manoeuvred the corpse on to the ammunition
boxes and was about to tie the sack around his
head, he smiled. I know that lack of sleep and
hunger can play tricks with your mind, but I did
see his rigid death-mask change in front of my
very eyes. The extraordinary thing was that
instead of frightening me, it made me feel secure
and happy. Then I sneaked back into the bunker,
where I fell asleep like a child.
When Edvard Mosken woke me up an hour later,
it was as if I had been dreaming the whole thing,
and I think I managed to appear genuinely
surprised to see that Daniel’s body had turned up
again. But this was not enough to convince
Edvard Mosken. He was sure it was Fauke’s
body, sure I had killed him and had put his body
there in the hope that the corpse-bearers would
think they had forgotten to collect him the first
time and take him along. Dale removed the
sacking and Mosken saw that it was Daniel. They
both gaped, open-mouthed, and I had to fight to
restrain the laughter inside me from bursting out
and giving us – Daniel and me – away.
Field Hospital, Northern Sector,
Leningrad. 17 January 1944.
The hand-grenade that was thrown from the
Russian plane hit Dale on the helmet and spun
around on the ice as we tried to move away. I was
closest and was sure all three of us would die:
Mosken, Dale and me. It is strange, but my last
thought was what an irony of fate it was that I
had just saved Edvard Mosken from being shot by
Dale, the poor man, and my sole achievement was
to extend the life of our section leader by exactly
two minutes. Fortunately, however, the Russians
make terrible hand-grenades and we all survived
with our lives intact. As for me, I had an injured
foot and shrapnel had sliced through my helmet
into my forehead.
By a remarkable coincidence I ended up in
Daniel’s fiancée’s ward, with Sister Signe
Alsaker. At first she didn’t recognise me, but in
the afternoon she came over and spoke to me in
Norwegian. She is very beautiful and I know only
too well why I wanted to be engaged to her.
Olaf Lindvig is also in this ward. That white
leather tunic of his hangs on a hook by his bed. I
don’t know why – perhaps so that he can walk
right out and back to the duties awaiting him as
soon as his injuries have
healed. Men of his calibre are needed now; I
can hear the Russian artillery fire closing in.
One night he was having nightmares, I think,
because he screamed, and Sister Signe came in.
She gave him an injection of something,
morphine perhaps. When he went to sleep again,
I saw her stroke his hair. She was so beautiful
that I felt like calling her over to my bed and
telling her who I was, but I didn’t want to
frighten her.
Today they said I was to be sent to the west
because medicines were not getting through. No
one said anything, but my foot is painful, the
Russians are coming closer and I know this is my
only hope for survival.
Vienna Woods. 29 May 1944
The most beautiful and the most intelligent
woman I have ever met in my life. Can you love
two women at once? Yes, you certainly can.
Gudbrand has changed. That is why I have
taken Daniel’s nickname – Uriah. Helena
preferred it. Gudbrand was an odd name, she
thought.
I write poems when the others have gone to
sleep, but I’m not much of a poet. My heart beats
wildly when she appears in the doorway, but
Daniel says you have to stay calm, well, almost
cold, if you want to win a woman’s heart. It is
like catching flies: you have to sit quite still,
preferably looking in another direction. And
then, when the fly has begun to trust you – when
it lands on the table in front of you, goes closer
and finally almost begs you to try and catch it –
then you strike as quick as lightning, firm and
sure in your convictions. The latter is the most
important. It is not speed but conviction that
catches flies. You have one chance – and you
must be ready for it, Daniel says.
Vienna. 29 June 1944.
. . . freeing myself from my beloved Helena’s
arms. Outside the air raid had been over for a
long time, but it was the middle of the night and
the streets were still deserted. I found the car
where we had left it, beside the restaurant Zu den
drei Husaren. The rear window was smashed and
a brick had made a huge dent in the roof, but
otherwise, fortunately, it was unscathed. I drove
as fast as I dared back to the hospital.
I knew it was too late to do anything for Helena
and me. We were simply two people caught in a
maelstrom of events over which we had no power.
Her fears for her parents doomed her to
marrying this doctor, Christopher Brockhard,
this corrupt person who in his boundless