Hanna #2
I set a cup of coffee before him, then sat down with my own.
“Thank you. You are so kind. And what a pleasant home you’ve made for yourself here.”
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, I noticed. They were as cold and hard as the grey pebbles on the shore. I remained silent, sipping my coffee to mask the distaste I felt for him.
“Actually,” he continued, his tone casual, “I’ve been looking for you for a while. You see, some time ago this came into my possession.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper, which he set on the table in front of me.
Everything in me froze. It was the sketch Per had made of me. The last time I’d seen it was when he’d put it in his breast pocket, telling me I’d be with him wherever he went. I forced myself not to flinch, again giving nothing away. I merely raised my eyebrows.
“She’s very pretty, isn’t she?” he said. “And she bears a remarkable resemblance to you, if I might say so. In fact, more than one person I’ve asked has suggested she may be a certain Hanna Kristiansen, who lives all by herself in a lonely hut along the coast here.”
I shrugged, trying to appear disinterested. “She looks unremarkable, just like one of many girls in Norway.”
It took all my willpower to keep my face blank and my voice calm. My fingers twitched against the side of my cup with the urge to reach out and snatch the portrait from him. I set my coffee down carefully and rested my hands in my lap.
He was silent for a few moments, and I held my breath, waiting for him to say something about Per, to tell me he knew I was helping the resistance. The fisherman said Per had been brave, that he’d refused to speak. What about the others they’d arrested, though? Might they have said anything?
But then he tucked the portrait back into his pocket, and when he spoke, he surprised me.
“You Norwegian girls really are very attractive. You epitomize traits that we Germans find most desirable, you know, with your pretty blond hair and your blue eyes. Not only that, but you also know how to make good coffee.” He picked up his cup and drained it in one gulp.
I was astonished. Was this vile man attempting to flirt with me?
This man who had somehow been involved in the interrogation and execution of Per?
Who embodied the oppressors who’d taken our country from us?
Now I really was speechless. I clenched my hands into fists beneath the table and felt my cheeks flush, dropping my eyes so he wouldn’t see the anger written there.
Fortunately, in his arrogance, he seemed to mistake my silence for bashfulness.
“Ah, I can see I’ve made you blush, Fr?ulein Kristiansen.
It has been a very great pleasure making your acquaintance, but I’m afraid I must be on my way.
Now I know where you live, though, I will come and visit you again, if I may?
I shall be passing this way from time to time. ”
How I longed to retort that he absolutely may not, but I forced myself to smile weakly.
I accompanied him back to his boat, wanting to make sure he didn’t have a chance to snoop around the hut, and stood watching as he pushed it back into the water before jumping on board.
The salt water would ruin the leather of his boots, I noted with small satisfaction.
“Farewell for now, Miss Kristiansen,” he said, as he started the engine.
“Goodbye, Captain Stolz,” I replied. I turned away, going back inside, but I watched from the window to make sure he had left the bay. Then I picked up the coffee cups and washed them, very, very thoroughly indeed, trying to obliterate all trace of his odious presence.
I had many sleepless nights after Heinrich Stolz’s visit.
Images of his cold grey eyes haunted me.
When I did drift off, my dreams were often troubled, and I would jerk awake, trembling in the darkness.
I was sorely tempted to pack my few belongings into the rowing boat and go back to the safety and comfort of Liv’s arms in the house in Fagernes.
But if I wasn’t there when he came back, might he take the opportunity to snoop around and find what was concealed beneath the hut?
And what if the fishermen had passed on my message to others in the resistance, and there was a role for me to play?
I made myself keep going through the motions of daily life as more long weeks came and went, tidying the hut, keeping the stove burning, mending creels ready for the summer, hoeing my little garden.
Then, one evening, as I lit the lamp and set it in the window to cast its defiant rays out onto the water, there came a soft tap at the door.
For the briefest of moments, even though I knew better, I dared to hope to see Per standing there, pulling his cap from his head to let the moonlight shine on his blond hair.
And then I froze, fearing it would be Captain Stolz.
But I forced myself to keep calm once more as I answered it.
Standing there was another man, whom I came to know only as Janssen. The fishermen had passed on my message to the organization he worked for. He was the one I’d been waiting for. And he was the one who sent me across the sea, to Shetland.