could do. I had already seen a human skeleton
standing in the bright flames on the top floor,
trapped with one leg on either side of the window
ledge. But the girl continued to follow me,
screaming her desperate pleas for me to help her
mother. I tried to walk faster, but her small
child’s arms held me, would not let go and I
dragged her with me towards the great sea of
flames below us. We went on, a strange
procession, two people shackled together on our
way to extinction.
I wept, yes, I wept, but the tears evaporated as
soon as they had come. I don’t know which of us
it was who stopped but I lifted her up, and I
turned, carried her up to the dormitory and
wrapped my blanket round her. Then I took the
mattresses from the other beds and lay down
beside her on the floor.
I never found out her name, or what happened
to her, because she disappeared during the night.
But I know she saved my life. I took the decision
to hope.
I awoke to a dying city. Several of the fires were
still ablaze, the harbour buildings were razed to
the ground and the boats which had come with
provisions or to evacuate the wounded stayed out
in the Außenalster, unable to dock.
It was evening before the crew had cleared a
place where they could load and unload, and I
hurried over. I went from boat to boat until I
found what I was looking for – passage to
Norway. The ship was called Anna and was
taking cement to Trondheim. The destination
suited me well since I didn’t imagine that the
search papers would have been sent there. Chaos
had taken over from the usual German order, and
the lines of command were, to put it mildly,
confused. The SS on my collar seemed to create a
certain impression, and I had no problem getting
on board and persuading the captain that the
orders I showed him implied that I had to find my
way to Oslo via the most direct route possible.
Under the prevailing circumstances, that meant
on Anna to Trondheim and from there by train to Oslo.
The journey took three days. I walked off the
boat, showed my papers and was waved on. Then
I boarded a train for Oslo. The whole trip took
four days. Before getting off the train I went to
the toilet and put on the clothes I had taken from
Christopher Brockhard. Then I was ready for the
first test. I walked up Karl Johans gate. It was
warm and drizzling. Two girls came towards me,
arm in arm, and giggled loudly as I passed them.
The inferno in Hamburg seemed light-years
away. My heart rejoiced. I was back in my
beloved country and I was reborn for a second
time.
The receptionist in the Continental Hotel
scrutinised my ID papers before looking at me
over his glasses.
‘Welcome to the Continental Hotel, herr Fauke.’
And as I lay on my back in bed in the yellow
hotel room, staring at the ceiling and listening to
the sounds of the city outside, I tried out our new
name on my tongue, Sindre Fauke. It was
unfamiliar, but I realised that it might, it could,
work.
Nordmarka. 12 July 1944.
. . . a man called Even Juul. He seems to have
swallowed my story whole, like the other Home
Front men. And why shouldn’t they, anyway? The
truth – that I fought at the Eastern Front and am
wanted for murder – would be even harder to
swallow than my deserting and returning to
Norway via Sweden. They have checked their
information with their sources and have received
confirmation that a person by the name of Sindre
Fauke was reported missing, probably a
defection to the Russians. The Germans have
order in their systems!
I speak fairly standard Norwegian, a result of
my having grown up in the USA, I imagine, and
no one notices that as Sindre Fauke I have
quickly got rid of my Gudbrandsdal dialect. I
come from a tiny place in Norway, but even if
someone I met in my youth (Youth! My God, it
was only three years ago and yet a whole lifetime
away) were to turn up I am positive they would
not recognise me. I feel so totally different.
What I am much more frightened of is that
someone should turn up who knows the real
Sindre Fauke. Fortunately, he comes from an
even more isolated place than I, if that is
possible, but of course he has relatives who could
identify him.
I walk around chewing on these things, and my
surprise was therefore immense when today they
gave me orders to liquidate one of my own
(Fauke’s) Nasjonal Samling brothers. It is
supposed to test whether I have really changed
sides or whether I’m an infiltrator. Daniel and I
almost burst out laughing – it is as if we had
discovered the idea ourselves. They actually
asked me to get rid of the people who could blow
the whistle on me! I’m well aware the leaders of