd didn’t have much desire to weave
or paint. There was a small bay west of her Sandvika “spa,” where for some
reason seaweed collected year-round. It was easy going with herself as horse
pulling the sled. She decided to haul seaweed.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Seaweed was
excellent fertilizer, but it was also full of salt. It needed to be brought up
in the fall or, as now, over the snow on a sled. Then it could lie there on her
sleeping garden plots and let the snow and rain leach all salt out of it until
the spring thaw started the earth’s juices flowing again. Seaweed hauling was
hard, muscle-exhausting therapy for troubled minds.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She was bringing
up the fifth and final load when the light began to turn pink and ocher. Gerd
couldn’t not notice colors and shadows; it was in her marrow. She looked out at
the three plots she had fertilized: the berry bush garden, the herb garden, and
her vegetable plot. She’d plant those Gudbrandsdal strawberries again, she
thought, they were not too sweet and they held up perfectly as preserves.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd had put the
sled away and cleaned off the shovel and was treating herself to a warm shower
in city water when Nurket gave a loud bark. It seemed the bark of a Bull
Mastiff, not the bark of a 4–month old puppy that might be a Labrador. She
ignored it and continued to deplete the entire tank of hot water.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh, hold your
horses, I’m coming,” she shouted to Nurket, who was going postal. She wound a
towel around her hair and pulled on the blue chenille robe that hung on the
back of the bathroom door. Who the hell would be here now?</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Cranky and not at
all wanting company, Gerd padded into the kitchen in her robe. An unfamiliar
figure was standing outside her kitchen door. She yanked it open.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Who the fuck are
you?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He – it was a man
– didn’t seem too fazed by her grumpy tone.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’m so sorry. It
seems I have come at an inopportune time.” He didn’t move, but grinned lightly
at her.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Who are you,
what do you want, and I don’t want any,” said Gerd all in one breath.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Ms. Ljoset, I am
the person to whom you entrusted Einar Iversen’s body.” He was wryly formal.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“How did you know
where I live?” Gerd felt invaded. She still didn’t invite him in and the
February cold was stretching icy fingers up under her robe.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Ms. Ljoset, you
gave me your name and even your cell number. When I carried your groceries to
your boat, I couldn’t help but notice the registration number. You are not
exactly difficult to trace.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd hated that
with a passion. She wasn’t trying to disappear (not now), but she absolutely
did not want strangers in her haven. It was bad enough with the people she knew
coming by at all hours.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“OK, you found
me. Now go away.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Ms. Ljoset,
could I please ask you a few questions?” he asked, not budging from her porch
with all his width, height, and weight. For the first time in her life, Gerd
wished she had a shotgun. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh, for Christ
sake, come in and close the door. As you can see, I‘m wet. I’ll put on some
clothes,” she said, incongruously.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She left him to
his own devices while she walked slowly up the central stairs to her bedroom,
feeling his eyes on her legs with every step.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>When she came
down, he was ensconced on her sofa petting Nurket, who seemed to have no
discrimination whatsoever when it came to humans. She pulled herself up to her
full height of 1:68 and said “So, what do you want?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“It was very sad
about Mr. Iversen,” he started. Gerd remained silent.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Can you tell me
about how you found him?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The stranger, who
was becoming less of a stranger with every minute, smiled at her in his slow
way. “Ms. Ljoset, I must insist.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Insist all you
want; who the hell are you?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Well, first of
all I’m your friend. And I’m a detective with the Storesand police department.
We believe there is something unusual about Mr. Iversen’s death.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Shit. Gerd had
nothing to say, so she didn’t. He changed tactics.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“My ex-wife has a
Gerd Ljoset winter coat,” he said. Still she said nothing.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“It was one of
yours from 3 years ago. The greens and pinks. God, but it is gorgeous. Unfortunately,
she looks like a ferret in it. But the coat is still an object of beauty,” said
this idiot who had ensconced himself on her sofa.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I want you to go
away,” said Gerd evenly. “I’ll talk to the police if there is a reason to do
so, but I don’t want you here.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He didn’t seem
sad at this. Instead, he asked, “What do you know of Mr. Iversen’s history
during the war?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>What war? People
seemed to have no end of wars. The Korean war? The Vietnam war? </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I know nothing
of Einar Iversen nor of any wars he might have been in.” Still, she did not
offer him coffee or cookies, a serious breach of etiquette. Tough.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The big guy stood
up. “Before I leave, may I see your current work?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Why?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I understand you
think I’m a nosy bastard, but in addition to being that I am also one of your
greatest admirers. I bought my wife that coat. It cost me half a year’s salary.
But every time I see it, even if she is in it, I feel peace. May I?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No, you may not.
Please leave,” Gerd was insistent.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The self-declared
police detective didn’t budge. He eyed her. “You know, you’d do a whole lot
better if you cooperated with us,” he drawled.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Go away!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He finally moved
toward the door Gerd held open to the gathering February dark. As he moved past
her, he accidentally dropped a hand down her back and grabbed her ass, pulling
her close. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I like them
feisty,” he said, and squeezed, hard.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“What the devil
is going on?” It was Jonas, breathless from school, town, and the quick ride
out to Lyholmen. “Who the hell are you?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I might ask the
same,” said the big man. “Who are you?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Get out of
Gerd’s house,” Jonas stood his ground.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I am Lieutenant
Jeltsen, Storesand PD. I’m investigating a suspicious death, and it appears Ms.
Ljoset has information she is reluctant to share. I recommend that you be
cooperative.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I don’t give a
shit what you are investigating. Leave,” said Jonas in measured tones.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’m not so sure
Ms. Ljoset wants me to leave,” said the so-called detective. “Do you, my dear?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd blushed
crimson. At this point, she hated all men, all they did to her, and most
especially this intruder.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She said softly,
“Just go. Go and never come back.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The big man
pushed himself past Jonas and onto the porch. At the bottom of the stairs, he
turned.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“If you are
hiding information, Ms. Ljoset, you will answer to the law. And I’m the law
here,” he said as a parting shot as he put one foot in front of the other. He
waved his cap lightly in salutation and disappeared.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas stomped
into Gerd’s kitchen. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“What the hell were
you playing at with that imbecile?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd was taken
aback. “I wasn’t playing anything,” she said lamely. “What are you talking
about?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“He seemed awful
familiar with you,” Jonas shot back. “You seem to draw men like flies.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Have you lost
your mind?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No, I haven’t.
But I’ll tell you straight Gerd, I will have all of you or none at all.” Jonas
was clearly in an inexplicable fury. Gerd started to get mad.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Look, idiot.
This guy forces his way in here, declares himself a police detective, and acts
like he expects me to go all serf-like. I did not – I repeat not – invite him.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I won’t share
you, Gerd.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“What the fuck
are you talking about?” Flashes of father and mother ordering her about and
imposing their will on her made Gerd senseless. “I’ll do whateverthehell I want
with anyone I want and it’s none of your business!”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas looked at
her, aghast. Ten different emotions flickered over his face in rapid
succession. Without a word, he turned and ran down the snowy path, forgetting
his skis. Gerd watched him go but didn’t follow him.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The door was open
and remained open. She heard his motor start. “Not with a bang, but with a
whimper,” her mind construed out of nothing. Still she didn’t move. The motor
sound died. Gerd remained like a statue. When Jonas came bounding back up the
path, she was still there, staring at nothing.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Forgive me”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She couldn’t
talk. Jonas went down on his knees on her porch. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I don’t know
what is going on. I don’t know if anything is going on. But I can’t lose you,
Gerd. I love you.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>A smile began to
form on her frozen face.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Come in.” She
led him to the couch, pushed him down. She stood, crossing her arms. Took a
deep breath.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I have no idea
what you imagined, but whatever it was, it was insanity. I have one man at a
time; I always have. This pendejo (she spoke Spanish when she was agitated)
pushed his way in here, accused me of unnamed crimes, and leered at me. I do
not – repeat not – accept blame as the cause of men’s desires.” Gerd was a
statue.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>One man at the
time. Not him, necessarily, and not forever. Jonas felt his world beginning to
shatter, brittily.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Please.” It was
all he could say.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Please what?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Please keep me.”
That wasn’t what he had intended to say, but his intentions were melting like
snow in April.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Understanding was
beginning to dawn. “Did you think I was two-timing you?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He shouldn’t say
yes, he really shouldn’t. “Yes,” he said, simply.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd’s face was
beginning to smile. Jealousy, that was what this was. The stupid man was
jealous of some idiot.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Jonas.” He only
looked at her, hurting.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Jonas, I did not
invite him. I do not want him. I did not want him. I’ll never want him, or
anyone else. You are my man; you are the only man I want in my life.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Never had the
angel chorus sounded as good. Jonas began to feel breath return to his body.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’m sorry,” he
finally croaked. She still stood like a statue. She held out her hands.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas slowly
pulled himself upright. Moved towards her like a zombie. Stretched out wooden
arms and tried to fold them around her. Gerd helped him, placing his hands on
the small of her back. </span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You need locks
on your doors,” he said, apropos nothing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I have Nurket.”
The canine in question had hid under the sofa while the war between his two
humans was raging. Now he bellied himself out, tail tentatively wagging
horizontally on the floor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’ll make some
tea,” Gerd decided. Tea, that was what the British did in times of trauma and
distress. They made tea.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>They hardly
talked. Did mundane things like wash the tea cups, feed the enormous cat, and
let the dog out for a final tinkle in the night. At last, Gerd remembered the
box from the library. She went to the rose chest and got it out. Jonas looked
on, incuriously.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She opened the
box and placed the contents into three piles on the big dining room table. One
pile for newspaper clippings, yellowed and brittle, one for what looked like
letters, and a very small pile of photographs.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>February 1939 was
a brief notice of a shipwreck of French fishermen and the heroic rescue of said
men by a young Joacim Corneliussen. From 1946, a list of qualified deep sea
divers for Norges Redningsforbund (the Norwegian Ocean Rescue Society) included
the name Einar Iversen. An un-dated, brief obituary mentioned that Gunnar Katte
Jeltzen had been found in the woods, a suicide. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The letters were
hand-written. One was almost entirely water-logged and nearly impossible to
read. “Meine einzige Tochter. Hilfen Sie uns.” It made no sense. One letter was
signed Frank Åge, and said “I will never forget. You will suffer for your
iniquity in this world and the next.” Frank Åge Samuelsen? It was not an
uncommon name. The photos showed a few people she recognized: Einar, Joacim, a
young girl who might have been Nora Smestad 60 years ago. One grainy
black-and-white photo seemed to show something dangling from a tree branch.
Gerd couldn’t make it out. Another showed three men grinning at the camera,
kings of the world: Einar and two others she wasn’t sure of. She’d have to
match those against the Courier database, which functioned so-so. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd and Jonas
pored over the letters and photos for a long time without illumination. At
last, they called it a night and spent the dark, cold February night in chaste
company. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-537149907475064312012-05-18T11:29:00.000-07:002012-06-22T11:30:26.348-07:00Chapter 9<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Alexis Dupreux had arrived in Storesand in 1939. With 10 of his
shipmates, he was rescued by pilot Joacim Corneliussen after their fishing
vessel had run aground in a storm off the south coast of Norway. The young
pilot – only 22 at the time – had been lying on the top of Heia in the middle
of Lyholmen island, scanning the horizon with binoculars he had appropriated
from his father. He wasn’t looking for fishing boats, far from it. He was
searching for a paying vessel that would bring some much-needed coin to the
Corneliussen family. With a sinking feeling he observed the hapless fishing
boat getting closer and closer to the skerries east of the lighthouse. Damn,
didn’t they have enough sense to turn west? The only safe approach to land
outside the town of Storesand was through the west channel. It was clearly
marked on all charts.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
When he saw them hit, Joacim felt a moment’s hesitation. It would do
him no good to save them; they surely had no money and would only pay him in
gratitude, if that. Since his father had lost what little he owned in the crash
of ’29, the Corneliussen family had struggled hand to mouth, with five growing
children to feed and his mother getting greyer and smaller every day. At 19,
Joacim had sat for and passed the pilot exams, which gave him exactly nothing.
He still had to maintain his own boat and compete against all the other pilots
to be first on the scene when a paying vessel approached.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
He didn’t exactly run down the hill. Untying his boat at the central
pier, he reluctantly moved into the lee of the island. All right, he had
committed. Let the wind be damned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Joacim passed T<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ø</span>rnforbi and was instantly hit by the waves and the surge.
He scarcely noticed, muttering to himself “You fool, you idiot.” Grudgingly,
his wooden boat made its steady way out to the skerries and the shipwreck. They
appeared to be trying to set lifeboats on the water, which was as much use as a
cork in a maelstrom. They saw him.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
An hour later, Joacim has all 11 safely in town. Safe, but now what? He
recommended going up to the church. Surely a church would feed and house the
shipwreck survivors; who else would? The captain of the vessel had gone
overboard and drowned, he had learned, and what he rescued was nothing more
than simple sailors and fishermen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Most of the survivors made it back to Flanders before the war broke
out, but one man stayed: Alexis Dupreux. Alexis was handy with hammer and saw
and could fix almost anything. What’s more, his dark eyes flashed signals at
the local girls that they had never known before. It wasn’t long until the
fathers of the town forbade their daughters to see Mr. Dupreux. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Saturdays, the local Kiwanis club arranged dances for the unattached.
War or no war, the dances were not cancelled. “Can’t let the filthy Krauts take
everything, now can we?” On such a Saturday, Einar Iversen met Alexis Dupreux,
in the dubious company of Gunnar Katte Jeltzen. Einar, only 17 at the time,
still lived with his parents on V<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>gen, a large island connected to the
mainland by a truss bridge. Einar was a good student at the local high school
and had only recently discovered girls. He still blushed when they laughed at
him. Gunnar wasn’t quite right in the head. He seemed to have no morals at all:
all was equal to Gunnar Katte. Alexis, from a warmer climate to the south, had
figured out girls years ago. After dancing and making out with several of the
local beauties, Alexis started to get bored and challenged Gunnar and Einar to
a poker game in the woods. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
It was March of 1942. No time for a friendly poker game. But the boys
were bored and gathered on a little hill on V<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>gen, where there was a
clearing and the snow was beginning to melt. They fashioned a table from their
skis. That stupid little girlfriend of Einar’s, Nora, showed up after a while,
but they largely ignored her. She tiptoed around them and finally sat down
behind Einar. Whispered something to him. His face turned red.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“You’re cheating!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“What? Just because you’re a fool at poker ……”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“We’ll just see, won’t we? Give me the deck. I’ll deal.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Alexis gave him the deck of greasy cards missing two jokers. Einar
shuffled, shuffled, and shuffled. He dealt the cards. Alexis grinned at him. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Let’s make it interesting, shall we? Have you seen that German whore
of Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge’s?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“What about her?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“She has to come out some time. Loser takes her.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Takes her how? Gunnar snickered, but Einar was dumbfounded.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“OK,” he said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Nora had whispered to him that Alexis dealt from the bottom of the
deck. With the deck under his command, Einar was sure to win.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
But Lady Luck is fickle. Even at honest cards, Alexis held the winning
hand: a straight flush. One in a million; no one ever draws straight flush from
one deck. Gunnar had bowed out early.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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“So, little boy,” said Lexis. “What do we do now?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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Einar threw the cards in the melting snow. “I don’t give a fuck. I’m
going home.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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“Oh, no, scout. Giving a fuck is exactly what you’ll do. You lost fair.
Don’t know what to do, little man?” Alexis’ voice was cruel and bitter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Both Gunnar and Einar got up to leave, but Alexis stopped them with a
finger to his lips. They listened. In the brittle air, soft words reached them
“Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten, dass ich so traurig bin …..”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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“There she is, that little whore,” hissed Alexis. “German bitch. Let’s
show her we’re not cowards, right boys?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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One man has a conscience, but a mob of three has none. Alexis had had
her first, while Gunnar gave encouraging shouts. When he took Lexis’ place, he
came in a few thrusts. Pulled out and wiped himself on her dress. She was
strangely still. When she felt the second rapist leave, she opened her eyes a
bit and made to get up. She was bleeding, Einar saw. He wanted to cover her and
carry her home. But the boys would have none of it. In spite of his disgust,
Einar had grown ready and they could see it. Lexis pinned his arms behind his
back and Gunnar opened his fly. He should have struggled, but he didn’t. Lise
Lotte saw the hunger in the eyes of this dark haired boy, so handsome and so
unlike her gimpy rescuer. She lay back down. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“She’s inviting you, the bitch. I told you she was a whore,” Alexis
said, his voice raw with anger. She hadn’t invited him. They pushed Einar down
on his knees between hers. She didn’t move. He couldn’t, but he did. He did. In
less than a few heartbeats, Einar convulsed inside her. He fell over her, shame
boiling his blood. The other two pulled him off. She got up, slowly. Pulled her
skirts down; didn’t look at any of them. Started walking with a strange, wide
gait down the hill to the shack. Never looked back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
That was Einar’s first time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Alexis and Gunnar seemed to have had the wind knocked out of them. Silently,
the three boys picked up their cards and went their separate ways. Nora had
been watching from behind a tree, but she never told anyone.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
That night Einar broke into a grocery store and stole six beers. Joacim
Corneliussen found him on the dock in Vika, quietly getting as drunk as he
could. It didn’t take much to make Einar spill his despair. At 22, Joacim was
already a seasoned resistance fighter, one of the most trusted “boys in the
woods.” Yes, this was rape, but rape in wartime in normal practice. Joacim
helped Einar down the last beer, then towed Einar’s small rowboat out to V<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>gen
and made sure he got in his house with no one noticing. Joacim decided to
forget the enemy skirmish, as he called it to himself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Seven years later, the war had been over for 4 years. June 1949. Joacim
had recruited Einar to the resistance and Gunnar had invited himself. There was
always something about Gunnar Katte Jeltzen, something that made them not talk
openly when he was around. But he was there when the word was passed that
Alexis had been held for “questioning,” and none of them believed he would stay
silent. They were sure they would be next. Quietly they started arranging
“transport” to Sweden. Their guide was the eccentric woodsman who had played
cards with them now and then. He never said his name; they didn’t tell theirs.
