The Quisling Orchid

by Dominic Ossiah

‘My brother,’ she said with all the wilful ignorance she could muster. ‘Why on earth do you wish to speak to—?’

  ‘Oh come now, Fräulein; I’m sure Klein has told you. Your brother’s whereabouts were unknown for several weeks. He was registered as a student of languages and theology at Stavanger – and yet he has not been seen at the school for months.’

  ‘I am sure he has an explanation,’ Silje said desperately.

  ‘I am sure he does. But a plausible one? That, dear Fräulein, is the question.’ The General lit a cigarette and waited politely for Silje to stop shivering. He smiled and said, ‘I was led to believe that you Norwegians were immune to the cold.’

  ‘Sometimes the coldness of things surprises us.’

  ‘Quite,’ he said, and to Silje’s dismay, looked back towards the grocer’s shop. He asked Mr Bergström if he had any fruit.

  ‘No,’ Silje replied ‘No one has.’

  ‘Mmm. Pity. I would give the world for an orange.’

  ‘Then it is a shame the world is not yours to give.’

  He drew on his cigarette and looked at her as he might look upon an unruly child – one he would be more inclined to shoot through the head than put across his knee. ‘I grant you certain freedoms, Fräulein Ohnstad, as a favour to my lieutenant. But please do not think my patience is endless.’

  ‘Forgive me, sir. I speak out of—’

  ‘You promised him information in return for those freedoms, and I expect you to fulfil your side of the agreement.’

  He told him, Silje thought. Her hold on Klein was far more tenuous than she’d imagined. ‘I understand, General.’

  ‘No, I don’t think you do, so I shall speak plainly. If you do not bring me something of value, then I will be forced to seek traitors a little closer to home. Now is that clear enough for you?’

  Silje nodded, her legs shaking.

  ‘Good, very good.’ He signalled for his men to join him. ‘Now, we will walk, yes? We have much to discuss.’

  ‘I have nothing for you as yet, but I will—’

  ‘I meant the newsletter.’

  The troopers fell in step around them, seemingly guarding Silje along with the General. She began to walk quickly, distancing herself from them. They obediently kept up.

  ‘I think it has been very well received,’ the General said. ‘Reports from the north of the region are encouraging, though the south has not taken to it, I fear. Still, for a first edition I think we have—’

  ‘You asked people to betray the Jews.’ Silje showed him the page, but he did not deign to read it. ‘You told them to turn on the Resistance, and you did this in the pages of my newsletter.’

  ‘You are misguided in your use of the phrase “betrayal”. It is the Jews and the Resistance who are betraying Norway. I am merely seeking information helpful in securing their detention.’

  ‘People will think I approve of this!’

  ‘And you should! We are doing this for the good of your country. It is the Allies who invaded you, not us. And it is the Resistance that forces us to punish you.’

  ‘Is it, or is it not, my newsletter?’

  The paratroopers looked to the General, seemingly as curious as she was.

  ‘It is and always will be yours, of course.’ He dropped his cigarette and walked on without smothering it. ‘You are vital to our work, as is all of Norway. That is why we seek to bring you all into the fold.’

  ‘Then, General, perhaps there is more to be gained if you treat us as equals.’

  ‘Dear lady, I did not say you were equals.’

  The paratroopers laughed, and Silje felt more foolish than she had ever felt in her life. ‘Then we are the vanquished.’

  The General sighed. ‘You are the liberated.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We seem to have reached the border of your village,’ he said, looking intently at the wall of trees and rocks and at the home of Junges Fehn. The Fehns peered out from an upstairs windows.

  The staff car stopped next to them; his driver jumped out and snapped to attention. She looked at Silje and gave an almost imperceptible sniff.

  ‘And may I introduce you to Staff Sergeant Krause. You included her recipe for—’

  ‘The sausage,’ Silje said glumly. ‘I remember.’

  ‘It is not a sausage,’ said the Sergeant. ‘It is Rostbratwurst. Did you try it?’

  ‘I did,’ Silje lied.

  ‘And how did you find it?’

