‘The sports ground,’ she says. ‘Behind the stand. A car will be waiting there. In an hour from now.’ She checks her watch and looks at him.
Ester sees surprise in his eyes. ‘Coming?’ she asks.
He smiles weakly. ‘I’m coming, boss.’
‘The driver will wait for you. Do as he says.’
He nods.
‘Don’t ask questions. Just do as he says.’
He nods again.
‘Did you give them your real name?’
He nods once again, and with the same incredulous expression.
She burrows in her bag. Hands him the passport. ‘From now on your name’s Geir Larsen.’
He opens the passport and sees a photograph of himself. ‘How on earth did you get this?’
‘The photo was taken here,’ she says without expatiating. She doesn’t know who their contact in the office is or how the photograph found its way into the passport.
‘If you can’t get there unseen, you’ll have to insist from now on that your real name is Geir Larsen – to everyone here too. Does anyone know you as Gerhard?’
He shrugs. ‘Only those in my hut.’
‘As I said, if you can’t get there unseen…’
‘I’ll get there.’
‘If not, you’ll have to get everyone in the hut to keep mum regarding your name. Show them your passport. Your name’s Geir Larsen.’
‘They’ve registered me.’ He nods towards the admin building.
‘They might’ve had a file on Gerhard Falkum there, but not any longer.’
Again he is amazed.
‘You came to Sweden to be reunited with your wife,’ she tells him.
‘Oh, yes? And who’s that?’
‘Me. Hilde Larsen.’
‘We haven’t got rings.’
Ester burrows in her bag again. ‘I have a boss who thinks of everything.’ In her hand are two rings. ‘Take one in case we need them.’
She gets up. ‘In an hour then. Go and finish eating.’
5
Her visit to the camp has to be justified, so she has conversations with a handful of residents. Afterwards she chats to the manager, who has taken a keen interest in the report. He has a number of suggestions for various areas; he links his hands behind his back and rounds off every sentence by thrusting his chin into the air. She catches herself watching the toupee. It remains in place, and stays there while he accompanies her all the way down to the gate. Here she thanks him and says he has been too kind. He pats her on the shoulder and says it has been a pleasure. She emphasises, on behalf of her employer, how important it is to continue the good work, keeping refugees active, playing sport. He agrees wholeheartedly and says he has plans for a championship. International games. Ester applauds his ideas and promises to mention them to Torgersen. She says she will write up what she has experienced and will perhaps return to correct anything that might be unclear. He says she is welcome to visit again whenever she chooses.
As she approaches the car she becomes nervous; she can only see the driver’s silhouette. She gets into the back. The driver starts up.
‘So it didn’t work?’
The driver shakes his head.
‘You mean it did go well?’
He turns his head. The blue eyes tell her nothing. The man is from Østfold, that is all she knows. ‘So-so.’
They drive in silence for five long minutes before the driver pulls over, stops, gets out and opens the boot.
Gerhard clambers out. His hair is dishevelled and he is carrying a rucksack.
She wriggles over to the other side of the car.
The driver says he could have left the rucksack in the boot.
Gerhard gets in and runs a hand through his hair. ‘It was a bit cramped,’ is all he says by way of an answer. Then he laughs and looks at her. She smiles back.
The driver starts up again. Gerhard shouts. ‘Thank you!’
The driver shrugs without turning.
She assumes it is the driver’s presence that makes conversation feel forced. She hasn’t got that much to say either. She is staying in a flat, alone for the time being. The idea is that she will share with two other women. They haven’t moved in yet. She doesn’t know what plans Torgersen has for Gerhard, but the legation has some accommodation at its disposal. He soon stops asking questions.
The driver pulls in to the roadside and stops. He gets out and bangs around. He pulls down a sack of firewood from the roof rack. Then puts wood in the generator. Gerhard rolls down the window and asks if he needs any help. The driver says no, thanks, he is fine. Gerhard draws the fresh air into his lungs. Says Sweden smells of freedom.
