The Courier

by Kjell Ola Dahl

  At last she is at the top, and now it is easier. She continues past the monumental staircase known locally as ‘the Wolf Steps’. The trees in the St Hanshaugen district have red crowns. She turns left. Another incline. But after that the road is down all the way so she freewheels to the block of flats.

  She climbs the stairs and knocks on the door of a first-floor flat. Three quick taps, then a pause, one short tap and three thumps with longer intervals.

  Silence inside the flat.

  At last she hears a knob turn inside, the door opens and Åse is standing there with a baby girl in her arms. ‘It’s Ester,’ Åse says over her shoulder and holds open the door.

  Normally Ester would have spoken in baby language, tweaked Turid’s cheek and tickled her. But not today. Ester goes in and undoes her shoes.

  ‘Ester?’

  She can’t bear to meet her friend’s worried eyes at first. Instead she goes into the kitchen. Gerhard is there in his three-quarter-length breeches and woollen jumper. He seems to be on his way out.

  Gerhard takes a pile of newspapers from the cupboard, and it is clear they have been stuffed in there a moment before. ‘What a fright you gave us,’ he says, picking up a little suitcase, laying it on the table and filling it with the newspapers.

  Ester takes a copy. Reads without registering a word. Noticing only that it looks different. No title on the front page.

  ‘Where’s the name of the paper?’

  ‘They’ve decided to remove it.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of the new regulation. Death penalty.’

  ‘They think I risk less if I deliver papers without a title?’

  Gerhard shrugs. ‘If you’re caught, you have an argument. You didn’t know you were delivering newspapers.’

  Ester slumps down on a kitchen chair. She studies the floor, still sensing Åse’s eyes on her.

  ‘Ester, what’s the matter?’

  She takes a deep breath. ‘They’ve arrested my father.’

  Now she has said it. The catastrophe is out in the open.

  The kitchen has gone quiet.

  ‘The Germans?’ Gerhard breaks the silence.

  ‘Quisling’s Hirden thugs and the police. They’re arresting Jews. They came to the flat early today to arrest Dad, but he wasn’t there. He’s been sleeping in the shop since the vandalism started. I hurried over to warn him, but I was too late. I had to stand there watching him being arrested. They’ve closed the shop. Locked it up with chains and a padlock.’

  No one speaks. Ester can feel herself becoming irritated by this mixture of silence, sympathy and impotence.

  ‘They’re throwing us out of the flat. Mum’s gone to Gran’s, and I can’t stay in my own home.’

  The two of them stare at Ester in disbelief.

  ‘It’s true. We’ve been thrown out. Now Norway’s like Germany.’

  Åse passes her baby to Gerhard. She crouches down in front of Ester and places her hands on her knees.

  ‘You can stay here.’

  Ester shakes her head.

  Åse insists. ‘You can stay here. No one here knows you. No one here knows you’ve got a Jewish passport.’

  Ester shakes her head. ‘Then they’ll come here, and you’ll be arrested.’ Even though both Åse and Ester know that to be true, it feels brutal to be so dismissive. She adds: ‘Living beside a camp full of Germans would be a daily nightmare, anyway.’

  ‘You can stay here until you’ve had time to think, at least.’ Åse gets up and cradles her baby again.

  Gerhard closes the suitcase containing the copies of the London News. He stands with his hands on the lid, as if in deep thought. Finally he says: ‘It’s fine by me if you stay here with Åse for a few days. I have to go away.’

  Stay here for a few days? What about the days afterwards? What about the rest of my life? Ester thinks.

  ‘But perhaps you should drop the paper run tomorrow?’

  Ester shakes her head.

  Åse interjects: ‘I can take the suitcase for you tomorrow.’ She turns to Ester. ‘You can look after Turid while I do the run.’

  ‘No, Åse. My contact doesn’t know you.’

  ‘Ester’s right,’ Gerhard says. ‘Her contact will take it as a provocation if you or someone else strolls up. There’s no point.’

  Åse nods. She understands. ‘But you’ll stay here until tomorrow, won’t you?’