  ‘It was delicious.’ Turning to the General, she added, ‘Please do not let me keep you from your duties. I am sure you have much to do.’

  ‘Indeed.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘I have paperwork to attend to in Bergen. So very tedious. And what of you?’

  ‘I will return to my home.’

  ‘Most wise. May I offer you a lift?’

  ‘That is very kind, General, but I would rather walk.’

  ‘You wound me, Fräulein,’ Gruetzmacher said. ‘It would be ungentlemanly for me to allow you to walk such a distance.’

  ‘It really is no distance at all.’

  Sergeant Krause opened the door for her. She stared straight ahead, smiling, like the General, like the soldiers – all of them laughing behind Norway’s back. Silje climbed into the Mercedes and sat down, wringing her hands in her lap.

  It was the most hideous journey she could have imagined, travelling through the village of her birth, in the carriage of the enemy. The villagers stared as the convoy drove past; some whispered to one another; others shook their heads in disbelief. In her own mind Silje knew that any of it, all of it, she could live with. Perhaps she would cry, but in the scheme of all things, if she could protect the village, she would survive.

  The convoy made a shallow right past the village hall and The Mottled Goat. The car had to swerve to avoid old Mr Kleppe – one of the rare times he was out of his home during daylight. He saw her as the villagers rushed into the street to help him to his feet. He took off his hat and crushed it to his chest; such was the disappointment in his eyes, Silje thought her heart would break.

  ‘The old fool,’ the General said, looking at his watch.

  ‘Perhaps we should slow down,’ she whispered.

  ‘As I said Fräulein, paperwork waits for no man.’ He seemed taken aback by his own words; he chuckled, excused himself, and produced a small notebook from his breast pocket. He mouthed the words as he wrote them down, and Silje found herself wondering if Magnus knew how to kill a man with his bare hands.

  They had little to say on the road back. Silje found the silence almost deafening. The General hummed to himself. She hoped Freya had the good sense to stay hidden; the child was wilful and impulsive, and only now could she see those traits in herself.

  The outriders overtook the convoy and disappeared into the forest ahead.

  To break the silence, she asked the General where they were going.

  ‘They’re checking the road for a possible ambush.’

  ‘You are quite safe in Fólkvangr.’

  ‘Oh, of that I have no doubt, but one can never be too careful.’ He leaned closer to her, as though he were about to share something personal to him. Instinctively, Silje leaned away. ‘No one will try to kill me because I give them no reason to.’

  ‘You are German, sir; surely that is reason enough.’

  He took a moment to decide if he should be offended by this, and then he laughed. ‘I see your point, Fräulein Ohnstad. But I say it to you again; we are not the aggressors.’

  ‘If I may speak freely, sir.’

  ‘I doubt I could stop you.’

  ‘You were not invited to Norway.’

  ‘Time was short. We could not wait for you to come to your senses.’

  ‘An invasion in all but name, then.’

  ‘Have a care, Fräulein.’

  ‘Why is it so important we believe that you are here to help us? You invaded us; you conquered us; we cannot win if we fight you, so why do you care what we believe?’

  T
he General sat back, scratching his chin. He said nothing for such a time that Silje began to believe he did not know the answer. Sergeant Klaus cleared her throat and announced that they would soon be at the cottage.

  ‘When the Romans conquered nations, they adopted their gods. Did you know that?’

  Silje said she did not.

  ‘It made the transition of power much more fluid, the populace more compliant.’

  ‘So that is what you seek: our complacency.’

  ‘Whether you are complacent or not will make little difference to the final outcome. But there is little to be gained by the wholesale slaughter of the indigenous population. It is wasteful – for both sides.’

  It was the first time Silje had heard him acknowledge that there were two sides to the invasion, that the Nazis were, perhaps, the enemy.

  ‘There are two steps to a successful campaign: extinguish resistance and extinguish hope.’

  The convoy stopped outside the Ohnstads’ cottage, and the paratroopers spilled out of the armoured cars and swarmed across the garden and into the barns and outhouses. The General waited patiently, tapping his cane against the floor of the car.

