Harry stubbed out his cigarette. Venice, Italy, it
said on the side of the gondola-shaped ashtray.
27
Linz. 9 June 1944.
THE FAMILY OF FIVE GOT OFF THE TRAIN, AND THEY
HAD the compartment to themselves. When they
slowly moved off again, Helena had already taken
her seat by the window, although she couldn’t see
a great deal in the dark, only the contours of
buildings adjacent to the train. He sat opposite and
studied her with a little smile playing on his lips.
‘You Austrians are good at observing the
blackout,’ he said. ‘I can’t see a single light.’
She sighed, ‘We’re good at doing what we’re
told.’
She looked at her watch. It was almost two
o’clock. ‘The next town is Salzburg,’ she said.
‘It’s close to the German border. And then . . .’
‘Munich, Zürich, Basle, France and Paris.
You’ve said that three times already.’
He leaned forward and squeezed her hand.
‘It’ll be fine, just you see. Sit over here.’
She moved without letting go of his hand and
rested her head gently against his shoulder. He
looked so different now he was in uniform.
‘So this Brockhard has sent in another medical
certificate, valid for a week?’
‘Yes, he said he would send it by post yesterday
afternoon.’
‘Why such a short extension?’
‘Well, so that he had the situation – and me –
better under control. I would have had to give him
a good reason to extend your sick leave each time.
Do you understand?’
‘Yes, I do,’ he said and she saw his jaw muscles
tensing.
‘Let’s not talk about Brockhard any more now,’
she said. ‘Tell me a story.’
She stroked his cheek and he gave a heavy sigh.
‘Which one would you like to hear?’
‘Whichever you like.’
The stories. That was how he had caught her
attention at the Rudolf II Hospital. They were so
different from the stories other soldiers told.
Uriah’s stories were about courage, comradeship
and hope. Like the time he had come off duty and
discovered a polecat on his best friend’s chest
ready to rip open his throat as he slept. The
distance had been almost ten metres and the bunker
with its black earthen walls almost pitch dark. But
he had had no choice. He had put his gun to his
cheek and kept firing until the magazine was empty.
They had eaten the polecat for dinner the next day.
There were several stories like that one. Helena
couldn’t remember them all, but she remembered
that she had started listening. His stories were
lively and amusing; she wasn’t sure if she could
believe some of them. She wanted to, though,
because they were an antidote to the other stories,
stories about irredeemable fates and senseless
deaths.
As the unlit train shook and juddered its way
through the night on newly repaired rails, Uriah
told about the time he had shot a Russian sniper in
no man’s land and had ventured out to give the
atheistic Bolshevik a Christian burial, with psalms
and everything.
‘So beautifully did I sing that night,’ Uriah said, ‘I
could hear them applauding from the Russian side.’
‘Really?’ she laughed.
‘It was more beautiful than any singing you’ve
heard in the Staatsoper.’
‘Liar.’
Uriah pulled her over to him and sang softly into
her ear:
Join the circle of men round the fire, gaze at
torches so golden and bright,
Urging soldiers to aim ever higher, pledge
their beings to stand up and fight.
In the flickering glistening flashes, see our
Norway in years of yore,
See its people emerging from ashes, see your
kinsfolk at peace and at war.
See your fathers in action for freedom,
suffer losses both woman and man,
See the thousands arise to defeat them,
giving all in their fight for our land.
See the men out in snow every hour, proud
and glad of the struggle and toil,
Hearts aflame with the will and the power,
standing firm on our forefathers’ soil.
See the names of the Norsemen appear, live
in sagas of glittering words,
Who though centuries dead are still here,
still remembered from fells to fjords.
But the man who has hoisted the penant, red
and yellow the flag of the great,
We salute you our fiery lieutenant: Quisling,
ruler of soldier and state.
Uriah was silent afterwards and stared blindly out
of the window. Helena knew that his thoughts were
far away, and let him remain with them. She put
her arm around his chest.
Ra-ta-ta-tat – ra-ta-ta-tat – ra-ta-ta-tat.
It sounded as if someone was running beneath
them, somebody was trying to catch them.