A group of 17 began the journey north and east; 15 made it across. Gunnar and
Einar were two of the lucky ones. They had separated in Sweden and Einar had
come back alone in the summer of 45. Gunnar returned in 48, bigger, fatter, and
with a petite Swedish wife.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
By 49, it was safe to celebrate. The Kiwanis held a bryggedans (dance
on the docks) in their honor as heroes of the resistance. The local paper interviewed
them. Gunnar had lots to say about his own heroism and feats; most everyone
else said little. Time passed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Einar, as a son of the ocean, had jumped on the chance to learn deep
sea diving with the coast guard. With the guard, he traveled up and down the
long coast of Norway, from the south to the frigid north. Whenever a boat had
gone down, it was Einar’s sad task to dive for the bodies of the shipwrecked.
He often accompanied the guard officer and the police to the home of the
family, who wanted to see anyone on the world but them. For Einar, it was
penance.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
He met his wife-to-be in a small town north of Bod<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">ø</span>.
Anne Lise Helene Grensvik was the youngest daughter of a fisherman. He could
not get her eyes out of his mind after bringing the news of the shipwreck to
the grieving family. There were 5 daughters in the family; they were relieved
when he asked for her hand in marriage. She accepted.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
When his father passed away, Einar and Anne Lise settled into a quiet
life on Lyholmen. Einar fished for a living. Sometimes he looked at the diving
gear the coast guard had let him keep, but it didn’t call to him. They had no
children, which was fine with Einar: he didn’t want to share his Anne Lise, his
angel. In the fall of 1949, he happened to catch a story on NRK about German
shipwrecks along the Norwegian coast. The “Sieg” was mentioned. Einar vaguely
remembered it. It was rumored – said the breathless announcer – that the German
warship had also carried bullion, gold or silver to buy what could still be bought
and not looted from the occupied Norwegians. Unlikely.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Still, the story stayed on Einar’s mind. One day he brought the now
cracking and rusting gear in his fishing boat out past <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Ø</span>rneredet to Hyseb<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>ene,
where they said the warship had sunk. He suited up and dived. It took several
tries, but he did locate the wreck. There were no bodies; all the men who had
gone down with her had long since been nibbled and turned into the day’s catch.
He swam into the ship, knowing that it was crazy dangerous. Found the hold, and
was able to open it. 15 iron chests, too heavy to hold only seaweed. He brought
three of them up to his boat and opened the first one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
It was early morning and the sun was just rising. When he pulled up the
lid of the first chest, he felt blinded. The sun’s rays hit something that
shone back with a hellish brilliance. Silver. Kilos and kilos of silver. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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Gunnar, Alexis, and Einar had kept up their “poker club” after the
armistice, playing for pennies. But Einer, a poor fisherman, wanted to raise
the stakes. Where he got the money, no one knew, but the boys were soon deep in
debt to him, Gunnar in particular. His Swedish wife had champagne tastes on a
beer budget. Einar never collected what they owed him; he just lent them more.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge was not invited to the poker club, but Einar saw him
regularly. After the war, Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge had taken a job at the local
sawmill. All his earnings went to beer. Einar quietly paid his electricity bill
on many occasions. Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge didn’t seem to notice.</div>
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<br /></div>
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By 1953, the world had resumed its normal rotation and times were
getting better. Rationing was a memory. Grocery stores were laden with produce
(oranges in January!), meat, and toilet paper that didn’t take the skin off
your bum. One day, a big man was waiting for Einar outside Fiskebrygga where he
had delivered his catch.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Oswald Kampainen.” He held out his hand.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It was their guide from the Sweden transport, a few years older but
unforgettable.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Herregud, mann, I never knew your name.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Now you do.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“What can I say? I owe you my life.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Well, that’s as it may be. Not why I sought you out. I have discovered
something.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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They went to a dockside café for coffee and the local version of
donuts.</div>
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<br /></div>
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After three cups of coffee and equally many home-rolled cigarettes, Kampainen
pulled out a tan envelope and gave it to Einar.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“He was working for them.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Who?”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Open it.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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In the envelope were documents in German, which Einar didn’t read. But
Oswald did. He translated:</div>
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<br /></div>
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Gunnar Eigil Katte Jeltzen brought information about four hidden radios
in town. Seek and imprison.</div>
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Gunnar Jeltzen believes Hans Sme<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>sen is an important member of the
unlawful resistance. Find and execute.</div>
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Gunnar Katte Jeltzen indicated that there was to be a resistance
meeting at the home of Doctor Jonassen. Take all participants prisoner and
execute.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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God almighty. It went on in that vein, every document a nail in
Gunnar’s coffin. Gunnar had been an informer, a collaborator. In 1953, Nazi
collaborators were treated to brief prison sentences. Norway did not have
capital punishment, with the one exception of Vidkun Quisling.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Einar started at Kampainen. The answer was obvious, but he didn’t want
to say it aloud. He said, “I need to talk to Los Corneliussen.” Kampainen
nodded.</div>
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<br /></div>
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A week later, Einar had invited to another poker game. Present were
himself, Gunnar, Joacim, and Alexis. Oswald was hiding in the trees just
beyond, a strong rope looped over an oak branch.</div>
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<br /></div>
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After he dealt, Einar threw the envelope in the center of the group.
“Open it,” he said to Gunnar, who paled.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“It’s not how you think it is.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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“How is it then? Sme<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>sen was executed at Grini; Doctor
Jonassen was transported to Treblinka with his wife and three sons. How many
people have you killed, Gunnar?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Gunnar got up and started running. Ran right into the arms of Oswald
Kampainen.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I have a wife and two children! Dag Eigil is only seven! I only did
what I had to do. They were going to take my father because of his radio. My
mother and sisters would have starved!”</div>
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<br /></div>
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It didn’t take long. The three men dragged and half carried Gunnar to
the waiting tree. No one spoke. Kampainen lowered the noose around his neck and
pulled, sudden and hard.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Gunnar’s body was found a week later. On his chest was pinned a note
which said “I’m a traitor and a collaborator.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
The next time Einar saw Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge, he told. Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge
felt cheated. “That one should have been mine,” he thought. “He was mine.” But
he said nothing to Einar. They had a few beers and then a few more. When Einar
made his wobbly way down to his boat, Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge whispered to the wind “You
think I don’t know, don’t you? You think I don’t know who killed my baby.
Gunnar was one and he’s lost to me now. Surely he’ll burn in hell, but that’s
not enough. I’ll get you, too, Einar. And the holier-than-thou pilot, and that
darkling Frenchman, and even the guide that brought you to safety when you
should have had none. You will all suffer and die.”</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Twenty-seven years passed. Einar lost his Anne Lise to cancer. Alexis
Dupreux had moved to Havnsheia with his only daughter, Toril. On a January
afternoon in 1983, Alexis Jean Dupreux had just left his doctor’s office with a
verdict of skin cancer, melanoma. “Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that right
away,” said the physician cheerfully; he couldn’t have reached 30 years of age.
Alexis didn’t worry. Life was short and brutal. That he had achieved 63 years
was a downright miracle. He stopped in at his usual café downtown and ordered a
cappuccino – his stomach couldn’t handle raw coffee anymore. An older gentleman
asked if he could sit down at his table, the café being as crowded as it was.
Alexis waved his hand in acceptance.</div>
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<br /></div>
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He barely glanced at the man, who was slight and stoop-shouldered.
However, the man’s accent reminded him of something. “Not from here?” he asked
pleasantly.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“I was born on V<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>gen,” the man said. His eyes didn’t seem to point in the
same direction.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“V<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>gen?
Outside Storesand? I lived there for a while. I don’t think I know you, though,
do I?”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“You knew her,” said the man. “You knew my wife. You knew her in the
most evil sense, I might add.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Excuse me?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
The older man looked up. “My name is Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge Samuelsen. In 1942, you
raped my wife. She died. You are responsible. For that, you will also die.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Alexis was confused and alarmed. “You must have me confused with
someone else. I have no idea what you are talking about. Good bye.” He got up
to leave. The strange man grabbed his coat sleeve.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“I promised her,” he said simply. Alexis left.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Three days later, the same man showed up at his door. Ms. Dupreux, Toril,
answered. She stared at the apparition, shocked.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“What the glowing hell are you doing here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“You remember me,” the old man said, satisfied.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“You made our lives miserable in Storesand. Because of you, we moved up
here to Havnsheia. What do you want?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“I want your father. Yes, you are a spawn of his seed and by that you
carry his guilt, but it is he I want.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“He is resting.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
“Tell him Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge Samuelsen wants retribution.”</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
A week later, the obituary in Aftenposten read “Alexis Jean Dupreux, 63
years of age, apparently killed himself while cleaning his shotgun at his
residence in Havnsheia. He is survived by his daughter, Toril Dupreux, 46, and
his grandchild, Olav.” A slightly more extensive obituary ran in the renowned
Storesand newspaper, the Courier.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
In April 1983, Einar Iversen went over to V<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">å</span>gen to bring Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge
some herring. Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge hadn’t been looking good lately; he probably needed
some food other than potatoes. Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge wasn’t at home. Einar took the path
up the hill without thinking as his feet set themselves down one before the
other. At the top, he heard a sound the like of which he never wished to hear
ever again. A man, grieving.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
In the clearing where so many years ago Einar had lost his virginity to
the German girl, Frank <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Å</span>ge was kneeling. He had brought a posy of the spring’s
first flowers. They were sprinkled over a cairn of stones.</div>
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<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-9035160737937582482012-05-17T09:45:00.000-07:002012-06-25T09:45:57.021-07:00Chapter 10<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas had stayed glued to her side all weekend. They had had long talks
about jealousy, possessiveness, and what being a couple meant. No resolution.
“You don’t own me,” had been a refrain. “Can you commit to me?” had been
another.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Finally, they had come to some kind of agreement. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd: “I want to be free. I
don’t want to be constrained by someone else’s desires or wishes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas: “I want freedom, too.
And I want your freedom. But I need to know, for sure and for certain, that you
won’t open yourself to anyone else.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd: “So you want to put
chains on me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas: “No. I want to know that
you want fidelity.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd: “Does this just have to
do with sex?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas: “No,” hesitantly, then
“Yes.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd: “I can easily promise
you that I won’t sleep with anyone else without telling you first.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas: “I want that you only
want me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd: “I only want you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It went round and round. “We humans want both,” thought Gerd. “We want
certainty and security and we also want to just pack up and leave.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas thought, “I want her to lean on me, rely on me, need me. I want to
be the one she turns to.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Sunday morning, out on top of the Forliset peninsula, he had proposed
marriage, again. She was not convinced.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“What does marriage do for us, my love? Marriage is a legal condition
of inheritance and the right to dispose of property. Do you want to inherit my
house?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">No, that was not what he wanted. “I want to put a ring on your finger
as a sign to all other men to keep away.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Like the ring in the nose of a bull.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“No. As a signal to the world that you have chosen me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“You know, in the old days, people didn’t parade their wealth for all
and sundry. They kept their treasures to themselves.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“So I’m a fool. Sue me.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd smiled. “Honey, let me tell you this. Since I met you there has
been no other. I don’t even dream of Fher Olvera anymore. You are my man. I
respect you, I rely on you, I trust you. I even love you and by god I desire
you. Will that do?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It would have to do. Jonas embraced her hard out there on the tip of
the granite peninsula. His thoughts were churning. “I could force her,” he
thought. “I’m bigger and stronger. I can force her submission. But I cannot
force her free choice.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They made their slow way back across the peninsula. At Dyrevann, Jonas
stopped and laughed out loud.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“What?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I’m such a male animal. All I have been thinking about since we left
the house is how I can get you horizontal.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Hah! And I was thinking about plants.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Plants?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes. I was thinking about the properties of all the plants sleeping
under the snow that we don’t know and can’t use.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Don’t you ever think of sex?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I do. A lot. As you found out last week.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A look from Jonas told her he did indeed remember, and fondly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They made their way across the island, following paths that existed
more in memory than in reality. The path Gerd was leading them exited at the
soccer field, next to nyhusene. Six nearly new houses had been constructed by a
company that had gambled on six or more families wanting to “return to their
roots” and build lives on the island of Lyholmen. The houses had been bought,
but not by anyone who could manage to live there. One family had tried, a
couple and two kids, but after last winter’s storms and isolation, even they
had packed it in. Sometimes relatives or friends of the owners stayed there for
a while. At this point, there was nobody. The houses were empty shells, cold
and dark.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“What time is it?” Gerd asked Jonas, who glanced surprised at his
watch. “12:45.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Let’s go out and say hello to the Gundersens.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Who?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“There is a family that lives way out on the east tip. I had a visit
from their two daughters yesterday. I’d like to say hello.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">That was unusual. Gerd saying hello to anyone and expecting to be
invited in for coffee and cake was not at all normal. Perhaps something to do
with hormones. Jonas nodded his head and they trudged up the snow-covered
asphalt path toward the east side.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Over the hill, they descended on the cozy red house that was a café in
summer. No one lived there in winter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“There are people living out here at this time of year?” Jonas was
doubtful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“There are. See that cement dock over there? That’s the Gundersens.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Never heard of them.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“They keep pretty much to themselves. They arrived in May last year. I
think the dad is an accountant with Fidelity. They have twin daughters, 15.
Peppi and Kaia. The girls showed up on my doorstep yesterday, skipping school.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But the Gundersen house was dark and the boat was gone from the dock. It
was quiet and beautiful out on that side of the island, big trees, some arable
farmland (hadn’t been farmed in 100 years), great anchoring. There was still
enough snow to ski on and Jonas and Gerd wished they had brought their skis.
But they hadn’t, so they trudged through the ankle-deep snow back to the asphalt
path. They made it as far as Nanna’s.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nanna and Peder lived on the second floor of their white, wood-sided
house, roofed in red tile. Downstairs in the back was Peder’s woodshop; he was
an excellent carpenter and carver. Gerd had bought the larger of her two
bedroom dressers from Peder. It was made from local oak and so finely made that
not a single joint showed. Gerd saw Peder as a fellow artist although Peder
laughed at the idea in his quiet way.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The front room downstairs held a long counter, shelves, freezers, and a
huge walk-in refrigerator. In the summer months, usually from May through
September, Nanna ran a small general store. Since their house was the first the
tourists came to as they got off the ferry, she had brisk business in ice cream
and sodas on sunny days as well as everything the tent campers would need no
matter what the weather. Right now the only things on the shelves were canned
and paper goods. The store was closed, but if anyone ran out of toiletpaper and
the weather was too bad to make a run to town, Nanna would always open the till
and accept a few kroner. Her “St. Johannes Day fund,” she called it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nanna had been in Storesand with her 10-year old daughter Elise on a
brief vacation from her nursing job in Gudbrandsdalen when she met Peder. Peder
and a recently divorced buddy from Copenhagen were camping on the fields
variously called the St. Hans fields, the Granary, or simply “the grass” by different
locals. The buddy was tall, dark, handsome, and drunk. Peder won the blond
cheerful woman with his slow smile and his patient way of teaching Elise to
row. Neither had been on Lyholmen before and both fell in love with it. When by
a strange turn of events the ramshackle house near the ferry came on the market
a couple of years later, Peder took out his life savings from the bank, got a
job at a marina in town, and proposed marriage to Nanna. Elise was the one who
said yes. The little family had moved in and Elise had finished high school in
town. Jonas had been her favorite teacher.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Peder was inland helping a farmer with a hay bailer that wouldn’t run
and Nanna was alone. They chatted about this and that for an hour – even Nanna
couldn’t ruin the requisite coffee. In the middle of Nanna telling a hilarious
story about her dour neighbors in Gudbrandsdalen, where she had grown up,
Gerd’s cell rang. She looked at her ringing pocket, surprised. It was the
hospital; Gerd had given them her number when she and Peder had brought in Los
Joacim. She listened for a while, made some noises, and said “Will tomorrow
around noon be OK?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">To Jonas and Nanna, she said, “Joacim is ready to come home, but they
said he ought to have someone look after him for a week or so. He doesn’t have
any family I know of. Do you think we should hire a nurse?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Nanna laughed and pointed at herself. “Hire a nurse? You have one right
here. Of course I’ll look after him.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Great. Gerd called the hospital back and told them. That seemed to satisfy
everyone s and Jonas and Gerd made their slow way back to her house, arm in
arm.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">That evening, Gerd was weaving her petroleum and salmon coat fabric for
Tonje Hjerte upstairs in her studio, Jonas occupying the only comfortable chair
in the room, reading. He had found some history books in one of her bookshelves
(Gerd never got rid of a book – she even still had her university textbooks)
and had picked up an old, small monograph about local Resistance history. One chapter
mentioned Storesand, not a major player in the drama of occupied Norway. He
read aloud to Gerd:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Resistance was mostly
individual in South Coast County. There was little to no Milorg presence.
However, there was a Nazi HQ of sorts in Storesand. Storesand was probably
chosen over Hanvsheia, considerably bigger, for its protected, deep-water
harbor. The German fleet had lost a warship somewhere in the vicinity; it was
never found. However, as was their practice, since they couldn’t find any
guilty parties, they instituted a general reign of terror over the meek
population of Storesand in the spring and summer of 1942. Fathers and sons were
hauled in for “questioning;” some survived to tell of the brutality. It was
rumored that the Nazi commanders – little more than boys – gave a few select
“individual of interest” a choice: turn collaborator or we’ll execute your
entire family. Most saw this as another empty threat since the poor and hungry
German soldiers couldn’t eat without the bounty of the sea gathered for them by
the populace. But both documents and mouth-to-ear stories told of some who did
turn informer. Three names that were not revealed until the late 1950s were
Gunnar Katte Jeltzen, Petter Tønnesen, and Ingrid Smestad.
