by Kris Tualla
And if I meet her in the afterlife, I’ll thank her then.
The Skjerstad only docked three times during their journey, and then just to take on coal and food supplies. In spite of the replenishment, the prisoners’ two meals a day were meager and not always fresh—clearly they overwhelmed the overloaded ship’s galley capacity.
Because of the sleeping shifts, meals were staggered throughout the day, each man eating with his shift mates. Yet even under these harsh and unwieldy circumstances the teachers decided to give each other lectures and sing together to keep themselves from going mad.
And, to aggravate their captors.
As they slogged forward, Teigen noticed several smaller ships accompanying the Skjerstad on her route.
“It’s for their own protection, I’d bet. Not ours,” Jans said when Teigen commented on their constant presence. “The Allies will know about our ship, of course. We won’t be attacked, so neither will they.”
That made sense. And at least they weren’t going to be bombed to the bottom of the Norwegian Sea.
One less worry.
Once they arrived in Kirkenes three days ago, and their crowded, filthy, and overall horrendous voyage finally ended, a doctor—a member of Quisling’s party based on his armband—began a brisk examination of every one of the five hundred teachers. Many of the men had become seriously ill on the trip due to their poor diet, inability to sleep regularly, and exposure to the increasingly cold winds on the ship’s unprotected deck.
From what Teigen observed, pneumonia, asthma, and bronchitis were most common, but some were unable to keep food down and a few were vomiting or shitting blood.
As one of the healthier prisoners, Teigen was consequently one of the last teachers to be examined. A brown-clad lieutenant stepped up to the doctor’s side as Teigen waited his turn.
“Minster-President Quisling wants his report,” he barked at the doctor. “He is tired of waiting.”
The visibly exhausted physician straightened and glared at the man. “Tell him that the space, food, and water supplies on the ship were totally inadequate, and there were only two lavatories for five hundred men. What condition does he expect these men to be in?”
Teigen lowered his eyes so neither the lieutenant nor the doctor could see that he was listening. To the man’s credit, the doctor was clearly horrified by what he had seen.
Even though there was nothing to be done about it now, knowing that someone in Quisling’s camp had stood up for him and his fellow prisoners was a sort of comfort.
The lieutenant stormed away.
Two more teachers were examined before it was Teigen’s turn. The doctor asked for his name, and made a check mark on a list before launching into his questions.
“Height?”
“Six feet and six inches.”
The doctor nodded as he wrote. “Please step on the scale.”
Teigen did so. Even though he knew he had lost weight in the last month and a half, he wasn’t prepared for how much. Twenty-five pounds had dropped from his frame.
The doctor looked at the scale. “Two hundred and twenty.” His gaze swept over Teigen. “What was your weight before your arrest?”
“Two hundred forty-five. Or fifty.”
The man made an unintelligible sound and said, “Lift your sweater.”
While Teigen complied, the physician donned a stethoscope and pressed it to Teigen’s chest. “Take a deep breath. Again. And again. One more.”
He removed the stethoscope’s earpieces and made more notes. “How are your bowels?”
“Fine.”
He looked intently at Teigen. “Are you keeping food down?”
Teigen nodded and lowered the hem of his sweater.
“Sleeping?”
“When I can.”
The doctor made more checkmarks and scribbles. “You pass. You’re fit for work.”
Teigen wasn’t sure if that was good news or bad.
The Nazi lieutenant stomped back into the stark room with an ugly look of triumph plastered on his face. “Here is the Minister-President’s reply.”
The doctor turned his back on Teigen and reached for the telegram.
Teigen could see the typed words and read them over the shorter physician’s shoulder.
The measures taken against Norway’s teachers are a direct consequence of their treasonable activities. They have had their chance to recant.
Teigen spat on the floor.
The doctor whirled to glare at him.
“Sorry,” he said, not meaning it at all. “Am I finished?”