  Klaus returned and told him that the cottage was secure.

  ‘After you.’

  Silje stepped from the vehicle and hurried inside.

  Magnus and Lieutenant Klein sat at the kitchen table, the Lieutenant standing to attention as soon as Gruetzmacher entered. Magnus looked as white as the mountain.

  ‘Mr Ohnstad,’ the General said and immediately lost interest in speaking to him. ‘Has he accounted for his whereabouts?’

  Klein flipped through his notes. ‘He has, sir. It appears that he has not attended the school since before the invasion.’

  Gruetzmacher threw the Lieutenant a stern eye.

  ‘My apologies, General. Of course, I meant the liberation.’

  Magnus looked to the floor.

  ‘He was expelled from the school in January.’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘So it would it seem, sir.’

  ‘And he did not tell anyone.’

  ‘No, sir.’

  Silje could not quite believe what she was hearing. ‘Magnus? Is this true?’

  Her brother kept his eyes to the floor.

  ‘Then why did the abbots not inform us of his expulsion when we first approached them?’

  ‘Ah,’ said Klein, and scratched the back of his neck. He may have glanced at Silje; she wasn’t sure. ‘It would appear the school wanted to keep his expulsion a secret.’

  ‘You are being obtuse, Lieutenant,’ Gruetzmacher rumbled. ‘You know I do not like that.’

  ‘Again, my apologies, General. There appears to have been some scandal involving Mr Ohnstad here… and a nun.’

  Silje’s mouth fell open. ‘Magnus!’

  The General tensed his own mouth to stop himself from smiling. ‘A nun.’

  ‘Yes, sir. A nun. Sister…’ Klein began searching through his notebook.

  ‘I do not need to know her name, Lieutenant.’

  ‘No, sir, of course not.’

  ‘Then where have you been all this time, young man?’

  Klein spoke before Magnus had a chance to reply. ‘He has been working the docks around Hammerfest.’

  Gruetzmacher turned his glare on the Lieutenant. ‘I did not ask you,’ he said, and then returned his attention to Magnus. ‘Is this true?’

  Magnus nodded.

  The General straightened and rubbed his chin. ‘And you have verified this with Hammerfest.’

  ‘They confirm that he has worked there since January.’ Klein swallowed so loudly that Silje was sure the General would have heard it.

  Gruetzmacher eyed his lieutenant as if they’d only just, at that moment, met for the first time. ‘And you are certain of this?’

  ‘I am certain, General.’ Klein stood to attention and thrust out his chest.

  The General remained silent for a moment or two, long enough to see if anything in the cottage would break.

  ‘Good work, Lieutenant,’ he said finally, and put on his cap. ‘We will bid you good morning, Fräulein.’

  Silje smiled; it made her face hurt.

  ‘As for you, Mr Ohnstad, my aides will be making frequent visits to Fólkvangr. I am not sure when they will come, and I am not sure how long they will stay, but know this; we expect you to be here, in this village, on each and every visit. Do I make myself clear?’

  Magnus mumbled under his breath and nodded.

  ‘Speak up, man!’

  ‘Yes, General.’

  ‘Good, very good. I see through you, Mr Ohnstad.’

  For the first time since Silje had entered the cottage, Magnus raised his head. He met the General’s eyes with an anger she’d not seen in him since the night their mother had passed. ‘And what do you see, General?’ he asked.

  ‘A chained spirit.’ Gruetzmacher pulled on his gloves.‘This village was your prison long before you and I met. When you are ready to escape then speak to the Lieutenant and he will speak to me. The Reich can always use a man like you.’

  ‘And what is “a man like me”?’

  The General chose not to reply; he strode to the door with Klein at his heels. When he opened it he turned and said, ‘A nun.’

  ‘She was pretty,’ said Magnus.

  ‘I should hope so.’

  Silje and Magnus listened to the convoy mounting to leave: the soldiers embarking armoured cars, the outriders starting engines, the General’s staff car roaring into life. They listened for the sound of stones being churned under burdened wheels.

