The Redbreast(23)

‘I shouted, but it was too late. It was dark.’

‘The moon was shining.’

They squared up to each other. ‘Do you know

what I think?’ Edvard said. ‘No.’

‘Yes, you do. I can see it in your face. Why,

Gudbrand?’

‘I didn’t kill him.’ Gudbrand’s gaze was firmly

fixed on Edvard’s cyclops eye. ‘I tried to talk to

him. He didn’t want to listen to me. Then he just

ran off. What could I have done?’

Both of them were breathing heavily, hunched in

the wind which tore at the vapour from their

mouths.

‘I remember the last time you had the same

expression, Gudbrand. That was the night you

killed the Russian in the bunker.’

Gudbrand shrugged. Edvard laid an icy mitten on

Gudbrand’s arm.

‘Listen. Sindre was not a good soldier, perhaps

he wasn’t even a good person, but we’re moral

individuals and we have to try to maintain a certain

standard and dignity in all this. Do you

understand?’

‘Can I go now?’

Edvard looked at Gudbrand. The rumours about

Hitler no longer triumphing on all fronts had begun

to reach them now. Nevertheless, the stream of

Norwegian volunteers kept growing, and Daniel

and Sindre had already been replaced by two boys

from Tynset. New young faces the whole time.

Some you remembered, some you forgot as soon as

they were gone. Daniel was one that Edvard would

remember, he knew that. Just as he knew that,

before long, Sindre’s face would be erased from

his memory. Rubbed away. Edvard Junior would

be two in a few days. He didn’t proceed with this

line of thought.

‘Yes, go,’ he said. ‘And keep your head down.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Gudbrand said. ‘I’ll be sure to

keep my head down.’

‘Do you remember what Daniel said?’ Edvard

asked with a sort of smile. ‘He said we walked so

much of the time with a stoop that we would be

hunchbacks by the time we returned home.’

A machine gun cackled in the distance.

13

Leningrad. 3 January 1943.

GUDBRAND AWOKE WITH A START. HE BLINKED A

COUPLE of times and saw only the outline of the

row of planks in the bunk above him. There was a

smell of sour wood and earth. Had he screamed?

The other men insisted they were no longer kept

awake by his screams. He lay there, feeling his

pulse slowly calm down. He scratched his side –

the lice never slept.

It was the same dream as always that woke him.

He could still feel the paws on his chest, see the

yellow eyes in the dark, the white predator’s teeth

with the stench of blood on them and the saliva that

ran and ran. And hear the terrified heaving for

breath. Was it his or the predator’s? The dream

was like that: he was asleep and awake at the same

time, but he couldn’t move. The animal’s jaws

were about to close around his throat when the

chatter of a machine gun over by the door woke

him, and he saw the animal being lifted off the

blanket and flung against the earthen wall of the

bunker as it was torn to pieces by the bullets. Then

it was quiet, and on the floor lay a blood-strewn,

amorphous mass of fur. A polecat. And then the

man in the doorway stepped out of the dark and

into the narrow strip of moonlight, so narrow that it

only lit up half of his face. But something in the

dream that night had been different. The muzzle of

the gun smoked as it should and the man smiled as

always, but he had a large black crater in his

forehead. Gudbrand could see the moon through the

hole in his skull when he turned to face him.

Gudbrand felt the cold draught of air from the

open door, turned his head and froze when he saw

the dark figure filling the doorway. Was he still

dreaming? The figure strode into the room, but it

was too dark for Gudbrand to see who it was.

The figure stopped abruptly.

‘Are you awake, Gudbrand?’ The voice was loud

and clear. It was Edvard Mosken. A displeased

mumble came from the other bunks. Edvard came

right up to Gudbrand’s bunk.

‘You’ve got to get up,’ he said.

Gudbrand groaned. ‘You haven’t read the list

properly. I’ve just come off watch. It’s Dale’s —’

‘He’s back.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Dale just came and woke me. Daniel’s back.’

‘What are you talking about?’

In the dark, Gudbrand saw only Edvard’s white

breath. Then he swung his legs off the bunk and

took his boots out from under the blanket. He

usually kept them there when he was asleep so the

damp soles wouldn’t freeze. He put on his coat,

which had been lying on top of the thin woollen