they were. ‘Something wrong?’ she asked. ‘No,
no.’ The lights changed to green and he
accelerated. ‘I have bad memories of this place.’
‘Me too,’ she said. ‘I came through here on the
train a few years ago, directly after a police car
had driven across the rails and right into the wall
over there.’ She pointed. ‘It was harrowing. One
policeman was still hanging from the fence pole,
like a crucifixion. I didn’t sleep for several nights
afterwards. It was said the policeman who was
driving was drunk.’
‘Who said that?’
‘Someone I was studying with. From police
college.’
They passed Frøen. Vinderen lay behind them. A
long way, Harry decided.
‘So you went to police college?’ he asked. ‘No,
are you out of your mind?’ She laughed again.
Harry liked the sound. ‘I studied law at university.’
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘When were you there?’
Very crafty, Hole. ‘I finished in ’92.’
Harry did the maths. At least thirty, then.
‘And you?’
‘In ’90,’ Harry said.
‘Can you remember the gig with the Raga
Rockers during the Law Festival in ’88?’
‘Yes, of course. I was there. In the garden.’
‘Me too! Wasn’t it fantastic!’ She looked at him,
her eyes shining.
Where? he thought. Where were you?
‘Yes, it was wonderful.’ Harry didn’t remember
much of the concert. But he was suddenly reminded
of all the great West End women who used to turn
up when Raga played.
‘If we studied at the same time, we must have lots
of mutual acquaintances,’ she said.
‘Doubt it. I was a policeman then and didn’t
really hang out with students.’
They crossed Industrigata in silence. ‘You can
drop me here,’ she said. ‘Is this where you want to
go?’
‘Yes, this is fine.’
He pulled into the kerb and she turned towards
him. A stray strand of hair hung in front of her face.
Her gaze was both gentle and fearless. Brown
eyes. A totally unexpected but instant thought
struck him: he wanted to kiss her.
‘Thank you,’ she said with a smile.
She pulled down the door handle. Nothing
happened.
‘Sorry,’ Harry said, leaning over and breathing in
her aroma. ‘The lock . . .’ he gave the door a hefty
thump and it swung open. He felt as if he was
drowning. ‘Perhaps we’ll see each other again?’
‘Perhaps.’
He had an urge to ask her where she was going,
where she worked, whether she liked it, what else
she liked, whether she had a partner, whether she
fancied going to a concert even if it wasn’t Raga.
Luckily, however, it was too late. She was already
taking those ballet steps of hers along the pavement
in Sporveisgata.
Harry sighed. He had met her half an hour ago
and he didn’t even know her name. He must be
going through the menopause prematurely.
Then he looked into the mirror and did a highly
irregular U-turn. Vibes gate was close by.
41
Vibes Gate, Majorstuen. 3 March
2000.
A MAN STOOD AT THE DOOR WITH A BROAD SMILE AS
HARRY came puffing and panting up to the third
floor.
‘Sorry about the stairs,’ the man said, stretching
out his hand. ‘Sindre Fauke.’
His eyes were still young, but otherwise his face
looked as if it had been through two world wars.
At least. What was left of his white hair was
combed back and he was wearing a red lumberjack
shirt under the open Norwegian cardigan. His
handshake was warm and firm.
‘I’ve just made some coffee,’ he said. ‘And I
know what you’re after.’
They went into the sitting room, which had been
converted into a study with a bureau and a PC.
Papers were strewn everywhere, and piles of
books and journals covered the tables and the floor
alongside the walls.
‘I haven’t quite got things in order yet,’ he
explained, making room for Harry on the sofa.
Harry studied the room. No pictures on the wall,
only a supermarket calendar with pictures of
Nordmarka.
‘I’m working on a large project which I hope will
become a book. A war book.’
‘Hasn’t someone already written that one?’
Fauke laughed out loud. ‘Yes, you could certainly
say that. They just haven’t written it quite right yet.
And this is about my war.’
‘Uh-huh. Why are you doing it?’
Fauke shrugged. ‘At the risk of sounding
pretentious – those of us who were involved have
a duty to record our experiences for posterity
before we depart this life. At any rate, that’s how I