  Ester nods. ‘Definitely.’

  Åse says she just has to change the tiny tot.

  Ester asks if she can do it. ‘I’d like to have something else to think about.’

  She takes the baby into her small room. Lays Turid down carefully on the changing table. Her little face beams. Her feet kick out clumsily as her unbelievably tiny digits clasp Ester’s forefinger. The tiny tot is ticklish. She makes funny baby grimaces, which end in a howl of delight.

  The nappy is heavy and wet. Ester undoes it and takes a new one from the shelf under the table. Sprinkles talcum powder over Turid’s bottom and secures her clean nappy. She hears Åse and Gerhard whispering outside.

  Ester picks up the little one and she beams back a toothless smile.

  Despite herself, Ester listens in. The voices have become slightly sharper.

  They are having a row, Ester thinks, and it is because of her, and she regrets having come, regrets having unloaded her problems on these two people, who have enough to deal with already.

  It goes quiet again.

  Then Åse tries to talk in a normal voice. Theatrical, thinks Ester, who knows most of the timbres in her friend’s vocal range. Åse asks Gerhard if he knows when he will be back. Gerhard answers in forced tones that she knows very well she mustn’t ask. Afterwards the door slams shut and Gerhard’s footsteps can be heard going down the staircase.

  Ester has finished, but isn’t sure whether she should leave the room at once. There is something very private about the silence outside. When finally she opens the door, the tap is running in the kitchen and Åse is standing with her back to her. Ester suspects she has been crying and now she is washing her face.

  Ester leaves her friend in peace. Goes into the sitting room. Lays Turid on the carpet and takes the rattle from the floor. Shakes it above her cheery face. She becomes aware of a movement in the doorway. Åse is there, watching, her expression overwrought and her thoughts miles away.

  Ester asks Åse if she can walk down the streets unmolested, with the Germans around, or indeed generally.

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because you’re the prettiest girl I know. I think the Germans occupied the country just to catch you.’

  They exchange looks. Åse forces a sad smile before she joins them in the sitting room.

  3

  When at last she hears some noise in the kitchen, Ester pulls at the cord to the spring and lets go. The blackout blind rolls up with a bang. But the room is no lighter. It is still grey outside, neither night nor day. An October morning. She swings her legs out of bed. Sits for a while, staring vacantly into the air before getting up, collecting her clothes from the armchair and going into the kitchen.

  Åse is sitting at the table, breastfeeding.

  ‘Sleep well?’

  ‘Not really, no. I didn’t sleep a wink all night.’ Ester goes to the sink and fills a glass of water from the tap. She puts down the glass and stares at the wall. Not wanting to express her worst thoughts: that she stopped on the way, that she might have arrived at Kirkeristen earlier, that things would be different if she didn’t keep making mistakes. But then she feels Åse’s eyes on her. ‘What is it?’ Ester asks.

  ‘You’re completely out of it. Didn’t you hear?’

  ‘Hear what?’

  ‘I said I’ve heated some ersatz coffee.’

  Ester smiles, but is not interested. ‘You know, I was never very fond of proper coffee either.’

  She can see her father’s eyes through the bars in the iron door; this image has haunted her all night.<
br />
  Åse passes her a jug. It contains hot water. Ester takes the jug back to her room and fills the bowl in the corner. Looks at herself in the narrow mirror perched on the dressing table against the wall. She warms her hands in the hot water, splashes a little over her face and wishes she had her toothbrush with her. Lost in thought again, she manages to drag herself away and put on woollen stockings, a skirt, a blouse and a jumper.

  When they are sitting either side of the table afterwards, she says lying awake and thinking has in fact been useful.

  Åse is sympathetic. ‘What do you think they’ll do?’

  Ester is at a loss to know what to say. This is not something she wants to talk about.

  ‘To your father.’

  Ester doesn’t wish to speculate. She has been wondering about it all night. Perhaps it will boil down to a charge connected with his business; perhaps they questioned him for a few hours, then let him go. These thoughts went through her mind, but with little conviction, because the sign on the window told a different story.