May 2, 1942
Kirkenes, Norway
After the physical examinations were finished, the teachers were divided into four groups, though the purpose of the groups was not explained. German-speaking teachers were selected as interpreters and sub-group leaders, so Teigen became one of them.
“At least I can speak to the bastards,” he told Jans as the men walked south from the port to the labor camp outside of town. “And if they forget I can understand them, maybe I’ll learn something to help us.”
The group leaders, plus the men who possessed any other skills valued by the Nazis, were housed in groups of eleven or twelve in seventeen shabbily-erected octagonal huts. The huts were made of heavy untreated cardboard and had raw wooden floors—a relative luxury compared to the dirt floors of the stable.
Jans didn’t claim to have any special skills so he had been housed in the stable with the remaining three hundred teachers.
“There was hardly room even to lie down,” he groused to Teigen the day after arriving at the camp. “We slept forty to a row, and we only had about a foot’s width each.”
Teigen startled. “A foot? How is that possible?”
“We all had to all turn over at the same time.”
Teigen forced himself not to laugh as the ridiculous image of forty men rolling over in tandem flooded his mind. He felt guilty about his relative comfort and tried to downplay it.
“Remember the rain last night?”
Jans looked up at him. “Yeah, of course.”
“Well, the roof of our hut is tarred, but not the walls as it seems. When they got wet they came loose from the frame.”
Jans’ jaw dropped. “So while I slept pressed front to back with other men, you were enjoying Camp Pappenheim?”
Teigen snorted. “Be nice and I might invite you to visit my paper home!”
“I suppose we could choose to sleep in the fox cages like those guys…” Jans tilted his head toward the abandoned wire-and-wood enclosures which some men had claimed by stuffing a sleeping bag inside—a few thought to carry one with them when they were arrested, apparently. Teigen had been far too surprised to even think of that possibility.
He threw a dubious glance at the cages, which were open to the arctic elements. “You could watch the stars at night…”
“Feel the rain on your face…” Jans teased.
“I already have that.”
Both men laughed. It felt good to grab a sliver of humor in an otherwise humorless situation.
“What’s so funny?”
Another of the German-speaking group leaders approached. Teigen had not actually met the stranger, but he knew the man’s hut was next to his.
Teigen pointed at the fox cages. “We were discussing the pros and cons between sleeping in a fox cage, and living in Camp Pappenheim.”
“Rain on your face apparently is a benefit which both options have in common,” Jans added.
The other man chuckled. “Is that what you’re calling our lavish accommodations?” He stuck out his hand. “Falko Jensen.”
Teigen grasped his hand and shook it firmly. “Teigen Hansen. This is my friend, Jans Lund.”
As Falko shook Jans hand he asked, “Are you an interpreter too?”
Jans shook his head. “No, my only skill is knowing every train route in Norway by heart, but I’m not about to offer that information to the brown bastards.”
<
br /> “Good man.” Falko looked carefully around while he pushed his auburn hair from his deep-set gray eyes. All visible Nazi soldiers were currently shouting orders to the teachers who were not yet settled and acting confused.
“Are you members of the resistance?” he asked softly.
“Yes.”
Teigen looked at Jans, surprised. “You are?”
“Have you been to England?” Falko asked.
Jans’ expression dimmed. “Couldn’t go. My mother was ill.”
“What’s in England?” Teigen whispered.
Falko looked at the ground. “Is she better?”
“She died.”
“Sorry.”
Jans sniffed. “Thanks.”
Teigen felt bad that he never asked Jans those questions. Granted, he met the man only five and a half weeks ago, but they had been constant companions ever since. “I’m sorry, too.”
Jans rubbed his eyes. “Thank you.”
Teigen couldn’t hold the question in. “What’s in England?”
Falko squinted at the Nazi soldiers. “The Special Operations Executive. SOE for short.”
“They train men—and a few women—from occupied countries.” Jans’ rueful tone broadcast his regret at missing out. “They teach them to be stealth fighters, and then send them back home to conduct military operations against the Germans.”
