“So you know the place?” She looked at him with curiosity.
“Yes. A bit.” I’m heading there myself, he was about to divulge, then thought better of it. He took out a cigarette. “Do you smoke?”
“Thank you, no. My grandfather says it makes the cello out of tune.” She turned and rested her arms on the railing and looked out. Nordstrum found he could not take his eyes away from her. “It’s so very beautiful here.”
“When the storms come, it’s quite another thing. And they come frequently.”
“Well today we seem to be in luck. In fact, so far we have only been blessed with sunny days in Norway.”
“Then you must stay for a bit longer. You’ll see. So look, do you see that mountain? All the way out there…” Nordstrum pointed across the lake to the highest snowcapped peak. “That’s called the Odinskjegg. Legend has it Odin himself would go there to trim his beard, as he could see himself in the lake.”
“The Odinskjegg,” she repeated.
“Yes. A hard ‘g’ this time.”
“Odinskjegg. And people say German is a difficult language.”
“We Vikings know how to build ships, but don’t talk so much, so that’s what we ended up with.”
She laughed. “So do you really believe that?”
“About the Vikings? It’s true, I’m afraid.”
“I meant about the legend you spoke of.”
“The Odinskjegg?” He shrugged. “In times like these, it’s not so bad to believe in something. Even a folk tale.”
“Or a Beethoven concerto.”
“Or a Beethoven concerto, why not? Though here, we prefer Sibelius and Grieg.”
“My grandfather plays Sibelius as well,” she said. “And Grieg’s Holberg Suite.”
“Is that so?” He watched her as she stared out at the snowcapped peaks, leaning on her toes. They remained silent for a while. The ferry cut through the breeze on the silvery lake, and she shielded her eyes from the bright sun. He knew it was silly to feel anything but a moment’s diversion. In Nottogen their paths would diverge and likely never cross again.
“No,” he said, out of the blue. “To your question, I never did believe much of that. The trolls and all … But at the very least, it makes a nice story.”
He finished his smoke and tossed the butt into the lake.
She looked at him. “My grandfather will be wondering where I am. He’s probably thinking I fell overboard. He cautioned me not to talk too much to the people here. He said German speakers are not so well liked here.”
“No more than the Vikings would be if we rode down the streets of Vienna in tanks and trucks. However, in your case we’ll make an exception. Your command of English has saved you.”
“Thank you for my hat, Herr…?”
“Holgersen,” he said, after a moment’s pause, giving her the name on his forged identity papers. “I was glad to help, Fraulein Ritter. Perhaps I will see you again when we disembark.”
“I’ll wear this hat.” She turned as she headed back toward the first-class compartment. “That way, you’ll be sure to distinguish me from all the Norwegians.”
*
The rest of the trip Nordstrum didn’t think on much else, going back over their conversation. He thought he could have been wittier, and maybe not so dour when it came to the Occupation or the weather. Even in war, he thought, did people not laugh, smile, drink, even fall in love? Even with a pretty Austrian gal who would be out of Norway in a week and he would never see again.
Still … The fates of Hella and Anna-Lisette were never far from his mind. When you let your guard down, he reminded himself, look what can happen.
He tossed another cigarette butt into the Heddasvat. The Odinskjegg had now ducked behind the clouds.
Still, as the ferry docked in Nottogen, he searched for her amid the crowd. Her grandfather was in a dark coat and full suit, maybe seventy, with a head of thinning white hair under a low knit cap. They walked slowly as the crowd filled in around them near the off-ramp, the musician clutching his instrument case. At the ramp a crewman brought their bags.
“May I help?” Nordstrum edged over to her from the crowd. “I saw the hat. I couldn’t help but be drawn to it.”
“Thank you,” she said brightly. He could see she was happy he had found her again. “Grandfather, this is Herr Holgersen,” she said in German. “He saved my hat from a watery grave. But in fact,” she turned back, “I think we are being met by our hosts.”
On the dock, next to a large Daimler with red flags with Nazi crosses on it, two German officers were waving to get their attention. One, a major, seemed to pick them out of the crowd on deck, and shouted above the throng. “Herr Ritter! Over here!”
“Ah, Natalie, schau!” Ritter pointed toward them, waving back.
“Please allow me anyway.” Nordstrum took their two heavy suitcases across the ramp and placed them on the wharf. The German officers hurried up to them and warmly shook hands. Nordstrum didn’t want to get too close, though the officers were far too excited to greet their famous guest to have even the remotest interest in him. He said with a shrug, “If all is well, then, I think I’ll leave you to your hosts.”
“Thank you again,” Natalie Ritter said. He detected a touch of disappointment, as this was where their paths would diverge. Were life different, he would have surely found a way to ask her to a drink or to dinner.
“Perhaps we shall see you in Rjukan? At the King Edvard Hall?” she said.
“You never know. Life takes you where you least expect.” He shrugged. But the place would be crowded with Germans, and who knew where he’d have to be. “I wish you the very best. For your hat, and for your concerts, Fraulein Ritter.”
“Natalie,” her grandfather cut them off. The officers had placed their bags in the car.
“I’ll say good-bye then.” Nordstrum stepped back.
She nodded, showing disappointment too. “Good-bye.”
With a glance at the German officers, Nordstrum edged his way into the safety of the crowd. When he turned back, he watched Natalie and her grandfather step into the car and, with a beep of the horn to clear the way, drive off.
Stupid, he told himself again, to even think of it. Still he whispered her name out loud. “Natalie.”
60