  Eviction from his home, the closing down of the shop. What happened the day before was a further turn of the screw. Ester cannot convince herself it will be the last.

  Åse squeezes her hand.

  They exchange looks.

  Ester says that now, for her, there is only one solution. ‘I have to get to Sweden. As soon as possible.’

  Åse places Turid over her shoulder to burp her. Pats her little back gently. No burp. She stands up and swings round, but the child shakes her head; she’s not in tune with her mother’s plan.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Ester has never been surer of anything. ‘They say we don’t own our possessions. My father’s driven off in a police van, and they barred the doors of the shop with iron chains. It’s only a question of time before they come for me.’

  Åse is silent.

  They look at each other again, and Ester doesn’t know what to say to lighten the atmosphere.

  ‘But how will you get to Sweden?’

  ‘The people I talked about, in Carl Berners plass. But I need money. Clothes. I have to go home and pack. Dad doesn’t need his money now.’

  ‘What if—?’

  Ester interrupts her. ‘I have to do this!’

  She can hear how harsh and irritated her voice is. But she has had enough of talking now, and gets up and goes into the hallway. Finds her shoes. Slips her feet in. Goes out to the stairwell. The toilet is free. She enters, fastens the hook on the door and leans against it. Some things can be said. Not everything, though. When Ester is overcome by despair, like now, she stands and waits for it to pass. The walls in the little room appear to be pulsating. She sits down on the seat. What happened the previous day is a link in a longer chain that started years before. What she has to do today is react while she still can. She has to defy them, she has to go home and pack, get ready for the journey.

  Ester glances at her watch. Sees that she has to hurry.

  She leaves the toilet and goes back to the flat, into the kitchen. Washes her hands in the sink, then takes the suitcase containing the newspapers.

  ‘Are you sure you want to do that today, Ester?’

  Åse has put Turid down.

  ‘I can’t not do it. Someone’s waiting for me.’ Ester gives her friend a hug. It turns into a long embrace.

  Åse swallows. ‘Will I see you before you go?’

  They look at each other, and Ester senses that she has to be honest. ‘I don’t know.’

  Neither of them speaks. Åse’s eyes are moist and shiny.

  Ester picks up the suitcase. ‘In a way it’s wonderful too, knowing this is the last time. I’m afraid I have to go.’

  Then she is out of the door.

  4

  She kicks the bulge on the chain guard with her heel, lifts the rear wheel and revolves the pedal once. No scraping sound. Attaches the suitcase to the luggage rack with leather straps. Tucks her fingers up inside the sleeves of her jumper as she sits on the bike. The temperature must have sunk to zero during the night. Every breath she exhales is a white cloud. People are going to work. Crowds are waiting at the tram stops. Ester is frozen and alternates between keeping one hand on the handlebars and one in her jacket pocket. A bell rings. She is passed by two cyclists in a hurry. The pedalling gets her circulation going. Soon she is hot. On the slope down to Bislett she can hold the handlebars with both hands, no problem. The wind catches her hair and her eyes begin to water. A lorry with German soldiers in the back passes. One of them waves to her. She looks down and concentrates on maintaining her speed, which she can do until Hegdehaugsveien starts to rise. She hears the clatter of the tram behind her and moves onto the pavement. Jumps off and waits for the tram to pass before she continues. The day is brighter now, but it is still grey and chilly.

  She stands on the pedals for more traction up the hill. She feels hungry. She should have eaten something at Åse’s, but didn’t have the heart to take food from her. However, she does have food in the cupboard at home. As soon as she thinks about home she has doubts. Could they have changed the lock to the flat? No, they are not that quick, she thinks. There aren’t that many of them. It occurs to her in a flash that they might have used chains and a padlock, as they did with the shop, but she dismisses the idea. She will go in, gorge herself, make a packed lunch and get her clothes. Again she has a nagging doubt. How will they react at the plant nursery if I just roll up? Can’t be helped. I will have to take the risk. I will pass on Dad’s regards. It was him who gave me the man’s name. He had planned that we should all escape together. I will have to say that, tell them what has happened. Now there are only three of us – Mum, Gran and I. Again the self-reproach comes flooding back, and she pedals harder; pedals like a woman possessed to expel these thoughts from her mind.