Tønnesen and Smestad were tried in 1959 and convicted
of crimes against the state; Jeltzen had committed suicide in 1952. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Stories of patriotism and
sacrifice also abounded, some documented, some not. Many of them involved the
border guides who helped transport suspected patriots to neutral Sweden. One of
the most involved border guides was not discovered until the 1980s; he had kept
himself so well hidden. This was the famous Oswald Kampainen, a veteran of the
Finnish Winter War of 1939-40. Kampainen, a naturalized Swede, showed up on the
official labor union rolls as a woodcutter in Storesand in 1948. How he had
made it back across the Mannerheim line, into Sweden, and then into occupied
Norway is not known. When identified and discovered in Oslo in 1989, Kampainen
refused to talk. But others talked for him. It is told that he made perhaps
20-30 border runs with the “transport” from Norway to Sweden. One man who spoke
up for Kampainen was Einar Iversen, a fisherman on an island outside Storesand.
“We called him “the woodsman,” said Iversen. “We were maybe 20 men in 1943 and
the Nazis were on our trail. Kampainen hid us in the hills, found us food where
there was none, and kept up morale. He deserves the King’s medal, to be sure.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd had only been half listening. Now she looked up, “Did you say
Jeltzen? That unpleasant man who says he is a police detective called himself
Jeltzen.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“There must be hundreds of Jeltzens,” said Jonas, “ but it might
warrant looking into for all that. If that asshole ever approaches you again,
I’ll kill him with my bare hands.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd smiled crookedly. Jonas was the most peaceful of men; he didn’t
even squash a spider. Still, his overprotectiveness might be smothering at
times, but it also gave her a deep sense of security. The evening passed
uneventfully.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Let’s get married,” said Jonas again apropos nothing in the middle of
Monday morning breakfast. Gerd choked on her mouthful of eggs and bacon.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Didn’t we talk about this already?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“We did, but you didn’t say yes,” he replied as calmly as if they had
been discussing the weather and went back to buttering toast.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd was not at her best in the mornings and her brain was pretty much
mush until her third cup of coffee. She poured herself one more.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t want to move to town.” Jonas was elated. She was softening.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Of course not. I’ll move out here with you. We’ll keep the house on
Fillene. I’ll rent it out.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Done deal, was it? “Hmmmm,” was all Gerd could say. She finally looked
up to see his brown eyes crinkle at her. “OK, I’ll think about it.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas wasn’t going to push his luck any further and just smiled. He was
running late and got up to find his outer gear for the 10 minute trip into
town. The day was overcast, but they hadn’t had any more snow. He kissed her,
gently and thoroughly.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“My 12<sup>th</sup> graders have Norwegian essays due today,” he told
her. “I’m sure I would be very bad company. Should I plan to stay in town?” He
wanted to give her space and time to think. Perhaps time to miss him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd smiled and reached for more coffee. “Of course. I’ll go get the
nets and then check on Joacim and Nanna. Hope he hasn’t driven her crazy yet.
He’s a bit of a curmudgeon.” To put it mildly.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">After Jonas had left and she was feeling more or less human, Gerd
whistled for Nurket and the two of them headed for the boat. It was a dreary
day, low clouds, no wind, perhaps +2 or 3 Celcius. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The catch was small, but there were seven 1.5 kilo ocean trout that
would fetch a stellar price. In addition, her beautiful nets had caught two
plastic milk bottles, some stray vinyl rope, and a brown glass bottle. Gerd was
irritated. Did people think the ocean was a garbage dump? All the way to town
and Fiskebrygga she brooded on how people these days just threw things away
without a thought. Nurket said nothing, sensing her state of mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She kept back one of the 1 kilo trout. She had a metal container that
fir that size fish perfectly and she wanted to start a rakørret
(brined trout) for Jonas. On her way home, she stopped at the postmistress
porch to pick up the Storesand Courier from her porch and walked up to Los
Joacim’s house.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Joacim was sitting up in bed, being unusually pleasant to Nanna, who
was making him a sandwich. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Hei, los, how are you feeling?” Gerd asked the old man, who actually
didn’t look the worse for wear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well, I think I’ll live,” the old pilot admitted. “Looks like I can’t
get rid of her.” He inclined his head at Nanna. The latter brought a tray with
two cheese sandwiches, one goat cheese and one Jarlsberg, a cut-up apple, and a
tall glass of milk.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Now be good and eat, los,” she said. “You have to keep up your
strength.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd laughed at the dismayed look of the once-powerful pilot. He didn’t
dare say it, but this was food for 5 year olds.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They chatted a while and Gerd and Nurket took their leave. Back home,
she cleaned the trout, mixed 60 grams sea salt with a pinch of sugar, and
covered the fish with a cutting board Jonas had made for her that fit the
container without a millimeter to spare. To the right of her front door, she
had set aside one solitary rock that weighed exactly 1 kg. she weighted down
the fish with the rock and placed it all on her front porch, sheltered from
rain or snow. The temperature was perfect; a few degrees above zero. If it
dropped considerably, she would put it in the shed. She sat down with more
coffee and the Courier.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Like everyone else, Gerd read the paper in a specific order. First
“Bekjentgjørelser”
(Announcements). This was where you would find out about planned blackouts (as
opposed to non-planned ones), the agenda for the city council meeting, etc.
Then the obituaries. She didn’t recognize any names; that was good. And then
today’s amusement, the “for sale” section. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“For sale, a wedding dress size 48, worn twice. I never want to see the
thing again.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“For sale, 9.9 hp Mercury outboard motor. Runs occasionally.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“For sale, a well broken-in baby carriage. My husband had a vasectomy.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The journalistic merits of the Courier were not spectacular, and Gerd
usually skipped lightly over today’s stories. However, one half-column on page
three caught her attention. A power boat had been found drifting outside
Treungene. The owner had been identified; he seemed rather sorry that they had
towed in his boat. Probably the insurance payment would be worth much more than
the boat. He told the paper that he had had a dog with him. The dog had
probably drowned when they hit the underwater skerry. He didn’t seem to care
very much.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd looked at Nurket dozing by her feet. No, she was not going to
attempt to trace his owner. He had an owner now and it was her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Continue weaving? Start a new painting? She decided that she needed a
walk and that the halibut she had frozen a couple of days ago could use good
homes. Did Nurket want to come? When did he not?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She brought her gifts to Tanta Anita, who was delighted and to Gamlefru
Andresen, likewise. Declined Mrs. Andresen’s offer of sherry, which the old
lady didn’t seem to mind. More for her. She didn’t see Jutta or Henrik, but
since Henkie was a fisherman, giving them halibut was a bit of coals to
Newcastle. She heard loud male voices up at the old school house, and Nurket
barked. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Peder was face down into some kind of machine while Jon Eirik and Per
Christian cheered him on. Jon Eirik had inherited the building that had been
used as the island school up until the war and he had moved in with his lover
Trond. 33 years old and already a renowned architect, Jon Eirik Nissan had had
enough of Oslo in-fighting and politics, and had been glad to escape to the
remote island. Trond, a baker who could get a job anywhere, joined him soon
afterwards. The sound of Trond opening up his motor at 4am as he left for work
always woke up Nanna, but she tolerated it cheerfully. Per Christian was the
baby of the trio, barely 21. He was not sure he was gay but thought he might
be. PC, as they called him, came from a harsh family of Trondhjem elite; he had
left home as soon as legally possible. PC hadn’t found his calling yet, but the
steadying influence of Jon Eirik and Trond was beginning to have an effect. PC
was enrolled in three online courses from the open university: American
literature, remedial math, and art history. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Hei Gerd, come over and see what we found!” PC’s voice was
enthusiastic. “That’s an adorable dog; what’s her name?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“It’s a he and he doesn’t really have a name yet,” Gerd smiled. “For
now I’m calling him Nurket. What is that monstrosity?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Peder surfaced, closed the lid of the machine, and yanked on a starting
rope. The thing shuddered and came to life. Nurket backed off, barking.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“It appears to be an antique snow blower,” said Jon Eirik, grinning at
PC’s obvious delight. “Too bad we haven’t had much snow yet.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh, but we will, for sure,” said PC. “And when we do, I’ll be the one
you’ll thank for keeping the road open.” Lyholmen didn’t actually have a road,
but the asphalt path running most of the length of the island was called that.
The road.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The noise was deafening and both Gerd and Nurket would prefer more
quiet. She handed a bag of three halibut fillets to Jon Eirik. “Ask Trond to
bring some potatoes from town,” she recommended. “Man does not live by bread
alone.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They thanked her repeatedly. Peder accepted a package as well and that
left one. The small woman and the soon-to-get-bigger dog continued up the hill
and down again toward the Gundersen house.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It was about 2pm and the girls would not have returned from school yet.
Gerd was hoping to catch Eva Gundersen alone. She did. Gerd knocked on the door
and Eva answered. She didn’t seem to want to invite them in, but when Nurket
lay down and contrived to look pathetic, she relented.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It was dark inside the old house. Gerd had noticed rotten boards on the
outside, but the inside was neat. She could not see a TV nor even a radio. Mrs.
Gundersen started boiling water for coffee, the old-fashioned kind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I’m sorry about Einar Iversen,” the gaunt, mousy-haired woman told
Gerd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, it was really sad.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I didn’t know him, but I remember my father mentioning him a few
times.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Really? Was your father from here?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“No, he came from Finland, but he was in Storesand during the war. I
have some old photographs, would you like to see them?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd would. Eva Gundersen soon returned with a heavy, old photo album.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There were pictures of Storesand and many from the big and small
islands, including Lyholmen. The trees were so much smaller! A few pages later
in the album, she saw someone she thought she recognized. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Is that Joacim Corneliussen? Goodness, but he was a handsome man in
those days,” Gerd asked Eva.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, it is. And that is Einar Iversen next to him.” Einar at 18 or so
was tall, dark-haired, and rather rakish. “And that’s my father, Oswald.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd studied the photographs a long time. They were back-and-white and
faded, but she could still make out a large, dark man in the background.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“His name was Oswald?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes. Oswald Kampainen. I was Eva Kampainen until I married Andreas.”
Eva pointed to another photo. “That is three of the men my father guided across
the border during the war.” Gerd recognized Joacim and Einar. “Who is the
third?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I can’t remember his name. My dad may have told me, but I didn’t pay
much attention to all this war stuff,” Eva smiled apologetically. “I think he
was a Frenchman.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A small photo toward the back of the album showed a blond man with a
tiny wife posing for the camera. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Do you know who they are?” asked Gerd.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Not really, but it may have been the guy who committed suicide. Hanged
himself, dad said,” Eva offered.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Eva Gundersen was starting to act a little nervously. “The girls will
be home soon,” she told Gerd. They come back with the 3 o’clock ferry. Gerd
wisely decided not to tell their mother that the girls had spent Friday
ditching school. She got up to leave.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On her way out, Gerd opened the big closet where she thought she had
hung her parka. Wrong closet. This one was filled with shotguns, new and old,
and there were two leather whips in the corner. Were those handcuffs?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Eva came out from the kitchen and saw Gerd staring. She hurried to
close the closet door and open the one where she had put Gerd’s anorak. Gerd
turned to Mrs. Gundersen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Is your husband a hunter then? I thought I saw a deer rifle,” she said
levelly.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“No, he isn’t,” replied Eva with no expression. “Guns are just his
hobby.” Both women pretended that they had not seen the whips.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As she turned to go down the wobbly wooden stairs, Gerd made a
decision. She made the older woman repeat her cell number three times. “Just in
case you’d like to chat some time.” Not likely.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nurket and Gerd were quiet on their way home. The Gundersen home was
disturbing. Kaia had shown up with a black eye, their mother wore a turtleneck
sweater under her house dress even though the house was not at all cold, and
there was no earthly reason for an accountant to have so many guns in the house
in an unlocked closet. Gerd worried.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-1287914392747164172012-05-16T11:36:00.000-07:002012-06-25T11:36:44.679-07:00Chapter 11<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">When Gerd opened her eyes and saw the time on her cell phone, she felt
disoriented. 9 o’clock? Not 9 in the evening, surely? She couldn’t have slept
all day. She remembered having gone to bed very late the night before. She had
been weaving, and oblivious to the time. Tonje needed about 2.5 to 3 meters per
wrap; she already had almost 12. Each length had subtle variations. No two
pieces would be the same. Some day she would learn to design and sew herself;
no, probably not.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">If it was 9 in the morning, why hadn’t Nurket woken her up? She peeked
over the edge of her bed. There he was, fully awake and waiting for her. “You
let me sleep, didn’t you? What a good boy you are,” she said and he wagged his
tail in agreement. Bamse, however, was of a different opinion. An earsplitting
yowl came from below.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Having fed King Ursus (“Bamse” meant “Teddy Bear”), Gerd and Nurket sat
down to their individual leisurely breakfasts. She decided it was late enough
in the day to make an espresso. Drinking the tar dark brew made her feel like
she was mainlining caffeine: ah, the nirvana of drug addiction. In her wild
teens and 20’s Gerd had tried every drug there was with the exception of
heroin. She had loved every one of them. Well, maybe not coke, she thought.
Cocaine made her nervous.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">What a thing to be thinking of on a late February morning. She had
missed all the marine forecasts; they began at 3am and continued on the hour
until 7. After that, only sluggards would not be up and they didn’t deserve to
know. No need for a forecast, though; she looked out the living room windows.
Her red, white, and blue winter banner was waving languidly in a south breeze
from the top of the flagpole. The cloud cover was breaking up. It would be a
beautiful day. What would be her guess: minus 2, minus 3? It surprised her a
little to look at the indoor-outdoor thermometer and see that it registered
minus 6. Well, that barely seen cloudbank to the southwest meant a freshening
breeze in the afternoon and more snow tonight. Perfect.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd checked her rakørret on the porch. It was in no danger
of freezing yet; in the lee of the wind on her porch bench and warmed by the
house wall it probably held about zero or a degree above. The liquid formed by
the salt-brining fish would also keep it at a higher temperature that its
surroundings. Salt water began to freeze at minus 4 and would take its good
sweet time about it. Time to delete some email and see what comments she had
gotten on her blog. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Looking up the police roster of South Coast County (Gerd wasn’t about
to reveal how she got into the classified roster), she did indeed find a Dag
E.K. Jeltzen as a police detective in Storesand. He had made detective that
very year, in January. A check of his record gave her a little pause: his
recommendations from his superiors were carefully worded. He had passed the
police exams while still in high school and spent his required 3 years at the
academy in Havnsheia. Had entered Storesand PD in 2006 as a beat cop. Spoke
middling good Farsi. Farsi? From his thuggish behavior she would have pegged
him as a racist and immigrant-hater.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She had 47 comments on her blog but wasn’t up to reading them yet. Her
mind was meandering around in a past she had never known: the occupation, the
secret resistance, the devastating choices that men and women had made. She put
that aside and thought of what she needed in town.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">She was running out of coffee, that much was certain. Gerd got out a
piece of paper and started making a list.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Coffee (Santos)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Rice</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Sea salt</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Veggies (nothing was in season, so it was all imported from Israel and
Chile, anyway)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Wine (Vinmonopolet)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Beer for Jonas</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Milk? She checked her fridge and found something that looked a lot more
like clotted cream.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Kefir</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Coffee cream </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Yeast (she felt like baking)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Flour? (No, there was plenty. She crossed that out.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Knekkebrød</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Raisins</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Meat of some kind? Gerd wasn’t a vegetarian, but she rarely ate meat.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Orange juice</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Maryland Cookies</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Carnation evaporated milk</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">OK, enough. Oh, chocolate. She had had ideas of making brownies at
about 2 o’clock in the morning but chocolate was not to be found. She added
sugar to the list.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After her third espresso, Gerd found some clean jeans (got to do
laundry), a blue mock turtleneck, and a white shirt she had forgotten to iron.
She reverently took down the grey-and-white sweater Jutta had knitted for her.
It almost made her want to learn to knit. There would be no rain today so she
skipped her rain gear and pulled on sturdy leather boots. They were lined with
sheepskin, totally decadent.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nurket was waiting by the door, keenly sensing that a trip was being
proposed. Gerd pulled out the long leash she had bought in town and said “Let’s
go!” Nurket didn’t let himself be asked twice.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On her slow way in to town, Gerd was surprised by a call on her cell
from Elsa Mattias, the proprietor of the 2 Nøster yarn store. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Hei Gerd, I’m sorry I was out when you came in last.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh, no worry, the girl who served me did beautifully.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I’m glad. She may look a bit scary, but she really is a good girl.” The
tattooed and pierced girl in question didn’t look at all scary to Gerd, but she
kept quiet.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Are you coming to town any time soon?” Elsa and Gerd were not friends,
more acquaintances really, so the question was unexpected.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Actually, I’m on my way to town right now,” Gerd replied, wondering
what the other woman wanted.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Do you think you could meet me for coffee?” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The two women had never socialized before, Elsa Mattias being at least
15 years older than Gerd.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Sure,” she said. “Where do you want to meet?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“How about Kaffekoppen at REMA?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I’ll be there by about 11:30, how does that work for you?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Perfect. I’ll see you then.” Mrs. Mattias rang off.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd made a soft landing in Vika and tied up her boat, the “Illiad.”
Nurket watched approvingly as she threw out the anchor and made it fast. It was
almost 11:30 now; she might as well get her social responsibilities over with.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Elsa Mattias was all apologetic about being absent from the store when
such an important customer had arrived, but what she really wanted to talk
about was her son, Sigurd. She yakked on and on about how motorcycles were good
for young people and that they learned so much messing around with engines and
that people didn’t understand that at least they were outside and not hunkered
over a game controller playing sadistic video games, and on and on and on. Gerd
tuned out about half-way through.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Are you coming to Einar’s funeral?” Somehow the topic had changed.
