The Redbreast(172)

first things he did when he woke up was to call

Signe. We used the pay phone at Schrøder’s. And

it was so heart-rendingly funny that the tears

flowed.

More planning tonight. The problem is still how

to get hold of the weapon I need.

100

Oslo. 15 November 1999.

. . . THE PROBLEM FINALLY SEEMED TO BE SOLVED. HE

TURNED up: Hallgrim Dale. Not surprisingly, he

had gone to the dogs. I hoped at least he

wouldn’t recognise me. He had obviously heard

the rumours that I had been killed during the

bombing of Hamburg because he thought I was a

ghost. He suspected some jiggery-pokery and

wanted money to keep his mouth shut. But the

Dale I know wouldn’t have been able to keep a

secret for all the money in the world. So I saw to

it that I was the last person he would talk to. It

gave me no pleasure, but I have to confess I felt a

certain satisfaction at observing that my old

skills were not quite forgotten.

101

Oslo. 17 May 2000.

Oslo. 8 February 2000.

FOR MORE THAN FIFTY YEARS EDVARD AND I HAVE

BEEN meeting six times a year at Schrøder’s. The

first Tuesday of every second month, in the

morning. We still call it the staff meeting, as we

used to do when Schrøder’s was in Youngstorget.

I have often wondered what it was that bound

Edvard and me together, being as different as we

are. Perhaps it is simply a shared fate. We are

marked by the same events. We were both at the

Eastern Front, we have both lost our wives and

our children are grown. I don’t know. The most

important thing for me is that I have Edvard’s

total loyalty. Naturally, he never forgets that I

helped him after the war, but I have also given

him a helping hand in later years. Such as at the

end of the 1960s, when his drinking and betting

on horses got out of control, and when he would

have almost lost his entire truck business, had I

not paid off his gambling debts.

No, there is not a lot left of the fine soldier I

remember from Leningrad, but in recent years

Edvard has at least come to terms with the fact

that life is not quite as he had imagined, and he

is trying to make the best of it. He concentrates

on his horse, and he no longer drinks or smokes;

he contents himself with passing on racing tips to

me.

And, speaking of tips, it was him who tipped me

off about Even Juul asking whether Daniel could

still be alive. The same evening I rang Even and

asked him if he had gone senile. But Even told me

that a few days ago he had lifted the receiver of

an extra telephone they kept in the bedroom and

had overheard a man claiming to be Daniel

scaring the wits out of his wife. The man on the

telephone had said she would hear from him on

one of the following Tuesdays. Even had

recognised the sounds of a café, and now he had

decided to trawl the cafés in Oslo every Tuesday

until he found the telephone pest. He knew the

police wouldn’t be bothered with such a trivial

matter, and he had not said anything to Signe in

case she tried to stop him. I had to bite the back

of my hand to stop myself from laughing out loud

and wished him luck, the old idiot.

After moving into the flat in Majorstuen I

haven’t seen much of Rakel, but we have talked

on the telephone. We both seem to have tired of

waging war now. I have given up explaining to

her what she did to me and her mother when she

married that Russian from the old family of

Bolsheviks.

‘I know you think it was betrayal,’ she says.

‘But it’s a long time ago now. Let’s not talk

about it any more.’

It is not a long time ago. Nothing is a long time

ago any more.

Oleg has asked after me. He is a fine boy, Oleg.

I only hope he doesn’t become obstinate and

wilful like his mother. She has that from Helena.

They are so similar that tears have come into my

eyes as I’m writing this.

I have borrowed Edvard’s chalet for next week.

I’ll test out the rifle then. Daniel will be happy.

Harry hit the kerb with the front wheels and the

impact recoiled through the car. The Escort leaped

inelegantly through the air and suddenly it was on

the grass. There were too many people on the path,

so Harry drove over the lawn. He lurched between

the lake and four young people who had decided to

have their breakfast on a blanket in the park. In the

mirror he saw the blue flashing light. The crowds

were already packed around the guardhouse, so

Harry stopped, jumped out of the car and ran

towards the barriers around the Palace Square.

‘Police!’ Harry shouted as he ploughed his way

through the crowds. Those at the front had got up at

the crack of dawn to ensure they had a good view

of the band and were reluctant to move. As he