She laughs at the association. They exchange glances, and he bursts into laughter too. His dark face opens, his smile reveals a line of white teeth. The smile turns him into a very good-looking man, and she understands why Åse fell in love with him. But the laughter she has released carries a weary capitulation with it. She can’t stop the sobs. Tears begin to roll. She hides her face and glances at him, and as they exchange looks again, they both burst into laughter. The door at the front opens. The driver gets in. She meets his cold gaze in the mirror. The laughter dies and she leans back with closed eyes, composes herself and tries to breathe normally.
Night is falling. They drive more slowly now because of the traffic. She sits with her eyes closed. She is glad the job is over and feels calmer than she has for months. As she dozes, her thoughts turn to Åse, and Ester sees, perhaps for the first time, how absurd this situation is. Åse drinking with a stranger. Åse being attacked and killed. Something is utterly wrong. When did the cosy atmosphere turn into violence? Was it something she said, something she did?
Ester opens her eyes and looks at Gerhard.
He feels her gaze. ‘What’s the matter?’
Ester says nothing and closes her eyes again. Keeps them closed. The monotonous drone of the engine lulls her to sleep.
When she wakes up and looks out, she recognises the contours of the treetops in Gustav Adolf Park. At last the car comes to a halt outside the girls’ school in Banérgatan.
Ester and Gerhard wait on the pavement until the driver has left. She crosses the street, indicates the way into the corner block where the legation resides and walks ahead, up the stairs.
The outer room is quiet. But there is still a light in Torgersen’s office. That is when a voice says: ‘Ester.’
It is Markus.
He is sitting in Mildred’s place, looking up from a book he is reading in the light from the street lamp outside.
She walks over to him.
His smile is strained. He looks over her shoulder at Gerhard.
‘Wondered if you’d like to go to the cinema with me.’
A part of Ester is still in Oslo, with Åse, the baby and Gerhard. She looks at Markus, but says nothing.
‘Later,’ he says with a blush.
Ester sees and wants to help him. ‘I’ll think about it,’ she says. Confused, she catches herself again. ‘Of course I’d like to go.’
She can feel Gerhard watching them.
Ester walks to Torgersen’s door. Knocks.
She hears a curt ‘Yes?’ from inside.
Opens the door and sticks her head in. ‘He’s here.’
Torgersen’s desk is, as always, covered with papers and memos. He looks up. ‘Tell him to come in, Ester.’
She glances back at Gerhard, and beckons him in, holding the door open.
She turns to go back to her desk.
‘You come in too, Ester,’ Torgersen says.
They both go inside.
Torgersen and Gerhard Falkum shake hands. ‘This is unusual, Falkum. You’ve come to Sweden as a refugee, but you’re not safe yet. I’m the first to regret this situation.’ He stands, thinking. ‘Wouldn’t you like to sit down?’
Gerhard chooses one of the wooden chairs.
Torgersen says they are going to try to have Falkum transported to England or Scotl
and. But no one knows when. Falkum has to be patient. In the meantime he has to stay undercover. He will live under his new name, Geir Larsen, and Ester will escort him to a little bedsit, which he will have at his disposal until further notice.
Gerhard thanks him.
Torgersen scribbles down an address on a slip of paper and passes it, plus a key, to Ester.
‘The driver,’ she says. ‘He’s gone.’
‘Markus is here. He can drive you,’ Torgersen says.
6
Ester watches Torgersen strolling slowly to the crossroads. He doesn’t have far to go. He lives in Karlevägen, only a few blocks from the legation office. He walks with his head bowed and his coat almost dragging along the ground. He looks old when he walks like this, crazy in a way.
‘So that was that,’ Gerhard says.
She turns to him.
‘Free, yet not free.’ The cheery spirits of the car ride have dissipated now.
‘It’ll sort itself out, I’m sure.’
Gerhard doesn’t answer.
The silence weighs on them. And again she is struck by this energy field between them: in the car her total surrender to laughter, and now these massive quivering vibrations that are stifling any attempt to make conversation.