Gerd collected her thoughts.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“It’s the day after tomorrow,” said Mrs. Mattias as she ate the last of
the coconut macaroons. “Thursday. At the Our Savior church up on the hill.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd knew the church and was positive Einar had not wanted his earthly
remains in that hypocritical ground.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes. Of course I’ll be there.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“And make sure you bring that young man of yours,” Mrs. Mattias smiled
at her. Young man? First of all Jonas was 38 and second of all it was nobody’s
business. Gerd smiled through clenched teeth.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I’ll ask him, of course. I’m sorry, Elsa, but I have a long list of
things to do in town. If you would excuse me?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Elsa Mattias excused her, saying to herself that one must give
allowances to artists. They being somewhat peculiar, and all. They shook hands;
it didn’t seem right to hug the redoubtable Mrs. Mattias.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nurket gave a human-sounding sigh of relief when released from under
the table. Out into the clean, cold air he started regaining his composure as
the important animal and Gerd Ljoset’s protector that he was. He fairly
strutted as they arrived at Østerås Daglivare, Gerd’s favorite
grocery store.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Østerås
Daglivare was a throwback. Unlike REMA, RIMI, and its thousand cousins, Østerås
Daglivare was an old-fashioned grocery store. You couldn’t check yourself out:
the brothers Østerås did that for you, personally. The three brothers were
Anders, Bertil, and Carl. A fourth brother, Daniel, had died young. No one knew
what their mother would have done had she arrived further up the alphabet.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Anders Østerås was the oldest. Born in 1930, Anders was a permanent
bachelor. Now 80 years old, nothing escaped him. No one shoplifted at Østerås
Daglivare; even the worst thugs in town feared a run-in with Anders Østerås.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Bertil Østerås was born exactly a year after Anders. Their mother must
have been mightily surprised. Didn’t they say you couldn’t get pregnant while
you were nursing? Phah!</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Bertil had married in the early 50s and soon produced a litter of kids.
All were now grown and had moved away, to Oslo, to Havnsheia, to New York, and
to Abu Dhabi. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The youngest of the brothers was Carl, a war baby. He had married his
high school sweetheart Margrete as soon as it was legally allowed. Year after
year they had waited, but no stork showed up on their roof. In the 60s and 70s,
it was popular to adopt Korean orphans. In 1975, they were finally able to hold
out their parental arms to ……. a 10-year old girl who only spoke Korean and
very little of that. Her papers said her name was Sang-Hee. They named their
nearly adolescent daughter Janicke Sang-Hee Østerås. The very same year, Mr. and
Mrs. Østerås
were informed that another Korean orphan girl needed their loving home, and
they adopted a 4-year old, Min-Ho. Eva Min-Ho Østerås grew up speaking Korean with
her unfamiliar “sister” in this small town by the Atlantic ocean. She never
recovered from the shock. While Janicke adapted rapidly, learned the local
language and dialect, and aced high school, Min-Ho never adjusted. At 15, she
was involved in a prostitution raid. At 16, she was booked on possession of crystal
meth. Carl and Margrete looked in stupefaction at this strange bird in their
nest. Eva Min-Ho was a ho.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd left Nurket tied up outside, which he accepted with good grace.
She entered the lovely old store with oiled oak counters and pine shelves. It
smelled of dried herbs and apple-seasoned tobacco smoke. Anders smoked a pipe.
Ever since she had arrived in this town seven years ago with suicide on her
mind, the smell of Anders’ pipe smoke had calmed Gerd’s demons. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Ms. Ljoset.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Mr. Østerås.” They were formal here in the Østerås grocery store. Gerd
appreciated it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“What can we help you with today?” It would never have occurred to the Østerås
brothers to wade in and ask about uncomfortable things like death and murder
before having served their customer’s needs, and probably not then. Gerd
produced her list. Bertil Østerås sent a young woman in a pale blue apron scurrying around
to supply Gerd.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Only when she had her purchases lined up to perfection on the oak
counter did Bertil broach the subject on everyone’s minds.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“It was sad about Mr. Iversen.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“It was. He was a rock on the island, someone we all counted on.” Now
that wasn’t exactly true. Einar had been distant, cat-loving, and beer-seeking,
but none of that mattered now.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I hear the funeral is Thursday.” This was Anders. Four score years old
and upright as a flagpole.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes. At Our Savior’s at noon. Please come,” said Gerd whose business
it wasn’t to invite anybody.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I was 15 at liberation,” said Anders, his eyes in the past. “I
remember it like it was yesterday. Iversen, Katte, and that Flemish guy were
gone. We all hoped they had made it to Sweden. Then two years later they show
up. What a time it was.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t think Katte returned until 49,” Bertil corrected him. “Or was
it 48? He brought a Swedish wife, I remember. What was her name again? They
lived here a while, I think, she and her son. It was difficult for them after
the unfortunate incident.” Thus, delicately, did Bertil Østerås refer to Gunnar Katte’s
suicide in the woods.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Awful times,” agreed his older brother, and they packed up Gerd’s
groceries. Anders called a sullen teenager and told him to carry Gerd’s
purchases to her boat. Gerd protested that her boat was tied up practically at
their doorstep, but this made no difference to the two old gentlemen. They
waved goodbye and bade her greet every single person on Lyholmen by name. It
took a while.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nurket, Gerd, and the unnamed teenager walked the 20 steps to her boat.
She offered him a 20 kroner piece for his trouble, but he declined. “The old
geezers won’t let me,” he murmured, and retreated to the dim store.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd cast off. The sun was setting over Vågen in brilliant shades of
green and orange. By the time they made fast at her dock, it was already dark.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Her house should have been shining like a beacon. Gerd knew she had
left the lights on, the electricity bill be damned. As they hauled groceries up
the dark path, Nurket began to growl. What was going on?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd never locked the door. No one did on Lyholmen. There was a lock
and there was a key but she had no idea where. Probably another power outage,
what was the county up to?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Someone was sitting in her best leather chair. Bamse had made himself
scarce.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Who are you?” No one on the island would have been sitting in her
chair, saying nothing.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I have been waiting for you.” It was that ambulance driver, that
police detective. Jeltzen.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Is there a power outage?” Gerd’s mind was on practical things. He laughed.
Not a happy laugh.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“No. The light hurts my eyes. I pulled the main fuse.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“You couldn’t just turn out some lights?” Now Gerd was getting
irritated. This man had invaded her space twice now. She had no more patience.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Gerd Ljoset, all I want from you is what belongs to me. You have it.
Give it to me.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Give you what?” Gerd was truly discombobulated. What on earth could
she have that this man could want?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Elspeth Torkjeldsen is a chatterbox, like all women,” he said. “I told
her I was interested in researching local war history, and she showed me books,
photographs, even an old amateur film. She also said she had given you a box of
some old letter that belonged to Einar Iversen. I want that box.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd stood her ground, not afraid yet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“What is Einar Iversen to you? He was old enough to have been your
grandfather,” she said, confidently.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“That is none of your business. Just give me the box and I’m out of
here. You are messing with police business, Ms. Ljoset.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Then let the police come and ask me,” said Gerd as she turned to the
fuse box to flip the main switch back again. In a breath, he was at her side.
His hands rested around her throat. Nurket went ballistic.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“The letters belong to me,” he said, more menacingly than before. “My
grandfather was Gunnar Katte, Gerd. He didn’t commit suicide. I have reason to
believe he was summarily executed by your fine upstanding friends. I want the
evidence. It’s mine.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Hallo the house!” A loud voice broke the silence. Gerd started and Dag
stepped back.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Anita Vadoma was coming up the stone stairs, shawls and scarves trailing
in the wind. She carried something in her hands.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Eigil Katte, as I live and breathe. What are you doing here?
Apologizing to Gerd for your uncouth behavior?” Anita was no one’s fool. Nor
was she to be fooled with when the gypsy was up in her. Dag Eigil stood down.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I was just leaving,” he muttered as he squeezed by the two women.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Give my regards to your father!” shouted Anita as he beat a hasty
retreat down the path. Gerd flipped the main fuse switch back on.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">What Anita had in her hands was a freshly baked blackberry pie. She
placed it on the counter. The two women first put away the groceries before
conversation could commence. Nurket trailed Anita around as if she were an
angel of doggie god.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd ground coffee beans and made a fresh pot. Put out her
grandmother’s good cake plates on the dining room table and the China mocha
cups. Silver cake forks. They sat down.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Tell me the whole story,” Anita said simply.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd did. Finding Einar’s body, los Joacim beaten up, this ambulance
driver / detective that stalked her. Everyone muttering, half-whispered stories
of war and treachery told sub-voce. Gerd didn’t give a shit what Einar had done
in a war that ended 65 years ago. Who the hell was Frank Åge, who was Katte, and what was
this about a Frenchman and a Finn?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Anita started telling Gerd what she knew.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“What do you know of the coastal gypsies? There used to be convoys of
families living on boats and making their living sharpening knives and
repairing copper kettles all up and down this coast,” Anita began. “Most of
that died out with the century, but a few families were still plying these
waters in the years before the war. My mother’s name was Lala Vadoma. She had
been affianced against her will and when she discovered herself pregnant, she
jumped ship. She never told me very much about it all, but my aunt Maia let
something slip now and then. I was born here on Lyholmen in 1939, in the very
house I own now.” The old lady seemed lost in memories. Gerd couldn’t see what
all this had to do with that man Eigil whatshisname, but she wisely kept quiet.
She poured more coffee.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t remember the war, of course. But when I was 14, there was a
big uproar about a war hero that had been found hanging in the woods. I was
feeling sad for him, as a teenager would, when Aunt Maia set me straight.
‘Don’t cry for that man,’ she said. ‘That man was no good. He was an informer
and he drove many innocent men to their graves.’ I didn’t know what an informer
was, but I knew it was bad. That man was Gunnar Katte Jeltzen. He had a son
with his war trophy wife from Sweden, Harald. Harald grew up totally different
from his father, meek, kind, and generous to a fault. As God be my witness,
Harald didn’t deserve his fate. He married a slut from Jonsstrand and together
they had Eigil. Eigil was bad news from birth. He was the kind of boy that set
fire to cats and pulled the wings off butterflies. The grandfather comes back
true in Eigil. That’s who bedeviled you tonight.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“But tante,” Gerd protested. “That man says he is a police officer. His
name is Dag.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes,” Tanta Anita nodded sadly. “Dag Eigil Katte Jeltzen. Spawn of
evil.” She spat on the floor and Gerd didn’t even move. “Katte Jeltzen?” All of
a sudden the pieces of the puzzle arranged themselves. Dag was the grandson of
Gunnar Katte, the collaborator. The man mentioned in the documents in the box.
The man the Courier said had committed suicide in 1953. Had he really hanged
himself?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Their coffee had grown cold. Neither noticed. Both were wandering in
their own memories, memories of good, of evil, of treachery, and of forgiveness.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Finally, Anita picked up Gerd’s cell phone from the table. “You need
your man with you tonight,” she said authoritatively. Gerd protested weakly.
Anita looked at the strange contraption, figured it out in less than a minute,
and dialed Jonas.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Hello, darling.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Jonas van der Linden, this is Anita Vadoma.” The voice in his ear was
a shock.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“How did you get Gerd’s phone? Where are you? Is she OK?” Jonas’
sentences stumbled over one another.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“She is alive. She has been seriously disturbed by an evil man. I want
you to come out here to stay with her tonight.” Tanta Anita’s voice could not
be refused. Not that he was trying to.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“What the hell ……..” Jonas began.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“You come. Now.” Anita ended the call.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">11 minutes later, Jonas was at Gerd’s dock. 12 minutes later, he was at
her side. Anita smiled at the enraged man wanting only to protect the woman he
loved. Nurket barked to explain the situation. Bamse just smiled his cat smile,
expecting all to be well tomorrow morning, with herring and cream.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd was being a little difficult, so Anita had to intervene. “You
stay,” she pointed at Jonas. “You listen to him,” she told Gerd. With that,
Anita felt she had completed her mission and started to gather her shawls and
wraps.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Ms. Vadoma, would you like me to walk you home?” It was Jonas. Anita
was mightily surprised that he knew her family name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“No, thank you young man. The light of the Lord shines on my path, and
besides,” said the ever-practical Anita, “I brought a flashlight. Good night.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-88454580192546891562012-05-15T11:55:00.000-07:002012-06-25T11:55:33.666-07:00Chapter 12<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas awoke in Gerd’s four-poster disoriented and lost. His dreams had
been chaotic. Evil faces had leered at him and told him he was surely going to
hell to burn in all eternity. He was cold-sweating. As he slowly regained his senses
a quote from his lit studies came to him “As wanton boys are we to the gods.
They kill us for their sport.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas shuddered, all snugly wrapped in goose down quilts covered in
200-count Egyptian cotton. Sin, evil, and retribution. That was all he recalled
from his early years on the west coast. Man is a sinner. You, young boy who
hasn’t even thought of sin yet, you are a sinner. You are damned by being born
human. Original sin. Most people joked and said that sin wasn’t very original,
but Jonas van der Linden knew better. The sin was that of Eve and of Adam. The
devil tempted Eve and she fell. Eve tempted Adam and the hapless first man
caved right away. When God came walking by, they both hid. God banished them
from Eden.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">He would have a thing or two to say to the deity, thought Jonas as his
senses started kicking in. He would bring a cadre of lawyers and argue that the
sin was that of the serpent, that Eve was innocent, that Adam was just another
hormone-crazed male, and that God had made a mistake. Jonas envisioned a court
of old, with wigged attorneys for the defense and the prosecution. God was in the
witness box, sweating bullets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“You have an overactive imagination,” Jonas’s cerebral cortex asserted.
Ah, it was awake, then. If he was looking up at a high, sloping, white-washed
ceiling, this must be Havblikk, Gerd’s house looking toward the ocean and
eternity. If this was Havblikk, she must be at his side. Jonas was quite proud
of his logical reasoning. And, true to formal logic, she was. Or at least the
tip of a nose was. Gerd had scrunched her quilt around herself so she was
basically a cocoon with no more than the nose tip out in the cool air. One
would disturb her at one’s peril.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">By now his synapses were humming and Jonas stepped away from the abyss.
Nurket was lying on the hideous orange and puke sweater he had decided was his
bed, looking at Jonas thoughtfully. When he realized that the man had regained
his logic and self-preservation, he wagged his tail. Jonas extricated himself
from the quilts and put his feet on the floor.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">He had built a fire last night, but of course it had gone out. There
was no fire-builder like Gerd. It seemed to be a gift, like her gift for color
and line. Well, maybe he had a gift, too. His gift was breakfast-making. His
gift was to arouse the new day.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Don’t think about “arouse.” Just make the goddamned coffee. Downstairs,
Jonas found his cell phone, called the school, and left a message (no one was
in yet) that he needed a “personal day.” His lesson plans were in the drawer on
the right in his desk. Goodbye, and good luck to the hapless substitute.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">An hour later, even Gerd was coherent. Jonas had at last accepted that
they had to see this thing through. Whatever it was with almost buried memories
of the war, of the Second World War, the war after the war to end all wars;
whatever it was they had to finish it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When Gerd proposed to go visit Joacim Corneliussen, he didn’t object.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It had snowed in the night, so they took their skis. Jonas had his in
town, but Gerd had a second pair (for midgets?) and he accepted those without a
murmur. He had left some old boots in her shed a year or so ago. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas led down the path, making perfect, parallel tracks for Gerd.
Nurket bounced around from track to snow-bank as if this entire fluff-filled
playground had been created just for him. The sky was still cloud-covered, but
it looked as if the fabric of the clouds was thinning. There might be a ray or
two of sunshine.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">At the corner of the Viking Graves, Gerd stopped. For a minute or so,
Jonas didn’t notice. Then he doubled back.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Something the matter?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“No. Not at all. I was just wondering if these were really Viking
graves or if it is just a name some kid gave them.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She was looking at two high piles of moraine rocks. Scoured by
glaciers, rivers, ocean, and sand, the rocks were perfectly round. It didn’t
seem likely that they had piled themselves on top of each other in such a
symmetrical fashion by themselves.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I thought the Vikings sent their dead to sea in a burning boat.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I think that was just for chieftains. The hoi-polloi, they probably
just got a hole in the ground.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas thought back to his history studies. “Do you think this island
was inhabited 1000 years ago?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“A thousand years ago,” Gerd answered dreamily. “A thousand years ago.
Were there people living right here? Surviving on what they could catch from
the teeming ocean and what little they could grow in the sand? Yes, I hope so.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas had no reply to that. They contemplated the Viking Graves a while
longer until Nurket grew restless. Smiling at one another and parentally at the
golden dog, they set off again.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A beach in winter is still a beach, but different. The water lapping
the rocks and caressing the sand is near freezing. It looks the same as in
summer, but it isn’t. The white hills are snow, not sand. Jonas and Gerd skied
slowly and expertly in a single track across the expanse of snow-cushioned
sand. At the end of the beach were two buildings. On the left was what people
still called the “Customs House,” even thought it had been turned into a
bed-and-breakfast place years ago. On the right was a nearly-gone fisherman’s
cottage. Perhaps no one had inherited this humble cottage; perhaps no one had
wanted it. With every winter, it was sinking back to the elements. “I would
like to know who lived there,” thought Gerd. “Who were they and what happened
to them?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The next shuttered house was that of the Feinberg family. When Gerd
arrived on the island seven years ago, the house had resounded with parents,
grandparents, children, teenagers. More quickly than anyone had been able to
grasp, Mrs. Feinberg had succumbed to Alzheimer’s. Last summer, she had been a
husk. Gerd did not think Mr. Feinberg would return this summer. It was over.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Tanta Anita waved to the skiers from her living room window. Jutta and
Henrik’s house was dark. The next house was Corneliussen. They took their skis
off, beat the snow from their boots and knocked on the door. “Come in, come in,
you know I can’t stop you!” Joacim appeared to be regaining his vigor.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The pilot was sitting in a chair listening to a political debate on the
local radio station. Nanna must have been there because he had a tray of
sandwiches and some grapes on a side table next to his chair. Milk, untouched,
and a huge container of coffee. Gerd and Jonas sat down across from him and
waited until a suitable break in the radio program.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They began with “how are you?” “I’m fine” etc. etc. Joacim hadn’t lived
to 90 by being a fool. He knew this was more than a social visit. “What would
you like to know, little Gerd?” he asked, mildly.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd, who was no politician, waded right in.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Los, you have lived here all your life, haven’t you?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“That’s right,” replied the pilot proudly. “Born and raised on
Lyholmen. In this very house.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Were you here during the war?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, of course.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The old man wasn’t being evasive, but nor did he volunteer information.