Teigen frowned. “I’ve never heard of this.”
Falko looked at him sharply. “But you know about the Norwegian Resistance?”
Teigen felt his face heating. Elsa had forbidden him to talk about the resistance movement or do anything that smacked of rebellion. He had respected her wishes because he loved her.
But standing in a chilled and muddy labor camp, after so many weeks of crowding, starvation, and filth, being forced to do Nazi bidding, and knowing that the treasonous leader of Norway thought that he and his fellow teachers deserved all of this was quickly changing that stance.
“I do. I’m just not familiar with what they do. Exactly.”
Falko’s eyes narrowed. “Are you angry enough to learn yet?”
At those words, Teigen felt a surge of rage pulse through his entire body. How could he have been so stupid? So blinded by love that his brain ceased to function? Of course he needed to join the resistance. He was already arrested for refusing to comply with Nazi demands. It only made sense that, both as a Norwegian and a man, he began to fight back.
He clenched his jaw and stared into Falko’s eyes, level with his own.
“Damn right I am.”
Chapter
Nine
May 22, 1942
Bergen, Norway
Selby sat across the tiny tavern table from Captain Rolf Schmidt. Tonight was their first performance of Much Ado About Nothing in Bergen and the captain attended as always.
As she made light conversation, Rolf’s free hand massaged her bare knee under the table; he had pushed the hem of her emerald green dress to her thigh. Selby kept her legs crossed to prevent him from going any farther.
Rolf wasn’t very talkative tonight. His sour mood was reflected in both his unsmiling visage and the number of aquavit shots he chased with gulps of beer.
Selby laid her hand over the one of his that loosely cradled his beer glass. If he drank too much too fast, her time with him would be wasted.
“What’s on your mind tonight, Rolf?” she murmured. “You aren’t your usual self.”
His brown eyes pinned hers. “I don’t remember this play mentioning five hundred prisoners…”
Uh oh.
“It’s the first time we’ve performed it, so I don’t know.” Selby flashed a coquettish smile. “I have to confess, I didn’t pay that close attention in school. I was more interested the dances and socials.”
“Well, it was startling. That’s all.” He downed a shot. Winced. And took a long pull of the beer.
Selby feigned confusion. “Why?”
Clearly shocked by the question, Rolf looked at her as if deciding if she could be serious. “Because of the five hundred Norwegian teachers imprisoned ‘in the north’!”
Selby gave a little gasp. “Oh my goodness!” She clapped her free hand over her mouth and giggled. “I didn’t think of that!”
The captain scowled. “How could you not?”
Selby waved that hand dismissively and fought to keep her tone light. “Because that’s old news, Rolf. It happened months ago.”
Selby misstated the timeframe on purpose to support the clueless character she presently played. It seemed to convince Rolf in his current inebriated state because he didn’t challenge her.
Instead, he took another long drink of his beer and groused, “Quisling’s an idiot.”
Then he pulled his hand from under hers and pointed at her. “And if you ever tell anyone I said that I’ll have you shot.”
Selby dug deep into her acting skills to keep her expression sympathetic. She dare not reveal the jolt of fear that his unexpected threat sent streaking through her frame. She reached for his hand and covered it with hers again, pressing it back down to the small tabletop.
“You can trust me, Rolf.” Selby swallowed and adopted a hurt expression. “Don’t you know that by now?”
“Ja. Ja. Ich weiss.” He motioned for another shot of aquavit. “I know.”
She tipped her head forward and lowered her voice. “Do you want to tell me why you would say such a thing?”
He seemed to be considering the wisdom of doing so. Selby watched his expression slowly change from concern to blatant frustration. “Do you want to know what he did today?”
Good Lord, what now?
“Only if you want to tell me…”
Rolf waited until the waiter set down his aquavit and moved far enough away from the table that he wouldn’t hear what the captain said. His bleary eyes rested on Selby’s.