Then, in the light from the street lamp, she spots some flakes. She throws up her arms. A snow crystal lands on her mitten. ‘Look,’ she erupts with joy, ‘It’s snowing!’
He shakes his head at this childish outburst, but can’t help smiling.
He is lit up suddenly by a pair of headlights. It is Markus with the car. He stops in front of them.
‘There he is,’ she says.
Markus jumps out and gallantly opens the door for Ester. He bows theatrically. Gerhard gets in on the other side.
Ester and Gerhard sit side by side at the back. The oppressive silence re-establishes itself. Ester sinks back in her corner, looking out at the traffic and thinking about the people she misses. The next moment she is struck by pangs of conscience. She can see her father in front of her. Unshaven, hungry. Is he cold at night? Do they beat him? And when she thinks along these lines, she understands why her mother and grandmother don’t want to travel. Her feelings of guilt – at being the one who escaped, the one who left them behind, grow. Ester knows it is wrong to think like this, but she can’t stop herself. With half an ear she hears Gerhard ask Markus why he fled to Sweden.
Markus meets his eyes in the mirror. He says: ‘I’d prefer not to talk about it.’
Ester wonders whether the kind of answer Markus just gave is right, whether it is better to keep personal thoughts and emotions to yourself.
The snowflakes blowing across the pavements are like wisps of dust. She closes her eyes and can see Åse’s face. She thinks about when Åse went to Syversen’s plant nursery with food and clothes. It must have been difficult for her, not only doing without these items, but also managing the pram all the way there. Everyone at Carl Frederiksen’s Transport was terrified of being exposed by the Nazis. That was understandable. Rolf Pettersen and the organisation had been driving refugees over the border to Sweden for a long time. They figured they would be caught sooner or later. A young woman like Åse coming and asking after a friend in hiding could easily have been an enemy. Ester’s assurances that she was no threat made no difference. No one else but Alf Syversen was allowed to go out and talk to Åse waiting on the bench.
‘They’ve got everything here in Sweden, haven’t they.’ It’s Gerhard’s voice again.
‘Quite a bit, anyway,’ Ester says. She looks through the window. Tries as best she can to answer without revealing her emotional state. ‘There’s rationing here too.’
Gerhard says he wants to go to the cinema. ‘Shall we go to the cinema, Ester?’
We, she thinks, and looks at Markus’s neck. He has his eyes on the road and both hands on the wheel.
‘Of course,’ she says and catches herself. ‘We’ll have to see. You have to keep a low profile.’ And she thinks, now he has me saying it. We. That was quick.
Markus brakes and slows down, looking through the side window. ‘This is Kammakargatan,’ he says. ‘And this is number thirty-three.’ He stops.
Gerhard sits, looking out, then opens the door.
On the pavement Markus goes to carry Gerhard’s rucksack. He shakes his head and snatches it from him. ‘I can manage it myself.’
Ester is waiting at the door. She opens it and leads the way inside.
On the ground floor there are names on both the doors to flats. She carries on up to the next floor, annoyed with herself that she forgot to ask Torgersen which flat to go to when she got the key. On this floor there are three doors. The first two have nameplates screwed on between the door panels. The third door has a slip of paper pinned to it. Larsen.
She unlocks the door. Lets him go in first. He brushes past her.
Again she is aware of the effect he has on her and steps back a pace to breathe more freely. She hands him the key. ‘You’ll be fine here.’
Meaningless words, she thinks. I wouldn’t be fine here, with bare walls and a hard single bed in the corner. The room was like a prison cell.
A zinc bucket sits on the floor, full of coke. ‘There’s supposed to be more in the cellar.’ She nods towards the bucket, feels the stove, which is cold, and goes to the cupboard in the kitchenette. Sees some tins on the shelves. ‘And there’s some food here.’
He mumbles a response. Stands by the window and looks out. She goes over to him. Digs in a pocket. ‘I almost forgot this.’ She holds out a handful of notes. ‘Money for bread and so on. I’ll have more with me next time.’ She thinks: Next time? But there will of course have to be a next time, and it could equally well be her as anyone else.