He waited to see what they wanted. Gerd was unsure.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“You must have known Einar a long time.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“He was born on Vågen,
but his parents often brought him here. I’m six years older than Einar. I have
known him all my life,” the pilot said simply.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">All their lives. The two men had known each other all their lives.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“How old was Einar when the war broke out?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Fourteen, I believe. I was 20. Gerd, jenta mi, what do you really
want?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t know what I want, los. Everyone that talks to me about Einar
mentions the war. There is gossip all over town that he didn’t die naturally,
that he was murdered.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I doubt that very much, honey. Einar had been a steady drinker all his
life until Anne Lise died, bless her soul. At our age, our lives are hanging by
a thread. Every sunrise is a surprise.” He didn’t say whether it was a welcome
surprise. Gerd changed tactics.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Did you know someone called Gunnar Katte?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That woke up Los Joacim Corneliussen. “Where in darkest hell did you
hear of him, girl?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“From Tanta Anita. You see, when I brought Einar’s body to town, it was
collected by an ambulance driver who said his name was Jeltzen. Later the same
man said he was a police officer. Last night, he surprised me at my house.”
Gerd didn’t want to say more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The old pilot appeared to sink deep in reflection. It couldn’t have
been Harald, he thought. Harld must be over 60, and he certainly was no police
officer. Hadn’t he been an accountant or something? Retired, surely. Oh.
Realization dawned, and with it, fear.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Gerd, was this Jeltzen a tall, brown-haired man? Mid-twenties, maybe?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes. Do you know him, los?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“No, I don’t. But I know of him. Gerd, you should stay away from him.
Jonas,” the old man suddenly realized Jonas was there as well, “I don’t think
Gerd should live alone out here.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As if he hadn’t said the same thing a thousand times, Jonas thought to
himself. Aloud, he said, “I completely agree with you, los.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd bent closer to the old man. She said, emphasizing each word,
“Pilot, I can only be safe if I know what is going on. Anita said someone
called Gunnar Katte was the grandfather of this Jeltzen. Please tell me so I
can know what to do.” She looked at Corneliussen beseechingly.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“It was a long time ago,” the old pilot began, hesitantly at first.
“During the war. Have you heard of our local resistance against the invading
devils?” Gerd nodded. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Einar was too young when they first arrived, but young boys grow up
fast under such conditions. We froze and starved, girl, but we never gave up.
In 43, he must have been 17 or so. He had a friend, a worthless sailor I had
the bad luck to rescue from a near-shipwreck. Lexi, Lexis? No, Alexis. And then
there was Gunnar, the instigator of all mayhem. Gunnar was the kind you didn’t
want to have on your side, but you also needed to keep tabs on him. What we
didn’t know at the time was that he played both sides. A collaborator, an
informer, he gave up several good men’s names to the Nazis. We found that out
later. They should have shot him next to Quisling.” The old man was getting
worked up. He reached out his hand and poured some more coffee, not even thinking
to offer Gerd and Jonas some.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The pilot finally realized that they were still there and asked, “What
did you want to know again, little Gerd?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t know at all. How can any of this have anything to do with
Einar? Jutta mentioned someone else, a Frank Samuelsen. Did you know him, los?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh, God,” said the old man. “Has that surfaced again? Yes, I knew
Frank <span>Å</span>ge.
He was a cripple who lived at the tip of V<span>å</span>gen. His old man was tough.
They were the poorest of the poor. Frank <span>Å</span>ge never had it easy. I think
he and Einar were in the same class at school. How the Samuelsens had scraped
up the school money, I have no idea. After 42 or 43, Frank <span>Å</span>ge
became a complete recluse. I probably see him in town once a year.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Frank <span>Å</span>ge Samuelsen is still alive?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“If you call breathing being alive.” The old man didn’t want to go
further down that line of thought. He was getting tired. Let the dead bury
their dead, he thought. The war has been over for more than 2/3 of my life. Let
it remain that way. There are only a few of us left who remember and we don’t
want to.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Is there a connection between Mr. Samuelsen and Gunnar Katte?” Gerd’s
question shot through his reminiscences. The pilot didn’t answer. Jonas looked
Gerd, warningly. It was obvious that they were over-tiring the old man. They
rose to take their leave.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As she was shrugging into her anorak, Gerd thought of something else.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Los Joacim, can I ask you one more question?” He nodded, almost asleep
in his chair.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“When I found you on the beach, you said ‘I should have told.’ What
should you have told? Did you know the person who attacked you?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That was two questions, two too many. The old pilot looked at Gerd
through closing eyes.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I pray you’ll never know, Gerd Ljoset. Now please leave. I need my
nap.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas and Gerd stopped by Nanna’s house to tell her of their visit with
Los Corneliussen, but neither Nanna nor Peder were home. As they fishboned
their way up the hill past Gamlefru Andresen’s house, the lady in question
waved to them and opened a window. “You two look like you could use something
to keep the cold out. Come in and keep me company a while, won’t you?” Mrs.
Andresen was a delightful lady, and they didn’t have the heart to say no. She
had children all over the Storesand coast and in Oslo and plenty of houses to
live in on the convenient mainland, but, as she told anyone who would listen,
“I like it here.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They left their skis outside her door and took their boots off right
inside. Mrs. Andresen’s house was sparkling clean. A hundred thousand knickknacks.
Lace doilies over anything that couldn’t object, even on top of the huge flat
screen television set. The lady herself was petite and couldn’t weigh more than
50 kilos dripping wet. Her sweet face was nearly unwrinkled (“I have always
worn a hat, my dear”), framed by soft, white curls. Her house was toasty warm,
but she still wore wool stockings under her housecoat. Gerd and Jonas began
right away to strip off layers of clothing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Andresen brought out a silver tray from her kitchen, neatly balancing
three glasses and a nearly full bottle of cognac. Nothing cheapskate here, this
was Bertelsen’s best VSOP. As an afterthought, she had added a few crackers on
a porcelain dish. Jonas hurried over to help her with the heavy tray, but she
wouldn’t let go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Oh sit down, young man. Please. You both work hard and I have nothing
to do all day. This is a party.” She tottered back in the kitchen to fill a bowl
of water for Nurket.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas was a little taken aback, but Gerd smiled. She knew Fru Andresen
quite well. In fact, during her first difficult year on Lyholmen, Gerd had
spent many a weepy day in Mrs. Andresen’s front parlor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Was it even noon yet? “It’s noon somewhere,” said Gerd, reading his
thoughts. She accepted a delicate crystal shotglass with the amber liquid from
their generous hostess. Sipped. Instantly, she felt the internal warmth seep
all the way to her toes. She almost purred.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">After some silent appreciation, Fru Andresen asked about Jonas. She had
apparently heard all about his “accident,” his stay at the hospital, and how
Nanna was caring for him as he recuperated. She had seen Gerd and Jonas on
their way down the hill and assumed they were going to visit the pilot. They
gave an abbreviated version of their conversation at Jonas’ house and told her
he seemed to be recovering well. Mrs. Andresen wasn’t fooled.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“So you talked about the war?” They nodded.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Did he mention Nora at all, or Ingrid?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd was confused. More people she had never heard of. “No. Are they
friends of his?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Andresen gave a chuckle with no warmth. “I guess one could say
that,” she said enigmatically. She paused, sipped some more cognac, and
continued.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Nora and Ingrid Smestad were sisters. Their father had just moved his
family from Oslo and down here when the war broke out. They lived on Berget, in
that villa at the very top. The one with the big verandas.” Gerd knew the
house. “In the beginning, there weren’t many soldiers stationed here; I guess
the Nazis believed that the Allied invasion would occur on the west coast. They
would have been right, but of course the Allies had other plans. The winter of
1940, the Smestads held several balls. My family lived close to the Smestads
and of course I was invited. Nora and Ingrid were identical twins, but I never
had any problem telling them apart. The Corneliussen family had once been
wealthy, but their father had lost everything in 29. They still had their old
house on Berget, but it was falling into disrepair and I do think there were
days when all they had to eat was a potato or two. Joacim was a handsome young
man then, just the right age. And he had been brought up well, knew how to
dance and how to talk to ladies.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The old lady’s eyes were far away. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Nora was the wild one, running around with unsuitable boys and smoking
behind the stables. Ingrid was more calculating. She had her sights set high. I
don’t know the political leanings of the Smestad family, but there were German
officers at the balls. Oh, the ball gowns we had! I had three, two of them
silk. The Smestad twins probably had a dozen each. At the New Year’s ball,
Ingrid wore a gown of watered green silk, so becoming to her golden hair and
light blue eyes. Nora was also light-haired. She wore red, I recall.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Andresen took another good-sized sip of her glass and absently
filled all three to overflowing. Jonas and Gerd didn’t reach for their glasses.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“That was the night Joacim fell in love with Ingrid. His eyes never
left her all night. I was partly in love with him myself and I was insanely
jealous. But Ingrid didn’t pay him any attention. There was a good-looking
young German officer paying her court, gold braid and medals on his new
uniform. Her father appeared to approve.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mrs. Andresen came back to the present. “Ah, these old stories. Am I
boring you, my dears?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In truth, Jonas was more than a little bored, but Gerd seemed to be
hanging on the old lady’s every word. He smiled, “Not at all.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“What happened then?” Gerd prompted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well, we never knew exactly. That was right about the time I met my
sainted Archibald, and of course the war turned worse. All I know is what I
heard later.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She paused again, this time for effect, Jonas thought.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Several times during the war, I ran into Nora on the arm of Einar
Iversen. I didn’t know Mr. Iversen then, you understand. But I had no
difficulty understanding that if her father had found out, there would have
been hell to pay. It seemed that Mr. Smestad had more important things to do
that watch over his wayward daughters,” she said primly. “There were all kinds
of rumors about him running merchant ships for the Nazis, bringing in guns and
supplies to occupied Norway. Nothing was ever proven. However, Ingrid had taken
up with that officer – what was his name again? It’s so long ago, and the
memory falters. No matter, pretty as she was, Ingrid Smestad was no fool. By
1944, she and everyone else could see that Germany was losing the war. Ingrid
let go of the losing officer who followed her around like a dog and settled
into pious pursuits for the duration. Joacim had been transported to Sweden. When
he returned, she literally fell into his arms. I do think they were even
planning to marry in spite of the suspicions about her father. Of course that
never happened.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Why?” said Gerd, at the edge of her chair. Jonas grinned. This was the
woman who read Wordsworth in bed at night. Tough, independent, feisty, and an
incurable romantic.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Didn’t you know, kj<span>æ</span>re?” aid Mrs. Andresen. “Why, Ingrid
Smestad was sentenced to 10 years in prison for collaboration. She died there.
Nora was sent to Oslo for a while. She found herself a safe university
professor and married him as fast as she could. She only moved back down here a
few years ago. I saw her at Tutte’s dress store a month or so ago. Hadn’t aged
a day.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“And Joacim has mourned his Ingrid ever since?” Gerd couldn’t let that
part go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t know about that, my dear. Joacim Corneliussen didn’t sleep
alone many nights, I’m sure of that. But he never married, that’s true.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The narcotic stupor of forbidden romance and cognac was dissipating
from Gerd’s brain. “But why did you think Joacim had talked to us about
Ingrid?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Well, probably not so much Ingrid as Nora,” said the old lady. “You
told me you were inquiring about Gunnar Katte. Nora had a thing with him as
well,” she said, a bit viciously. “Einar, Gunnar, and whatever that sailor’s
name was. Nora was a wild one, all right. And Gunnar’s grandson is Eigil Katte
Jeltzen. I’m willing to bet the next bottle that it was Eigil who attacked
Joacim on the beach. Where you rescued him, my dear.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“Do you have any evidence for that?” This was Jonas, wanting to get all
three of them back to reality.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“I wasn’t there, of course,” smiled the old lady, “but I do know this:
Dag Eigil believes his grandfather was falsely framed by Joacim and his
buddies. He’s a neo-Nazi, didn’t you know? They’re not all skinheads.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">How on earth did this delicate old lady even know that word?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“My body may be returning to earth,” said Mrs. Andresen with dignity.
“But my mind is still here.” She walked over to her antique corner desk (was it
really rococo?) and opened the lid. A brand new Dell Millennium shone like a
beacon. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“You should check the Internet now and then, Gerd,” she said
admonishingly. “It’s just amazing what you’ll find there.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-71880612514832258532012-05-14T13:47:00.000-07:002012-06-25T13:47:51.631-07:00Chapter 13<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After getting good and sloshed at Mrs. Andresen’s, Gerd and Jonas made
wavy tracks home. Nurket took one look at them and decided to stay out of the
way. They went upstairs to nap and didn’t wake up until Bamse announced that it
was his dinner time.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The rest of the day passed uneventfully. Gerd defrosted some meatloaf
with jalape<span>ñ</span>o
and boiled four potatoes. Not gourmet fare, but it was nourishing. They slowly
began to recover. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The evening news was as dispiriting as always. War in Afghanistan,
suicide bombers in Pakistan. Floods in China. Gerd brought out a sketch pad and
started drawing rapid charcoal lines. Jonas was on the phone counseling one of
his 12<sup>th</sup> graders who had flunked the last assignment and was whining
that his parents would flay him if he didn’t get into the University of Oslo. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">When Jonas looked at what she was sketching, he was surprised. Not
beautiful ladies in ball gowns, not young beaus on their knees offering posies.
She had sketched a forest, a beech forest he could tell at a glance. He almost
recognized the trees. “Skyteplassen?” he asked. She nodded.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A figure was hanging from a stout branch. His head was grotesquely out
of alignment. She had been thinking of Gunnar Katte.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas fervently wanted this war to be over – this and all wars. Not
that he hadn’t had his share of brawls at an earlier age; he just didn’t like
it. Jonas liked love, peace, literature, and sex, and not necessarily in that
order.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Come to bed with me,” he invited. He let Nurket out to do his
business, closed – and locked – the front door, and deliberately walked around
to every window and door to make sure they were fortressed. Gerd was still on
the couch, sketch pad in hand. She smiled at him.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I do so love you.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Then come to bed with me.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I want a shower first.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas went ahead of her into her incongruously luxurious bathroom there
at the edge of nowhere. Warm water cables under the tiled floor, a huge Jacuzzi
tub where even he could stretch his 6 ft length, a walk-in shower. He turned on
the water to warm it up for her.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was just getting to the point of steaming, when Gerd joined him. She
was naked. Totally, without a stitch in Eva’s birthday suit. She brushed up
against him, casually. “Did you think we were going to take a shower in our
clothes?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">What does a reasonable man do when confronted with a smiling, naked
lady? Shuck his clothes and join her, naturally. After a lot of unnecessary
soap and shampoo, they made love gently. Jonas held her tight while she
shuddered. She returned the favor. They let the rapidly cooling water wipe the
traces of earthly love from their bodies, hearts joyful and at rest. “He’s my
home,” thought Gerd as she let Jonas towel her dry and apply body lotion all
over. They slept spoon-fashion, like Hansel and Gretel in the woods.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The next day was Einar Iversen’s funeral rites. Funerals are strange
customs. Funerals are for the living; the dead are long gone. Gerd and Jonas
took separate boats to town because his 11<sup>th</sup> graders had a big test
the next day. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">10:30 in the morning on a grey and overcast Thursday in February. Jonas
had tied up his boat at his dock on Fillene and Gerd had left hers in Vika.
Jonas called taxi and met her by her boat. Together they took the taxi up to
the Our Savior church on top of the hill. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Since Einar hadn’t left any other instructions and his sister was no
help in making decisions, this was going to be a coffin-in-the-ground funeral.
Gerd and Jonas walked into the church just as the choir began wailing. Gerd
winced. Maybe she didn’t have an ear for music, but this was excruciating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Thankfully, the service was short. The young minister hadn’t known
Einar, who was not a church-going man, and no one had told him much. He mostly
made it up. He had clearly been googling Einar’s name because he managed to
mention all the newspaper references Gerd had also found. The six pall bearers
were all unknown, young men.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A sizable group formed behind the coffin. Gerd knew at least half the
crowd. Mrs. Andresen was there, perfectly outfitted in black with a jaunty hat
and veil. She looked like Jackie Onassis. Jutta, Henrik, Nanna, Peder, and
Anita Vadoma. Andeas and Eva Gundersen with their twin girls, who had had no
trouble finding black clothing to wear to a funeral. Gerd nodded to the <span>Ø</span>ster<span>å</span>s
brothers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They followed the coffin to its final resting place, which was a gaping
hole dug by some kind of machinery. Two 2x4s were laid lengthwise across the
hole. The pall bearers gratefully put their burden down on the planks. There
were ropes under the planks, extending on both sides of the coffin-sized hole
in the ground. Gerd didn’t think it was six feet deep; the earth was too frozen
in February.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After some more yackayacka by the shivering minister, four of the pall
bearers moved to the ropes while the remaining two started pulling on the
planks. It worked so-so. At one point, it looked like they were going to dump
the coffin end-first into the hole, put they put their muscles into it and
righted it. It thunked on the bottom. The boys pulled their ropes out and
hurried away for a cigarette.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd stepped out. She hadn’t planned this. She had tulips in her hand,
bought at great cost in February at Mamma Kine’s. Before the minister knew what
hit him, she approached the open grave and slowly let the red tulips fall on
the coffin. She turned.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I didn’t know Einar well. I wish I had known him better. He takes his
life, his loves, and his secrets with him to his eternal rest. Einar Iversen, I
wish you peace.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There was always a kaffeklatch after a funeral. People need to talk.
The attendants hurried back to the church and assembled in the church basement.
Gerd and Jonas stationed themselves by the coffee urn. The first to approach
was Mrs. Mattias. She had a big man in an iron grip. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Gerd, this is my son, Sigurd.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I’m sorry to meet you under such circumstances,” Gerd said neutrally.
The big boy scowled. His mother was not to be deterred.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I know that people are saying that Mr. Iversen died because someone
had put sand in his spare gas container. That’s not true. Tell her, Sigurd.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">If this hadn’t been a funeral, it would have been funny. Here was Gerd
Ljoset, 1.68 in her stockinged feet, and in front of her was a giant of at
least 2 meters. The giant cowered.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Ms. Ljoset, I’m sorry. I’m the CEO (chief executive officer??) of
South County Motorcycle Club. Another club, the Havnsheia Hell’s Angels, has
been after us for more than a year. They have been trying to get to us by
putting sand into our spare gas containers. About 2 weeks ago I was at the Esso
station on V<span>å</span>gen
to fill up some containers. I didn’t know they were already laced with sand.