  She looks behind her before crossing over to the other side of the street as she approaches Valkyrie plass. Stands on the pedals and freewheels the remaining metres to the metro station entrance. Places the bike against the brick wall by the staircase going down. She is concentrating, even though her movements are familiar and drilled. She loosens the strap over the suitcase on the luggage rack, feels the same stabbing pain in her stomach she has every time she does this. As always, she thinks someone is watching. Someone has seen everything. Someone has watched her come here on the same days, on her bike, carrying a suitcase, rucksack or bag – some collaborator in pursuit of a privilege or more ration vouchers. Someone who is thinking: Her. There’s something funny about her. As always, Ester straightens up and scans her surroundings to locate this spy, but she doesn’t see him, she sees no one. So she takes the suitcase with her down the underground staircase.

  On the landing where the stairs divide to lead down to the two platforms, she stops and peers over the wall. The platform to the right is empty. But it shouldn’t be. She doesn’t like what she sees and glances at the station clock.

  It is the correct time. The minute hand jumps. Then there is a click in the air, above her shoulder, like someone invisible snapping their fingers. Ester has a nasty feeling and a chill runs down her backbone. The suitcase is suddenly very heavy.

  Ester tells herself it is her; she is early. Warily, she descends the steps to the platform on the right, where the air is raw and there is the usual draught through the tunnel. Her skirt flaps. She walks slowly along the platform to the bench. Sits down. There is total silence, apart from a distant hum from an oncoming train. This is presumably the one she will catch. The one she would have caught if the other woman had been here. So what should she do if the woman doesn’t appear?

  Ester lifts her head and stares straight ahead. On the opposite platform there are a few people. One of them is reading a newspaper; a man is standing with his hands in his pockets. Ester lets her eyes drift to the right and on the bench she sees a woman.

  As the woman turns her head, Ester sees it is the one she has been expecting.

  Ester stands up and waves.
r />   The woman quickly looks away.

  At that moment the roar of forced air and the squeal of brakes grow, and the train bursts into the station and stops in front of Ester.

  For an instant there is total silence again until the doors open.

  No one gets out.

  Something is happening on the opposite platform. Through the carriage windows she sees a man looking at her as he runs back down the platform to the steps.

  Then Ester realises what has happened.

  Now she will be arrested.

  Ester weighs up her options. Back the same way she came? But then she would run straight into the arms of the man who is bounding up the steps on the opposite side. There is only one possibility.

  She leaves the suitcase where it is. Breathing heavily, legs like jelly, she walks across the platform and into the carriage.

  The train is still stationary.

  She hears the man’s footsteps on the stairs. The clatter gets louder. His steps are a drumbeat. Getting louder and louder.

  Ester glances at the sliding door between compartments. But she doesn’t dare turn her back on the drumming feet. She stands looking out at the staircase. A foot appears and a breeches-clad leg.

  With a thud the doors slam shut.

  The carriage jerks as it moves off. It trundles forwards, slowly, much too slowly. Now the man is on the platform and looking straight at Ester through the glass door as she backs against the opposite wall. She meets his cold eyes as he bangs his fists on the door, but the train doesn’t stop. The man runs alongside the carriage, banging on the door, but now the speed of the train is greater than that of the man. The distance between the man and the carriage increases. Then the carriage is in the tunnel and in darkness.

  Ester grabs a strap hanging from the ceiling to prevent herself from falling. She can taste blood in her mouth. There is a bang and Ester’s knees give way.

  It is the conductor opening the door to the compartment. Legs apart, wearing a uniform. He asks where she is going.

  5

  Ester pays, but stands by the door, ready to get off at the next station. Impatiently she waits for the train to stop and the doors to open. At long last the train pulls into Majorstua. She jumps off, runs along the platform and down the steps to the subway leading to the other side. She breathes through her open mouth as she runs up the stairs to the opposite platform.