He pushes her hand away. ‘Money is the only thing I have enough of, Ester.’
She puts the notes back in her pocket. Then extends her hand again. ‘Ration vouchers,’ she says. ‘No one can have enough of them.’
He accepts the pile and stuffs them in his pocket.
‘When will we see each other again?’
She doesn’t know. But feels she has to give an answer. ‘In a few days?’
She heads for the door.
‘Ester!’
She turns.
He is leaning against the wall. Flat stomach, dark, narrow, unshaven face, but good-looking. Black, tousled hair falling over his forehead. Ester understands what Åse fell for.
‘Thank you for all your help.’
She looks down.
‘It’s good to see you again,’ he says.
‘Good to see you too, Gerhard.’
She lets herself out. Again thinking about Åse as she jogs down the stairs.
On the pavement, she glances up and sees him in the window. She waves.
A movement from above. He waves back.
Markus gallantly opens the door for her again. This time she sits at the front, beside him.
7
Rocky Sullivan is on death row. The priest is begging him. He can still save the poor children from disaster.
Ester is gripped. She is begging him too: Do it, Rocky, do it! Pleeease!
You could hear a pin drop in the cinema auditorium. A moment of terror for the audience quivers in the air. Rocky Sullivan leaves; he marches to the place of execution. Passing the terrible electric cables. His face is in focus – it is still evil. The priest reads some holy words over the doomed man.
Ester can’t bear to watch. She puts her hands over her eyes. As she peers between her fingers, the priest looks down. Ester grasps Markus’s hand and squeezes it without realising how much pressure she exerts. Again she closes her eyes and hopes it is soon over. Markus lets her squeeze without saying a word.
Ester sits back exhausted. ‘What an awful story. And it isn’t even about wartime!’
People around them start getting up.
‘He speaks Yiddish,’ Markus says.
‘Who does?’
; ‘Cagney. The actor. I’ve seen a film in which he speaks Yiddish.’
‘Is he a Jew?’
Markus shrugs. ‘Don’t think so.’
When they come out of the Park-Teater it is cold, but still not very late. She doesn’t feel like going home at once. They stroll back to the car, along Sturegatan, by the park, and turn into Humlagårdsgatan. Markus stops outside a café. It is full of people and the laughter, and loud voices carry into the street every time the door jingles. He looks at her quizzically and she says: ‘Yes, it’s nice here.’ They go up the steps and inside. At the back, by the wall, there is a table for two free.
The room is chilly and she keeps her jacket on.
He wants to treat her and goes to the counter. Returns with two cream buns and two cups of coffee on a tray. He is excited that they sell genuine coffee, and she hasn’t the heart to tell him she doesn’t like it.
He asks her what she would most like to do while she is here.
‘In Sweden, that is,’ he adds.
‘Go to a restaurant and dance,’ she says.
He licks cream from the corner of his mouth and looks at her. She considers her answer childish. Sometimes, with Markus, she feels stupid. Or perhaps not stupid; immature, rather, she thinks, and feels a need to explain what she has said. ‘Not necessarily to dance but to really feel I’m normal, that it’s possible to live a perfectly ordinary life, like everyone else.’
He nods. ‘Berns,’ he says.
‘What’s Berns?’
‘Let’s do that when we have enough money. Go dancing at Berns.’
‘Deal.’
‘But apart from dancing?’
She looks down, thinking he is adapting down to her the way she is adapting up to him. But the question isn’t easy to answer. She hasn’t spent much time dreaming, not for quite a while. But she thinks she has to say something. She says she would like to drive a car, like him.
‘I can teach you.’ Markus tells her he learned to drive in his father’s Ford. But it was his uncle who taught him. ‘My dad can’t drive. They say that if he’s going to they’ll have to clear all the rocks, people and lamp posts from the road. He hits everything he shouldn’t. He’s like a magnet.’
The Courier Page 9