When I got home, I realized that 2 of the 3 were sanded, but the third was not.
Old Iversen was tied up at the Esso station that day. I think it possible that he
got one of the contaminated containers.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My, but the boy spoke well. Gerd examined him in a whole new light. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Thank you, ah, Sigurd,” she said. He nodded and steered his mother
over to the cookies.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas approached with a paper plate of store-bought cookies and a paper
cup of Nescafe. “I’d rather die.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd noticed Dag Eigil Katte Jeltzen (good to give him his full name)
in the back of the crowd. An older man was siding up to her. He was short and
walked with a limp. What little was left of his hair was water-plastered across
his scalp. Most of his teeth were missing. He stared up at Gerd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“That bastard killed my wife.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Excuse me?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Him and his fine friends. Don’t cry for Einar, little girl. Einar
Iversen was no war hero. He got what he deserved.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">With that, the little man limped away for some free coffee refills.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There appeared to be some kind of commotion by the stairs. First, two
crutches appeared, followed by Joacim Corneliussen in full Coast Guard regalia.
At his side, Nora Smestad, lately of the county hospital and the fifth of
recognizable cerebral hemorrhages, dressed in subdued pigeon grey topped by a
pill-box hat with a feather. Joacim and Nora made their slow way over to Jonas
and Gerd. The red sea parted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd had been talking with Harald Jeltzen. He was apologizing over and
over, for what Gerd was not quite sure. “Mr. Iversen was a godsend to us when I
was little,” he was saying. “I think I owe him my life.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">His son. Dag Eigil, was hovering, sneering. “My grandmother accepted
money from the man who killed her husband,” he said in a low voice. Never had
Gerd heard so much hatred. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“You shut up, boy,” said his father with sudden spirit. “You have no
idea what you’re talking about.” Just then, Joacim and Nora arrived at the
coffee-and-cookies table.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Joacim greeted Harald courteously. He accepted a paper cup of Nescafe
and a cookie. Nora declined. The little man, was that Frank <span>Å</span>ge
Samuelsen?, appeared at Joacim’s elbow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“So, Frank <span>Å</span>ge, are you well?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“They murdered her. You know they did. Einar only got what he
deserved,” the little man said maliciously.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Joacim looked down at him. “Let it rest, man,” he said. “We all made
enormous errors. Let it go.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Frank <span>Å</span>ge smiled a crooked smile with few teeth. “Oh, no, I’ll
never let it go,” he said, quietly. “Never. He was the last. You stole Gunnar
from me. You will never have a good night’s sleep. I’ll always be there. You
should have told, pilot Corneliussen.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">With this, the little hobo limped out. They stared after him. Dag Eigil
began to laugh. “Not to worry, little girl,” he whispered to Gerd. “We’ll get
them, every one.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Dag! You are completely out of line! This is a funeral.” This was his
father, Harald Katte. Dag Eigil gave his father a contemptuous look and stalked
away to the other side of the room.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jutta Juve was standing just behind Gerd and Jonas. She saw an opening
and introduced her daughter, Anne Grete, and her two grandchildren, Svein and
Henriette. “They are going to come live with us on the island for a while,” she
said, beaming with grandmotherly pride.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd greeted the two serious children, aware that Harald Katte Jeltzen
was still behind her. She introduced Jutta to Harald. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Polite murmurs. The first parries about “who do you know?” It turned
out that Harald was a bookkeeper for the insurance company Gjensidige and that
Jutta knew a secretary, Daisy, who worked in collections. Who else do you know?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Across the room, the small Gundersen family was circling the wagons.
There were people everywhere, asking questions, locating everyone else on their
mental GPSs and personal google maps. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd desperately wanted to get out. Out of this airless basement with
despair and heartbreak fogging every wall, out into her own fresh air, back to
Nurket, to Bamse, to liberty, to self-determination. “All my life I have tried
to cut the bonds,” Gerd thought “and here they are wrapping me up like a
caterpillar in a silk cocoon. How did I get into this?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas saw her sinking. The dead were well cared for underground and the
living could just go fuck themselves as far as he was concerned. He appeared at
her side. “Let’s go home.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">With an effort, Gerd pulled herself out of her tailspin. “Yes,” was all
she said and allowed him to find her shawls and coat, her gloves and her
outside boots.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Leaving so soon? Why, the party is just getting started!” It was Nora
Smestad, grinning like a demented crone at Joacim’s side. He had the decency to
look ashamed.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd didn’t even reply. She was worn out. She got into the clothing
Jonas held out, let him pull off her black pumps and put her boots on, like
you’d do for a child.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">He hadn’t called for a taxi and the daylight was rapidly waning. The
temperature had dropped and ice was forming on the steep hill toward town. He
held her arm as they carefully put one foot in front of the other, feeling
their way. Twice Gerd slipped and he caught her. They had arrived at
Hellebakken, the steepest part of the way down. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There was no traffic, no cars (not on this hill in winter), no people,
nobody. Jonas stopped. “You know, I had an uncle long ago in Storesand,” he
began. Gerd was surprised; he had never told her this before. “One Christmas
when I was maybe 10 or so, we visited him. He lived at the bottom of this
hill.” Gerd looked at him – what was he trying to say?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Our Christmases didn’t involve trees or presents,” he continued. “I
didn’t know why I was a sinner, but they said I was. The only fun I had was
this,” and he proceeded to take his coat off and lay it on the ground to –
obviously – use as a toboggan. “Will you slide into hell with me, my love?”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd’s grin started slowly but it was soon ear-to-ear. “My knight in
shining armor – or at least a really good sealskin coat – I’ll follow you
anywhere.” She sat down behind him, grabbed good hold around his waist, and off
they went. Stars whistled, doorsteps flew past, the ice was like a luge run at
the Olympics. She was sure they would dash themselves senseless when they hit
bottom and didn’t care. Jonas steered the coat right into a snowbank. Phew!
Jonas, being in front, had landed first and she had piled on top of him. Gerd
twisted and fought and tried to gain leverage, which was not easy as she was
laughing like a loon. They finally got arms and legs sorted out and made it to
their feet.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Which house?” asked Jonas. His was closer, but Nurket and Bamse were
alone on Lyholmen. “We’ll go home,” said Gerd.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jonas made Gerd sit down like a tourist in her own boat and wrapped a
wool blanket around her legs. He turned the key, pulled up the anchor, and
loosened the painter. Lit the green and red running lights and steered slowly
out the channel. They could make out lights from the houses on either side, but
the water was dark as ink. Jonas moved into the middle of the channel.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The fading light was magical. God’s little joke was always to make the
sky brighter just before he turned it off. The heavens were light blue, almost
white, as they steered out past the lighthouse at V<span>å</span>gen. Then God said Good Night,
and all went dark. By that time, though, they were past both Geiteholmen and
Merket, and Jonas had sight of Gerd’s dock. He glided in just as there was no
more to be seen. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nurket had been waiting for them. He was lying on the floor at the
entrance to the kitchen, eyes peeled on the front door. When they unlocked and
entered, he rose and shook himself as if this was no big deal. His people were
home: well, they came home every day. Only his unruly tail belied his aching
heart.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“No more talk of war tonight.” Jonas laid down the law. Gerd heartily
agreed. She wasn’t hungry but something needed to be made. “Lobster,” said
Jonas.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“I don’t have any.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Yes, you do. Remember that monster that got caught in the net in
August, totally illegal? You were going to throw him back in, I know, but the
poor guy had lost a claw and how could he survive in the wild without one? I’m
sure you gave him a merciful end.” Jonas grinned at her, conspiratorially.
Lobsters frequently lost a claw in a lobster fight – in fact, they voluntarily
let it go – because they knew another would grow. Jonas stomped down to her
shed (no fear of the dark there), opened her box freezer, and found the lonely
lobster at the bottom. “Come with me, old chum. Being eaten with melted butter
and dill is a lot better than languishing here unseen.” </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was clearly Jonas’ time to cook. Gerd felt like she had been drained
of all desires and just sat on the sofa, watching him. Bamse strutted over to
allow himself to be petted. Nurket snored at her feet. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“Wake up sweetheart. Wake up and go to bed.” Jonas’ voice interrupted
her dreamless oblivion. Gerd slowly came back to the physical world. The dining
table was set; he had clearly gone to some trouble. She wobbled over. He had
steamed the lobster with tons of dill (Gerd was a dill fanatic). On the table
were dishes of lemon, sour cream (Gerd didn’t care for mayo), three kinds of
pepper, and flatbread. It turned out she was a little tiny bit hungry after
all.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Shellfish and red wine make a rock in your stomach. Gerd was nodding
off over her dinner plate when there was another knock on the door. Jonas
frowned and let in Tante Anita Vadoma. The gypsy was high in her today; she had
gold chains flying around her neck and her eyes were outlined in kohl. She
didn’t wait for an invitation.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;">“That Eigil is no good,“ she said without preamble. “You watch out for
him. He’s just like his grandfather. They hanged him good. Stay away from him.
He’ll burn himself out very soon.”</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd wanted to ask Anita a hundred things, but right then the
innuendos, the wine, and the seafood got the better of her. All she could do
was nod.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gerd never knew how Jonas saw Anita out, how he let Nurket out to
tinkle, how he locked and closed up the house and crab-walked her upstairs to
bed. She was asleep before her body hit the Egyptian sheets.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-77176647222390441292012-05-13T14:07:00.000-07:002012-06-25T14:08:25.385-07:00Chapter 14<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>It
had snowed all night. They say that no two snowflakes are alike but they sure
looked the same lying in heaps and banks around her house. Jonas had wanted to
stay, but his 11th graders were up for some tough tests. “Can I take your
sjekte? I left mine in town yesterday.” Of course. She wasn’t going anywhere.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>After
Jonas had left, Gerd snuggled deeper down in the quilts and went back to sleep.
When she woke up an hour later it was still dark. She remembered strange,
disturbing dreams. Someone had been fighting. She could still recall the two
men from her dream: one tall and dark, the other shorter and blond. They had
worn strange clothes that looked like fur. A woman was shouting for them to
stop but they paid her no heed. Gerd knew the woman wasn’t her because at times
she was inside the woman and at times an observer, and when she was an
observer, the woman was tall and red-haired. The woman was desperate. She threw
herself at the two combatants just as the shorter one pulled a dagger from
under his cloak and stabbed the taller man. The woman screamed as if her heart
had been torn beating from her body. Gerd had woken up covered in sweat and
fear.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>It
took several minutes for Gerd to regain her senses. Her left hand was hanging
over the edge of the bed and it was being licked. “Oh, Nurket, you are the best
dog,” she thought, and smiled at the golden puppy. From downstairs, Bamse
meowed his pitiful “get me breakfast” howl. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>At
long last, the spirit was reunited with the body. She hobbled over to her
closet, wondering why the inside of her skull felt like cotton wool. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>In
her kitchen she found that the coffee maker had been made ready and pushed the
button. Only then did she turn to the furious cat and bent down to pet him.
Bamse would have none of that and almost hissed at her. She found his favorite
can of cat food and emptied sardines in aspic into his bowl. There was a note
on the kitchen counter.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span>I took your
sjekte. Will be done around 3pm today and I’ll bring it back. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span>Don’t go
anywhere.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>It
wasn’t signed. With the first cup of coffee ready, Gerd carelessly slathered
some butter on a slice of bread and added some red dye # 1 Danish salami and a
slice of home-made pickled cucumber. Right now she wasn’t worried about early
death from nitrates and nitrites. She brought the cup and the open-face
sandwich to the living room windows. The view was white. Snow was falling still
and she could hardly see the ocean. “I really should have checked the nets,”
she thought and was secretly glad that she didn’t have a boat to do just that.
Let the salmon swim a few hours more.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Tah
tah tah ta! Something was playing the victory signal from the war. A new
introduction to the marine forecast? No, it was her cell phone, blast the
thing.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Hei,
this is Gerd.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Well,
you sound like little miss sunshine this morning.” The voice was Jutta’s.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh,
get lost, girlfriend. What do you want?” Gerd nearly growled.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Nice
greeting when all I wanted to do was thank you.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Thank
me for what?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
can hear you are still on your first cup of coffee. No such luck over here. I
have two wild children climbing all over me wanting to see your dog that I told
them about. Svein is running around diaperless shouting ‘doggie, doggie’ while
Henriette is applying her artistic skills to drawing pictures of Cujo. Can we
come over?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Come
over? “Jutta, there’s a frigging snowstorm going on,” said Gerd, more tersely
than intended.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“We
don’t mind. How can you live on an island if you’re going to be dictated to by
the weather? We have snow suits and we know the way. Please?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
desperation in Jutta’s voice was evident. Kids are fun in small doses all right,
but 24/7? Gerd relented.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Of
course. Bring them over. Jonas took my sjekte to town this morning anyway so
I’m stranded. What did you want to thank me for?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Oh,
for your nice words at Einar’s funeral.” Jutta’s lowered her voice. “Did you
see how the Gundersens left? I’m concerned about her. Those teenagers look way
too submissive for my liking.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
know what you mean,” Gerd replied. “I’ll tell you what I saw at their house
when there are no kids around, OK? See you soon.” Gerd rung off.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>What
could she make that kids would like? Boller, that was the thing. Gerd knew she
had yeast, sugar, and flour. Maybe there were some raisins in the cupboard. She
went into the kitchen, poured herself more coffee, and started pulling out
ingredients.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Hveteboller
a la Ljoset<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>½
kg flour<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>3
¾ dcl milk<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>60
grams yeast<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>125
grams sugar<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>½
teaspoon cardamom<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>1
teaspoon cream of tartar<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>120
grams butter<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>50
grams raisins<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She
set the milk to heat on the front burner and melted the butter in the miniature
pan she kept just for that purpose. When the milk was skin temperature, she
poured it into her big mixing bowl and added the yeast and sugar. Stirred a
while; the yeast needed to dissolve completely. She added the cardamom to the
mix and then the melted, cooled butter. The yeast seemed to enjoy the butter
and sugar and started multiplying right away. Now the flour and the cream of
tartar. Gerd stirred the dough until her arm tired and the dough had an elastic
quality. She’d add the raisins to half the batch later – some kids didn’t like
raisins. She put the bowl into her downstairs bedroom in the bed and bunched
the quilt around it to warm it up. Then she put a kitchen towel over the bowl
and a pillow on top of that again. Give it about half an hour and the humble
ingredients would make a delicious sweet bun dough. Gerd felt like a shower and
went into her non-humble bathroom to luxuriate in hot city water.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Half
an hour later, the dough was ready. She floured her hands and pulled the sticky
mess out of the bowl. Not too much kneading, not too little, that was the
secret. She cut the dough in half and mixed the raisins into one half. Kneaded
some more and rolled out the sweet buns. Then she set the two cookie sheets to
rise a little more covered by cotton towels and went upstairs to check on her
weavings.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
coat fabric for Tonje Hjerte was just about done. She still hadn’t told Tonje,
probably time to do so today so the budding designer could start planning her signature
wrap patterns. It was the other loom that interested Gerd right now. Her warp
had been set up with fine linen threads. It had taken days to get it just
right; linen was not an easy thread to work with. She had lots of sand colors
left over from last summer: mushroom, grey-pink, ecru, tan. She wanted some
spark in the fabric, but what? Blue, that was it. Blue, green, purple. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She
went to her box freezer in the shed and pulled out frozen blueberries and
blackberries. Pine needles were easy to gather even in the midst of winter. She
dug out three big dying bowls from the shed and prepared two salt fixatives and
one vinegar fixative in the bowls. They would have to rest a few hours before
she could put the undyed linen yarn in, but that was all right. The bolle dough
should be just about done now, anyway.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd
has just put the bloated forms of the boller with their egg wash glaze into the
oven when Jutta appeared trailing a two-year old and a five-year old. Nurket
looked at these strange creatures, but as the superior dog he was (he thought
so), he didn’t bark but only wagged his tail. The little humans fell all over
him.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jutta
looked a bit harried. Gerd smiled. “Kids getting the best of you?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jutta
smiled wanly. “Well, you know, Anne Grete is in a major funk over the disaster
of her marriage. It was a bad idea to start with, it really was. Did you know
she got A+ in math all through high school? She should have done something with
that, but all she wanted to do was get pregnant. And looked what ensued,” Jutta
grinned at her grandchildren.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
timer beeped. Gerd went into the kitchen to get the hot sweet buns out of the
oven. The kids had smelled the heavenly aromas and were clustering around. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Just
hang on a second while they cool, OK?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>When
the buns were nearly cool enough to eat, Gerd heaped them on a plate and
carried them to the living room table. She poured big glasses of milk for all
four of them.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Honey,
you’re the best.” Jutta was in bolle heaven. Svein and Henriette said nothing,
as their mouths were filled with pastry. Silence descended. Outside, it was
still snowing.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jutta
looked out the living room windows. “Looks like winter finally arrived, don’t
you think?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>After
an hour or two playing with Nurket until he couldn’t take any more and took
refuge under the sofa, Jutta, Svein, and Henriette took their leave. Svein’s
diaper was sagging disastrously, but Gerd wasn’t about to point it out. Jutta
noticed as well but said nothing. They kissed goodbye.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Finally
alone, Gerd went back to her dye bowls. It looked like the fixatives had set
well. As she had done so many times before, Gerd thought she had made the
perfect decision when she had installed the industrial size stove and oven in
her little kitchen. On that stove, she could boil 3 20-liter pots of yarn
simultaneously. She set the three pots to simmer and added the yarn to the
fixatives: vinegar solutions for the berries and salt for the pine needles.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>An
hour later, all three lots were done, and she rinsed her yarn out thoroughly.
The three pots were re-filled with blueberries, blackberries, and pine needles.