  Silje dropped into a chair. Her chest felt tight and she realised she’d forgotten to draw breath for quite some time. ‘What in the name of God was that about?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Magnus replied, his head in his hands.

  ‘Does he know about the Resistance?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘I think he knows, Magnus!’

  ‘Then why are we still alive?’

  ‘I don’t know!’

  ‘Then we are both in the dark, Sister.’

  ‘He is toying with us.’ She stood up and paced the kitchen, chewing rabidly on her little fingernail. ‘What did Klein say to you?’

  ‘He came in, he sat down, and told me I was a Resistance operative.’

  ‘He said that.’

  ‘Yes, he said that. I denied it of course, but he kept repeating it. It was as if he needed it to be true.’

  ‘Christ…’

  ‘He knew about the expulsion; he knew I’d been working at the docks. And he knew I left the docks in April – just after the Germans landed.’

  ‘But he has no proof that you were fighting.’

  ‘He doesn’t need proof, Silje; all he needs is to whisper my name in the General’s ear.’

  ‘But he won’t. Otherwise he would have done so by now.’

  ‘So it would seem,’ said Magnus. He looked at her, steeled himself.

  To ask the question, Silje wondered, or to hear the answer?

  ‘Silje,’ he began, ‘what are you doing to buy his silence?’

  ‘Ask yourself honestly, Brother; do you really wish to know?’

  He got to his feet and whispered that he needed to rest. They looked away from each other, and Silje wondered if he was ashamed of her, or he was ashamed of what she’d had to do to save him. He began to climb the stairs, the weight of their pudency born in every footfall.

  ‘Do not tell Father,’ said Silje.

  She heard him stop on the third step – the step that had creaked since since they were children – and then carry on to his room, slamming the door behind him.

  She busied herself by tidying the kitchen, though she had cleaned it thoroughly only hours before. She took all the pots from the cupboards and scrubbed them until they shone. She wiped the windows and polished the tables, deciding that they would look much better with a lacquer applied to their surface. Then the floors, the
n the inside of the pantry, which hadn’t seen a firm hand and a clean cloth in many a month.

  Silje was so engrossed in her labours that she only realised Magnus was in the kitchen when she heard the door click. She looked up from scrubbing the floor and saw him standing with his hand on the door lever and a rucksack on his back. She got to her feet and carried the bucket to the sink.

  ‘I have to tell my companions that I can no longer aid them,’ he said. ‘I will return soon.’

  Silje poured the black water away. ‘See that you do.’

  Chapter 17

  I stayed in Oslo for two months, and every day I wondered what Monica would say if she knew I was spending my time with someone like Mr Klein. It wasn’t that I cared for his company; more the opposite – I found him a little odd. He worked for three days out of the seven; the other four he’d spend cataloguing the documents and artefacts filling his apartment.

  And unless I was there to remind him, he almost never bathed.

  There were some very unpleasant moments when I could hear him in the bathroom, wrestling with his colostomy bag: ‘Come on, damn you!’ And then he would come out and say something like, ‘I wouldn’t have this problem if I were still in Germany.’

  I guess there were times during his self-imposed penance when he wondered if he’d punished himself enough.

  Sometimes he’d disappear for days, away at some underground auction looking for Nazi memorabilia. Most of the stuff he’d collected over the years was junk: historic medals eaten away by rust, and a lot of the papers rendered unreadable by time and the dry rot that crowned the ceilings of his apartment. I did point out, a number of times, that if he didn’t take his collection to the museum then it would be lost forever.

  ‘I will, I will,’ he said. ‘When I’m done with it.’

  His path through the documents and guns, and knives and flags and deactivated land mines seemed random at first, but as I watched him flit from one pile to another I soon realised he was looking for something.

  ‘Is it her?’ I asked him one day over lunch. I was doing most of the cooking whenever I showed up at the apartment. In return for looking after him, he helped me with my reading.

  ‘No.’ He carried on examining an old copy of The Orchid.

  ‘Then what are you looking for?’