“This morning he went to Stabekk Secondary School in Oslo to address the teachers there. He had his Minister of Education and the head of the Norwegian national police come with him.” Rolf picked up the shot glass and stared at the amber liquid. “As if that was not enough, he had twenty members of his personal guard surround the school.”
Selby wondered if the resistance had broadcast this yet. Her heart pounded with trepidation as she asked, “What did he do?”
“He called all of the teachers together, and then he shouted at them like a raging maniac. I was told his words could even be heard outside the building. But that isn’t the worst of it.”
Rolf downed the shot and ran the lightly-furred back of his hand across his mouth. “Fucking idiot.”
Selby didn’t react to his vulgar choice of words. Part of her job was to appear to be on the same side as her Nazi companions and not criticize them.
“What was the worst of it?” she whispered.
Rolf looked at her, incredulous. “He actually ended his rant by saying you teachers have destroyed everything for me!”
Selby felt a rush of quickly disguised relief and joy. “He did?”
“Ja! As if anything happening in this country is for his personal benefit.” Rolf drained his beer and said it again.
“What a fucking idiot.”
*****
Selby managed to get Rolf into his waiting car with the help of his driver, and then climbed inside with the captain. After a short ride, with the silence broken only by Rolf’s snores, the black vehicle adorned with rapidly fluttering Nazi flags rolled to a stop in the front of her hotel.
Luckily she returned so late from her assignations that there were seldom witnesses to her apparently traitorous return. But the lateness of the hour didn’t stop her from knocking on Dahl’s door tonight.
Rumple-haired and squinty-eyed, but still gorgeous, Dahl cracked the door and peered out. When he saw it was Selby who woke him, he yanked the door open. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Can I come in?”
Dahl stepped back to let her pass. He was wear
ing a pair of flannel pants and nothing else. Selby tried not to stare at his finely built body.
“What’s happened?” he asked as he yawned.
Selby sat on the only chair in the hotel room. “Has there been any communication from the resistance about Quisling’s verbal explosion in Oslo?”
Dahl shook his head. “Not that I’ve seen.” He sat on the foot of his bed facing her. “Did Schmidt tell you about it?”
“Yep.” Selby recounted Rolf’s tale, but leaving out the profanity.
Dahl began to laugh. “This is good.”
“It seems that the higher-ranking officers were informed so they can squelch any sort of loyalist celebrations that might result.”
“Makes sense.” Dahl scratched his head and yawned again. “We should hear something by morning. It seems to take about twenty-four hours for the communications to reach us.”
Selby stood. Dahl’s sleepiness was making her drowsy. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. I was just so encouraged that I wanted to tell you right away.”
Dahl gave her a sultry smile. “Anytime, Selby.”
Selby walked to the door, but before she opened it she looked back at Dahl. She hated to throw cold water on her own suggestion, but to be fair and safe she needed to.
“He did ask me about the five hundred prisoners we mentioned in the play…”
Dahl’s brow lowered. “What did you say?”
“I played stupid.” She shrugged. “I said I didn’t know anything about it.”
“Did he buy that?”
Selby nodded. “And I really think he only noticed because the Quisling thing was weighing on his mind.”
Dahl dragged his hand through his hair. “You’re probably right. But if anyone else mentions it we’ll have to cut it.”
Selby nodded. “I understand.”
As she walked to her own room Selby thought once more about the tall teacher with the green eyes from the dock in Trondheim.
I pray to God that you’re safe.
*****
The next day the Royal Shakespearean Acting Troupe ate their cold lunches together in the dressing room of the Bergen Theater. Dahl read the message that they received an hour earlier out loud to the group. After reading the account of Quisling’s ill-advised appearance—which matched Rolf’s story to Selby nearly word for word—the actors sadly learned that Quisling had ordered the arrest of all of the teachers at that school.