She set the dye lots to simmer while the yarn was drying from its first bath.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
called her cell. “How’s it going out there?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Not
bad. The snow storm looks like it’s settling in, though. Maybe you want to wait
it out?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Yeah,
it’s pretty bad. But how will you do without a boat?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Well,
I should go out to the nets, but in this weather I think I’ll just let the
salmon live. I have food enough to last me to Ragnarok, don’t worry about
that.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“OK,
honey. If it lets up later, I’ll come out. I love you,” he added as an
afterthought.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Love
you, too.” Gerd was preoccupied with ideas of blue, purple, and green. She hung
up.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>When
the dyes had simmered for an hour, Gerd carefully added the fixated yarn to the
three pots. 1/3 third went into the blueberry pot, 1/3 into the blackberry
solution, and the final 1/3 to the mix of February pine needles. Could be an
hour, could be more. She knew the pine mix would need the longest and the
blackberry the least, but she also wanted a really deep purple against the
other skeins of sand and cream. All one needed now was patience.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Sometime
in the middle of it all, she thought to check her rakørret marinating patiently
on her porch bench by the wall. Perfect. It was probably minus one or minus two
out and the snow was coming down like a flood. One winter when Gerd had been a
child at Voksenlia in Oslo, there had been so much snow that the kids had jumped
off the roof into the white fluff and her father had dug a tunnel from their
front door to the road. Maybe she would have to dig a tunnel to the shed.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
light was waning. All of a sudden, Nurket started growling by the front door.
What?<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd
was blinded by the inside lights when she opened her kitchen door. Nurket
flashed past her into the snowstorm. She could see nothing; where had he gone?
“Nurket!”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She
heard some frantic barking that might be coming from the shed. She could barely
make it out in the driving snow. The wind had driven snowbanks all along the
west side of her house and between the house and the shed, but she could fight
her way along the shed-wall. “Nurket!”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He
was growling in lee of the wind at her big barn doors on the north side of the
shed. What on earth?<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
door latch was undone. That was weird. Had she forgotten to latch it? She never
forgot; it was routine just as mooring your boat was routine or brushing your
teeth. She tore open the big doors.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Something
grabbed her as Nurket went ballistic. Something evil, foul-smelling, big. The
huge something had his hands around her throat. Nurket sank his milk teeth into
the nearest part of this enemy, who screamed in pain. The thing kicked at the
dog, hard. Nurket yelped and whined. The thing dragged Gerd out and slammed the
doors closed on the injured dog. While holding Gerd in a death grip around the
throat, he pushed a rock against the door with his foot to shut the dog inside.
Gerd saw his arm and bit, hard.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He
hit her hard with his other hand. Not a slap, a punch. She felt her teeth
loosen. He pushed her up the stone stairs to her kitchen door, yanked her
stumbling inside, and shut it.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>In
the light she was able to get a glimpse or her assailant. The blond ambulance
driver, the guy who said he was a police detective. Harald Jeltzen’s son and
Gunnar Katte Jeltzen’s grandson, Dag Eigil.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Eigil
dragged Gerd over to the dining table and shoved her down on a chair. He had
some rope in his hand, the hemp rope from her shed door, Gerd recognized. He
hogtied her to the chair. “Where is it?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd’s
fighting spirit kicked in. “Where is what, asshole?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Dag
Eigil pulled out a knife and held it to her throat. “Don’t play with me, girl,”
he said, almost sorrowfully. “It’s over for you. All we want is justice. You
have evidence we want. Where is it?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd
could only shake her head. “What evidence? Evidence of what?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Logic
enraged him. He dragged the knife lightly along her throat. Gerd could feel the
warm, sticky blood running into her T-shirt. “Give me the box!”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd
started laughing. Not very smart under the circumstances. “What box, idiot? If
you mean the letters Frank Åge Samuelsen sent Einar Iversen and the photographs
of your grandfather with his cronies, I gave them back to the library. What use
are they to me?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He
went berserk. Slapped her several times and yelled incoherent curses. She kept
laughing at him until he stuffed his handkerchief in her mouth and tied it shut
with his scarf. Gerd gagged.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Right
then her cell rang. They both heard Jonas leaving a message: he was coming out
but he’d be a little late because of some extra work at school. Jonas called
again 10 minutes later. “Gerd, are you there? I’m trying to get hold of you.
Don’t tell me you went out without your cell again.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Dag
Eigil’s pupils filled his entire corneas. He was clearly mad as a hatter. Gerd
couldn’t move against the ropes and the gag. He shook the phone in front of her
face. “Talk to him.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>As
she thought “just exactly how am I going to call him?” Jonas called again. The madman
held up the phone. “If you say one wrong thing, I’ll slit your throat.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Finally
you answer,” Jonas said.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd
still had the gag in her mouth. She shook her head at Dag Eigil, who roughly
yanked it out. He held the phone to her ear and the knife to her throat. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Ayúdame,”
Gerd said softly into the phone. </span><span lang="ES-MX">“Está aquí y
está loco.” </span><span>To
Dag Eigil, these were nonsense syllables. To Jonas, who had learned Spanish in
Guatemala, it said everything. His woman was in mortal danger.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Llego,”
he said, and cut the connection.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
crazy man was battering around in her house. He tore open drawers and pulled
books off shelves. The box that held his grandfather’s secrets was not to be
found. Gerd had moved it to Jutta’s house two days ago.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Minutes
passed. They heard no sound but the howling of the wind until there were steps
on Gerd’s stone stairs. They both listened. The steps approached and then
receded. “What the fuck?” said Dag Eigil and once again pulled the fuses from
Gerd’s fuse box. The house instantly became a tomb. His knife found Gerd’s
cheek and made a gentle scratch. “Just so you remember me, girl.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>All
was silent. Even the wind had died down. Gerd and Dag Eigil waited for the end.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>When
Jonas had approached the house and was about to tear down the door, he had
heard soft whining from the shed. He kicked away the rock that was holding the
door closed and found Nurket, bleeding and unable to get to his feet. Jonas
carried the little dog outside.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“He’s
dangerous, dude. He has mom captive. We cannot endanger her,” Jonas said to the
dog, who appeared to agree. “We have to lure him out.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
went back into the shed. What can I possibly use to make him come out? On the
east wall, way in the corner, he spied Gerd’s emergency flares. She should have
those in her boat, of course, but she didn’t. Matches – anywhere? By feeling
along the rafters Jonas found one box with maybe three matches left.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He
brought the matches outside along with the flares. Nurket was lying in the snow
with his leg at an odd angle, watching him. Let’s roll.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>With
one swipe of the match, Jonas lit all 10 of the emergency flares. They went up
like New Year’s Eve, lighting the entire ground a blinding white and signaling
SOS to everyone within miles. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
crazy man tore open the kitchen door and threw himself on Jonas. Much bigger
than him, he smothered Jonas in snow. Jonas was blanking out when his assailant
yelped. He flailed out with his arms and lost his grip on Jonas. The 4-month
old puppy had bitten him on the neck and was hanging on like an eel. Jonas
finally got a handhold, found a rock beneath the snow and knocked the intruder
senseless. He ran up the stairs: “Gerd!”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
house was dark and silent. Jonas stumbled over Gerd still tied to the dining
room chair, the gag nearly strangling her. He yanked it out and fumbled with
the hideous ropes. His mind finally caught one strand of logic; he pulled his
Swiss Army knife from his pocket and severed the ropes. “Gerd!”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Fuse
box,” she mumbled. She was alive!<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
went to the fuse box and threw the switch. As he did so, he saw the knocked-out
man in the snow beginning to move. He ran back, got the ropes from Gerd and
brought the longest lengths outside. Tied the man with his hands behind his
back and his feet secured to improvised rope handcuffs so he looked like a
backwards comma in the snow. Ran back in.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd
was coming to her senses, still hunched over on the chair. “Where is Nurket?
Call 911.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>With
shaking fingers, Jonas did. His story wasn’t quite coherent, but the dispatcher
understood. “We’re sending a police launch right away. Lyholmen, you said?” He
did. Lyholmen, west side of the island, Gerd Ljoset. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
went outside. The man was getting buried in the snow and Jonas made no move to
save him. A black nose peeked out of a blanket of white. He lifted up the
little puppy, scraped off the snow, and carried him inside. He laid him down on
a rug in the living room and grabbed some towels to cover him. Jonas rubbed him
softly. He thought the puppy was dead. Tears ran down his face. “You saved her,
little hero. You saved her.” Gerd hobbled over and fell to her knees next to
Jonas and the cold dog. She nearly fainted when a little tongue stuck out and
tentatively licked her hand. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>They
heard the police boat sirens. Even in the snowstorm, their GPS’s had shown them
the way. Never again would he damn technology, thought Jonas. Like any tool, it
could be used for good and for evil. He grabbed a flashlight and stepped over
the now moaning figure in the snow to meet them.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He
ran into the three officers as they were seeking their way past the Viking
Graves. No time for introductions, “Come with me.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>At
the house, the three observed the man trussed like a chicken in the snow. It
was two women and a man, Jonas now saw. They recognized the struggling captive.
Strangely, they didn’t make a move to carry him inside or to incriminate Jonas
for violence against a sworn officer. One of the female officers, a short,
stout woman, shook her head sadly, looking at him. “I always knew there was
something wrong with him,” she said. The other two were silent.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>They
followed Jonas into the house. Gerd began to explain what had happened when
they noticed the cut across her throat still seeping blood and the line down
her cheek. “We’ll get the story later,” decided the older woman who was clearly
in charge. “You need a hospital. Now.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Not
without Nurket,” Gerd mumbled, uncooperative. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“What?”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“My
dog. He’s a hero. He saved me.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
dog in question was trying to wag his tail under the piles of towels. Jonas
said, “This asshole had hit me and I was blacking out when Nurket here jumped
him. He was injured, couldn’t stand on his hind leg, but he jumped the bastard
like a bull mastiff for all he weighs no more than 6 kilos. Nurket saved both
of us.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
male officer understood. Gently, he scooped up dog and towels. They all moved
outside, Gerd leaning on Jonas and the officer carrying Nurket like a baby. Dag
Eigil in the snow was coming around and had started cursing. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Do
you have a sled?” The older officer asked Gerd.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“In
the shed.”<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
two women officers opened the shed door and pulled out the sled. The man was
clearly not going to give up the canine baby he carried in his arms. They
brought the sled outside and, with Jonas’ help, loaded Dag Eigil into it. He
flailed and swore, but they paid no attention.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Had
anyone seen them, they would have made a curious procession down the path in
the snow. Two strong women pulling a sled with a wailing and heaving man
trussed like an Easter ham. A young man in a uniform cradling a puppy to his
chest. And Jonas, bloodied in his fight and completely unaware, supporting Gerd
as she resolutely put one foot in front of the other. Eons later, they made it
to the police launch and got everyone on board, including Dag Eigil who was
unceremoniously dumped in the hold.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>There
was no need for sirens. The police boat, with its bad-ass engines, pulled
rapidly away from the dock. Gerd, Jonas, and the young officer huddled in lee
of the wind and driving snow, petting Nurket and telling him what a great dog
he was. He licked every hand that came within licking distance.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>In
Vika, two ambulances were waiting, one for the humans and one for Nurket. He
accepted his fate calmly as he was gently transferred to a doggie stretcher and
loaded into the back of the veterinary ambulance. The humans went in the other
one. Dag Eigil was still tied up and shouting curses; one of the orderlies
assessed the situation and gave the struggling man a shot of Demerol. He konked
out right away.<span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>At
the hospital, Gerd was checked in by a surprisingly competent ER team. Jonas
objected. He wasn’t about to let her out of his sight. They let him come; ER
not being subjected to the rules that governed everyone else. Within minutes,
Gerd had a plastic bracelet around her wrist and was whisked away to the
Intensive Care Unit. Jonas followed. The last he recalled was the nice male
nurse bringing in an army cot and some blankets. Jonas collapsed on the cot,
looking at his woman in the high hospital bed with needles hooked to plastic
bags inserted into both arms. <span style="display: none;"></span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-90859994603072167772012-05-12T14:26:00.000-07:002012-06-25T14:26:49.641-07:00Chapter 15<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Gerd
was lying in a bed so white it hurt his eyes. She had a bandage across her
throat and pads on her cheek. A thin plastic tube from a bag on a pole snaked
into her arm. The nice nurse had removed the one from her other arm, saying it
wasn’t needed.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Someone
knocked on the door. Jonas was not entirely awake and he had to think a while
before saying “Come in.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>It
was the young police officer who had taken care of Nurket. He was carrying the
squirming puppy in his arms. He bent down and laid the bundle next to Jonas’
cot. Nurket had one leg in a splint and his fur had been shaven off his side.
He sported white bandages across his entire middle, yet he tried to stand and
lick Jonas’ hand. Jonas bent over him.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You
good dog,” he cooed. “You are the best, the bravest dog I have ever known. You
can have filet mignon every day for all I care. Such a brave dog.” He petted
what was pettable of Nurket.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“He
just wouldn’t rest,” said the officer. “The vet said he could have knocked him
out, but I thought he’d be better off here.” Jonas lifted Nurket gently onto
Gerd’s bed. The left leg stuck out at an angle, so Jonas put him on his side.
Nurket sniffed closely at the sleeping woman and was asleep in an instant.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Just
as the officer was leaving, an ICU nurse poked her head in the door. Having a
dog on your bed in intensive care was probably against a hundred regulations,
but the woman just smiled. “Just make sure he doesn’t pull her IV out,” she
said to Jonas and softly closed the door on them.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
flowers started arriving. Roses, tulips, and a whole lot of flowers Jonas
couldn’t name. Who were they from? He stretched and got up off the
uncomfortable cot to investigate. Jutta and Henrik, Nanna and Peder; here was
even an enormous spray of lilacs from someone that just signed her name as
Nora. Lilacs in February? Must have come from Peru or somewhere. A little
arrangement of snowdrops and daisies said “I’m painting again because of you.
Get well soon because I can’t wait to show you.” It was signed Adriana. Mrs.
Andresen sent orchids.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>This
was the good, the bad, and sometimes the ugly of living in a very small town.
No matter how you tried to be anonymous, people knew you. And actually, they
cared about you. There was even an unsigned card with Jonas’ name on it
accompanying a posy of some blue kind of flowers. The card read “We don’t only
love you because you love her.” Jonas smiled. If that wasn’t Anita Vadoma he’d
eat his non-existent hat.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
nurse brought breakfast of sorts. Egg white omelette? Jonas hesitated to wake
Gerd, but her eyes were already open. He fed her a few spoonfuls while Nurket
snored at her side. She petted him lightly but he didn’t wake. Gerd closed her
eyes.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Another
knock on the door revealed the older of the two women officers that had helped
them last night. She offered her hand.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’m
lieutenant Gadhi,” she said to Jonas. “Do you mind if I ask you a few
questions?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Not
at all, but not here,” Jonas replied, stroking his hand over his unshaven chin.
“Let’s go to the cafeteria.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Downstairs
in the cafeteria, the day was already bustling. People of all ages in scrubs of
blues and greens ordered strong coffee and hurried out. Relatives with worried
faces made their cappuccinos last as long as possible and looked down at their
tables. Jonas and lieutenant Gadhi grabbed a table by the window where a young
man who had just received a text message got to his feet in a hurry and
speed-walked out.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“What
can you tell me about yesterday?” she asked mildly.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
don’t know where to start,” began Jonas. “I know, ‘start at the beginning, go
on to the end, then stop.’ But I think the start was nearly 70 years ago.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Lieutenant
Gadhi nodded, keeping quiet so the man would continue talking.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Let
me start with what I do know,” continued Jonas. “Gerd, that’s Gerd Ljoset,
found Einar Iversen dead in his boat out at Treungene. The ambulance driver who
met her boat in Vika was that despicable asshole, Dag Jeltzen, your sworn
officer moonlighting. He knew who Einar was and of his connection to his own
grandfather, Gunnar Katte Jeltzen. Dag Eigil is a neo-Nazi. Gunnar was a Nazi
collaborator. The swine wanted to exonerate his grandfather, as if that were
possible. Somehow he found out that the librarian, what’s her name again?, had
given Gerd a box of Einar’s mementos from the war. Eigil wanted those. He
harassed her three times, getting crazier and crazier each time. The last one
was yesterday.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Officer
Gadhi nodded. “We have had information about his affiliations,” she said
neutrally. “What I don’t understand is the connection between Einar Iversen and
Dag Eigil’s grandfather.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
sighed. “I don’t know, either,” he said. “But Gerd has been telling me over and
over that everyone in town over 60 years of age is talking about it. At Einar’s
funeral two days ago, one of the old geezers came up to Gerd and myself
muttering about how Einar deserved his fate. Deserved to die? We all die,
eventually,” he added, at a loss.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Do
you know who that man was?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No,
but I can describe him.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“So
you think this enmity came out of something that happened as far back as the
Second World War?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
don’t know,” said Jonas, sighing. “I really don’t. But to me it doesn’t matter.
I want to protect Gerd. Whatever happened in the war is long past. I want that
assailant in jail for the rest of his natural life, which I may hope will be
short, and gone from ours forever.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
middle-aged police lieutenant looked him with calm and certain eyes. “He will
be,” she said.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>They
took their leave, Jonas promising to call the station when Gerd was well enough
to give a statement. “Don’t hold your breath,” he thought. He took the stairs
back up to ICU to clear his head.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>In
her room, Gerd was still sleeping her drug-induced sleep. Nurket, with probably
no drugs whatsoever, was cuddled up to her as close as he could get and
whuffling in his sleep. Jonas strode aimlessly around the room, moving flowers
and looking out the window. The snowstorm seemed to have abated. He walked to
Gerd’s bed and stroked her forehead. Did she smile a little? He thought so.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>There
was a knock on the door. What was this, a goddamn open house? He growled “Come
in” with bad grace. A middle-aged man with brown hair – what there was of it –
and a meek expression stood in the doorway. “May I come in?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Who
the hell are you?” Jonas was not up to being courteous.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“My
name is Harald Katte Jeltzen,” said the man, as if that explained everything.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
asshole’s father. Jonas thought vaguely that he had met the man at the funeral,
but he wasn’t sure. He made a gesture that said ‘come in’ but not exactly with
warmth.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Harald
Jeltzen walked slowly into the room. By the window there was a small table with
two chairs. Jonas gestured for him to sit down. He waited.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
need to tell you,” began the small man. Jonas said nothing.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
need to tell you why my son is fixated on the war. I don’t excuse him, don’t
get me wrong. He has been a difficult boy since he was just a toddler. But I’d
like you to know.” Jonas nodded for him to continue.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“My
father was one of a large transport to Sweden in 1943,” Harald began. “My
mother, who was Swedish and who met him there, always told me that my father
was a war hero. But I saw them, you see. I was only a kid, maybe 7, and I had
followed my dad to his poker game in the woods. It might have been 1952 or ’53.
I admired him so much. I was probably not the strong Aryan son he wanted, but I
wanted to be like him. So I followed him.”</span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
quiet man took a breath, his eyes lost in the past.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“They
were sitting in a clearing with cards, in a circle. One man pulled out an
envelope and threw it at my dad. He opened it. Then there was a lot of
shouting. They pulled my dad to a tree where a giant of a man was waiting and
they pulled him up like up the gym ropes at school. I didn’t understand. I
thought it was a game. I knew I would be in trouble for spying on my dad so I
ran home.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
still said nothing. Harald Katte continued.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Later
they told me my dad was dead. I didn’t focus on it right then because my little
sister was so poorly. She died right about the same time. She was my angel, my
little butterfly. She was so small you could practically see right through her.
Dad was hardly ever home anyway. My soul went to heaven with her the day we
buried her.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
thought a long time. “What did you tell your own son about his grandfather?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
shrunken man shuddered. “I was never quite right after Gloriana died. Our mom
passed away when I was in my teens. I never intended to marry or, God forbid,
to have children. But there was this woman who was nice to me, Brit, and when
she said she was pregnant, I married her. She was a whore and it was a disaster
from the start. She left me soon after Dag Eigil was born. I had to bring him up
myself and what do I know of bringing up a headstrong boy? I’m sure I told him
fantastic stories of his heroic grandfather; everyone does, don’t they? But he
just got worse and worse. In middle school he was expelled twice. How he
managed to pass the entrance exams to the police academy I’ll never know. But I
was very proud of him then.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
too-soon-old man hunched his shoulders. Jonas felt pity. “It always looks
different from the other side of the fence,” he thought.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“It’s
not your fault,” he said to the distraught father. “Everyone makes his own
choices in life. It’s not your fault.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Harald
Katte looked up at him. He was grateful but not convinced. “Thank you,” he said
quietly. Then he looked over at Gerd’s bed. “What can I do? How can I make
amends for my son?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
finally had his wits about him. He had no more anger in his heart. “You have
done wonders just by coming here. There is nothing to forgive. Gerd and I will
survive and your son will meet his fate. It is done. Mr. Jeltzen, go in peace.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
stooped, lonely man smiled for what was probably the first time in many years.
“May I come out to visit you now and then?” he asked tentatively.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Of
course. We’ll look forward to seeing you,” said Jonas, and meant it. Harald
Katte Jeltzen, burdened by sins not of his own making, took his leave.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
was left, philosophizing. “Why do we do this?” he thought. “Why do we have this
infernal drive to push everyone else down and climb all over them to some
imagined summit? Why do we believe there isn’t enough space for us all? Maybe
there isn’t.” He thought of his own upbringing, so cold and distant. “If
someone had told me of a hero grandfather who was wrongly accused, I probably
would have sworn my life to avenge him as well. There but for fortune.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>A
male ICU nurse bustled in and bustled about. He made notes on the chart on
Gerd’s bed, smiled at the sleeping Nurket, and nodded at Jonas. As he opened
the door, someone else was standing outside. A big, tall someone with white
hair in disarray around his face.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>It
was pilot Joacim Corneliussen. “May I come in?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Since
Gerd was still in narcotics heaven, Jonas didn’t see why not. He nodded at the
old man. He was leaning on a cane, but his crutches were gone. He limped into
the room, heavily. Jonas inclined his head to the uncomfortable plastic chair
Harald had just vacated.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Joacim
grabbed the edge of the table, stuck his leg out in front of him, and
cumbersomely got down into the chair. He looked at the spotted table-top. Jonas
observed him, saying nothing. Without preamble, the old man began his story.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“It
was the winter of 42, you know. The very core of the earth was frozen. We had
nothing, no electricity, no firewood, practically no food. Children didn’t
play. That winter, a German destroyer, the <i>Sieg</i>,
went aground out at Hysebåene. The sea ice was meters thick out to Ørneredet,
man. They must have lost their radio because the Germans sent up signal flags.
Even on Lyhomen with binoculars I could read them. ‘Save our souls’ they said.
No one wanted to save their souls.” He took a breath.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
waited. He knew Joacim would get around to the whole story sooner or later.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Frank
Åge Samuelsen, that miserable gimp from Vågen, borrowed a horse from a neighbor
and pulled a rowboat out to the end of the sea ice. He brought a girl back. A
German girl.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Joacim
paused. How do you tell of the fury that poisons men’s hearts when they see
their sisters and mothers getting grey-faced and thin while the invaders gorge
on chocolate and all the potatoes left in the county? </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Tell
me, los.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“A
month later, Einar and Gunnar had discovered that Frank Åge was sheltering the
enemy. Lexis was there, too; he was a loose cannon. Did you know I saved him
from drowning? Worst rescue I ever made. Well, the three of them were up on the
hill at Vågen playing their usual poker when they heard the girl. She was
singing, as if the world was just fine. They all raped her. I don’t know any
other way to say it. I found out later when I discovered Einar getting drunk on
stolen beer. He told me. I saw Gunnar and Alexis that same day. Gunnar was
crowing about his “conquest,” and Alexis was just blank as always. I never told
anyone. I should have told. I should have told.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Even
at this, Jonas was still lost. “So what does all this have to do with that
miserable son-of-a-bitch stalking Gerd? She could have died, you know,” he said
severely. Joacim nodded.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“We
hanged him,” he said simply.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Hanged
who? Or whom?” Jonas needed his cases straight.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“We
hanged him, the informer, the collaborator, the devil who had sent untold
patriots to their starvation and death. Gunnar Katte.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
thought of what Harald had seen. Had the boy realized that his father was being
executed?</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Gunnar
had a son, Harald. In fact, he also had a small daughter who died of
consumption that same year. I never knew until long afterwards. Einar told me.”</span></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
waited.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Einar
was always repentant about the rape even though she was German and all that.
Alexis and Gunnar never had any remorse, but Einar was different. Some years
later, after they had all returned from Sweden, Einar learned deep-sea diving
and found the wreck of the <i>Sieg</i>, down
there at Hysebåene. He brought up chests of silver, silver that was probably
intended to pay the Nazis’ way where they couldn’t bully. He kept on lending us
money, all of us. We were all indebted to Einar as we played our silly poker
games out there in the woods. Gunnar was the biggest debtor.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
still don’t see how Gunnar’s son could have killed Einar,” Jonas felt as if
someone was telling two stories and he couldn’t discern one from the other.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Harald?
No, Harald never killed anyone. Maybe he should have, but that’s between him
and God,” said Joacim.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No,
Harald didn’t kill Einar Iversen. Frank Åge Samuelsen did.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Why?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You
need to understand where Frank Åge came from. His father was a wife-beating
monster of the old school. He abhorred his cripple of a son. When Frank Åge
rescued that German girl from the <i>Sieg</i>,
he thought he had found someone to love him. No one had ever loved him. Einar,
Gunnar, and Alexis raped her and got her pregnant. She hanged herself. Frank
Åge never forgave them, nor me.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“But
you weren’t there, los. Or were you?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“No,
I wasn’t, but that’s no excuse. I found out about it. But I didn’t tell. I never
told anyone what they had done to her.”<span> </span></span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“So
how did Frank Åge kill Einar?” There was still no connection in Jonas’ mind.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’m
not sure he did,” the pilot replied. “It hardly matters. Frank Åge has been
after us all these years. Gunnar died without his help and he resents that.
Alexis died under suspicious circumstances. Even our guide to Sweden,
Kampainen, died too suddenly. I don’t know, boy, but I do think it’s soon
over,” the old pilot shook his head to clear the old memories, but he couldn’t shake
them off. “I will live with my shame to the end of my days.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
couldn’t think of anything to say. He just nodded, still as confused as ever.
Joacim looked over at the sleeping Gerd.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Take
good care of her,” he said quietly. “The love of a good woman is above rubies.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Pilot
Joacim ponderously lifted himself from the chair. Jonas stayed seated. When the
pilot reached the door, he said, “Thank you.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Los
Joacim Corneliussen raised his head, surprised. His tired eyes looked into
Jonas’s. “Bless you, boy,” he said and left.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Daylight
was fading. Jonas sat at the rickety Formica table staring at nothing. Gerd
made a low sound, the first she had made since they brought her in and
sequestered her in this white bed of tubes and monitors.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Baby,”
Jonas was by her side in a second.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Her
eyes fluttered open. “Hei.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Hei
to you sweetheart.” He couldn’t think of what to say. “How are you feeling?”
didn’t seem worth much. She had to be feeling like shit.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>They
sat there holding hands for a long while. Finally Gerd said, “Where am I?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You’re
in the South County Hospital, honey. Do you remember what happened yesterday?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>She
didn’t reply right away. At last she said, “Nurket?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
guided her hand, the one without the IV, over to Nurket’s fur. She stroked him
softly. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
do remember,” she said gently. “Nurket was barking his little head off by the
shed door and I went to investigate. That awful man kicked him, really hard.
How is he?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
didn’t think she meant Dag Eigil. “He’ll be OK,” he said. “The vet said so. He
has two bruised ribs and a broken leg, but he’ll recover. He’s the best dog.”
He had a sudden thought. “You’re not going to look for his original owners, are
you?” </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“He’s
mine,” said Gerd sleepily. “Ours. He’s our best dog.” And she closed her eyes
again.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Nurses
came and went, checking monitors and whatnots. In the afternoon, a doctor came
in and introduced himself as Overlege Brekkane. He looked at the scribbles on
Gerd’s chart and smiled at Jonas. “Quite a tough little lady you have here.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Doctor,
when can we go home?” There was nothing more pressing on Jonas’ mind. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Probably
tomorrow. Her throat wound luckily didn’t hit anything vital. Can she talk?”
Jonas nodded. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Her
voice sounds normal?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Yes,”
said Jonas with infinite relief.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Good.
Her other injuries are superficial. The slash on her cheek will heal without
stitches. The abrasions on her wrists and ankles are from the restraints. As
far as we can tell, there are no internal injuries.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
looked at the young physician, only now noticing the grey at his temples. “You
have seen such injuries before?” he asked in a low voice.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Unfortunately
yes. I did two tours in Iraq,” the somber man replied. “I tried to treat the
prisoners of Abu Ghraib. They were broken not only in body from their torture
but also in spirit. Yes, I have seen the signs of gagging and excessive
restraints before.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
couldn’t speak. He only looked at the doctor, who was taking Gerd’s pulse with
infinite care. “Doctor Brekkane, will you testify if it comes to a trial?”
Jonas tried to sound normal.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Of
course. But I don’t think it will be necessary. The police tell me that the
assailant they have in custody is near psychotic. I do believe he will live out
his life in the psychiatric unit of the regional penitentiary.” The physician
finished his examination of Gerd’s records. He turned to Jonas.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
want to tell you something,” he began, hesitantly. “But first I need to ask you
some rather personal questions. Is that OK?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Of
course.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Overlege
Brekkane seemed to be marshalling his forces. Abruptly, he asked Jonas, “How
well do you love her?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“What?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I
don’t mean to pry into your private life. But a person who has been traumatized
doesn’t always behave the way the rest of us do. They may have enormous mood
swings or they may start sympathizing with their torturers. The Stockholm
syndrome, you know. It’s real,” he added, as an afterthought.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“That
why I ask you, do you want to, are you capable of helping her heal? It’s no
shame to say no. Please believe me, the best for Ms. Ljoset is not pious
political correctness. Only bone-naked truth can provide the salve that heals
her wounds. Mr. van der Linden,” he continued, “we physicians can heal her
physical trauma. We can stitch wounds and pump her so full of narcotics that
she feels nothing. But only constant, persistent love and tolerance will help
heal her spirit.” The young-old doctor couldn’t meet Jonas’ eyes so he looked
out the window.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
felt his mouth stretch into a smile that knew no bounds. “I swear to you that I
love her beyond measure, beyond convention, and to the end of eternity,” he
said simply. “I’ll always be there for her,” he said, “whether she wants me to
or not.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Overlege
Brekkane smiled at the scraggly, unshaven man by the bedside. “OK, then,” he
said softly. He made his final checks and left.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
spent a long time observing how the light in the single window changed second
by second from grey to black. When all outside the window and the walls had
disappeared, there was a knock on the door. Two heads peeked around the
doorjamb. Jonas didn’t recognize them. They appeared to be teenagers. “Can we
come in?”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Two
teenage girls reluctantly entered the sickroom. The taller one asked “Is she
awake?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Not
at the moment,” answered Jonas. “Can I help you?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>An
older woman showed up behind the girls. The three stepped into the room and
shut the door behind them. The dark-haired, younger girl seemed to gather her senses
first. “I want to tell her,” she said apropos nothing. “I want to tell her that
she saved my sister and me.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
had no idea who they were and his face must have shown it. The mother – it must
be their mother, she looked like the taller girl – broke in. “Let me introduce
myself. I’m Eva Gundersen and Peppi and Kaia and my daughters.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Jonas
replied by rote, “How are you?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
woman replied, “We are OK, now. Ms. Ljoset came to my house a couple of days
ago and she made me see how I had kept accepting what should not be accepted.
You see,” she continued, looking straight at Jonas, “my husband abused us. I am
forever ashamed that I did not stop it before, but perhaps you know something
of abduction and mental abuse?” The mousy little woman did not seem so meek any
more. “When Ms. Ljoset came to my house and accidentally saw my husband’s means
of enforcement, I knew it was the end. Then Peppi and Kaia here,” she smiled at
them with a shower of love and protectiveness, “made me call 911. The person who
responded was a Detective Overholt. He looked at everything and waited with us
until Andreas came home. Of course he went berserk. The detective slapped
handcuffs on him and took him in on a charge of domestic abuse. He promised us
that Andreas would not hurt us again. And it is all because of this woman, this
Gerd Ljoset.”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>All
four of them looked over at the bed where Gerd was sleeping. Nurket began to
wake up and opened his eyes to look at them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Thank
you,” said Jonas simply. “We’ll be back on Lyholmen tomorrow or the day after.
I’ll call you when she is well enough to receive visitors. Do you have a phone
number?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Peppi
scribbled a number on the back of a Netflix receipt. Finally, she spoke. “Most
people don’t give a fuck, Mister. Ms. Ljoset did. Kaia and I want to help her
with her farm and her nets. We’d like that very much,” she added.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“I’m
sure she would appreciate the help,” said Jonas, now getting quite tired of the
parade of people. “We’ll talk soon, OK?”</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
trio left. Jonas was beginning to wonder when dinner time was here at the
sick-house, when the door pushed open one more time. Wasn’t this a hospital?
How could they expect anyone to get better when there was this constant traffic
of people?</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>An
old man with a comb-over peeked around the door. Jonas vaguely recognized him.
The little man limped into the room and stopped. His voice was smoky, reedy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You
wonder why they died, don’t you?” he asked, conversationally. Jonas was
completely in the dark. Died? Who?</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“You
see,” said the little man, “they killed my angel. Of course they had to die for
their sins. That Frenchman, Alexis, I hounded him to his end. The guide who
brought them out of danger to Sweden, of course he had to die, too. The
bastards caught the evil Katte before I could get to him; he never deserved
such mercy. I was the one who gave Einar-the-holy the bottle of 96 proof for
his little journey to Treungene. He was always such a sot, Einar. Never could
withstand the lure of John Barleycorn,” he grinned evilly with his few remaining
teeth. “There is only one left, you know,” he confided in Jonas, “and that is
Joacim-mr-perfect-Corneliussen. I have reminded him every year since my angel
died. They will all die, and slowly.”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>The
old man looked perfectly demented. At that moment, Gerd opened her eyes. She
looked at him; he looked at her. At last, she stretched out her unencumbered
hand to the little troll and said softly,</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>“Te
absolvo.”</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7287215213543048023.post-47557965832109661162012-05-11T14:30:00.000-07:002012-06-25T14:30:36.445-07:00Epilogue<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>On
his bed of soft pine needles, the man was at peace. He had completed the circle.
He had avenged his mother for the brutalization perpetrated by his father. He
had ensured the agonizing death of everyone who had slighted her, his golden
angel. He had procured the information that caused the fools to hang Gunnar. He
remembered well the drip, drip, drip of his loosened bowels into the soft
autumn leaves. He had driven that Dupreux foreigner to madness with evil
portents and talismans, the superstitious idiot. And that brute of a guide who
had at first carried them out of his reach to safe Sweden; he had paid a
vagrant to romance his stupid daughter and get her with child. Two, even. Two
useless whores who, even at a few years of age, showed the tendency of their
despicable mother, despicable for being his, Oswald’s, daughter. And then he
had thrown her into the path of an asocial wife-beater, a man just like his
father had been. He had driven that holier-than-thou pilot to an unending hell
of self-recrimination: every year on her death day he sent him a letter: “why
didn’t you tell?”</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He
had savored the last retribution for over 60 years. Einar Iversen, the
faultless. The good guy who had lent him, him the wall-eyed serf-boy, his
Superman comic book. The one his angel had babbled of in the months that
followed: his curly hair and his dark blue eyes. She had made them into heroes,
these raping bastards. That last night she had told him what they had done.
Gathering her in their arms, bringing her to the clearing in the wood. Laying
her down and lifting her tattered skirts. The other two had been quick and
nearly unnoticed, but him, he was the one. She told him with the light of a
woman in her eyes: she had rejoiced in his embrace. Frank Åge knew the world
had ended.</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span>He
had returned from fishing early that day. Stood outside the one glass-less
window an eternity. Saw her smiling to herself as she stirred a measly
vegetable pot with the front of her dress not quite meeting across her belly.
He had entered quietly. When she saw him hoist the rope over the rafter, she
was strangely unafraid. He said nothing; nor did she. She went to the rope like
Bossy to the chute. As he kicked away the chair, she murmured “Einar,” and then
her neck broke.</span></span></div>Jiahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17518015249064178348noreply@blogger.com0