“TRAVELING BACK TO Copenhagen, leaving him behind in that little hospital, there was a sour knot in my stomach, and it just wouldn’t go away. Lukas was unable to walk or even stand, and I had seen him run like a deer. I remembered the day that Grethe and I stood on the sidelines screaming as he won the eight hundred meters in the Danish Olympic Trials. Still, Lukas was alive, and he was determined to regain his strength, so there was reason to be hopeful. If anyone could get back on his feet, it was Lukas Holstrum. I only had to convey that sense of optimism to Grethe. How was I going to do that?
“All the way back, I rehearsed what I would say when I got home. I didn’t call Grethe from Fredensborg to tell her about Lukas. She would have wanted all the details, and it wasn’t the kind of thing she should hear on the phone. I had to tell her in person, and I had to tell her the whole truth. I decided that it would require the joint effort of my mother and father to tell my sister that her husband, the man she knows as a graceful athlete, a powerful leader in the resistance movement, is now fifty pounds thinner and is unable to stand without help.
“I returned home that evening. My parents were sitting in the front room listening to the radio and Grethe was nursing Isabel when I walked into the house. Everyone turned and looked at me at once, and I totally dropped the ball. No matter what I said, it didn’t come out right. I started crying and said, ‘He’s alive and he’s coming home soon, so it really doesn’t matter about his legs.’ I also blurted out that he was anxious to get back to the Holger Club, which I wasn’t going to say at all. I don’t know what came over me; I guess I just got flustered.
“Grethe cried when she heard about his injuries, but she was accepting of the disability. That was something I shouldn’t have worried about. She had seen Lukas train for the Olympics and she knew how strong his resolve could be. All in all, she took it better than I had expected. For weeks she had been living under the assumption that she would never see him again. Now her husband was alive and determined to rehabilitate as best he could. Returning to the Holger Club, that was another story. ‘He is not going out on any more missions,’ she said. ‘If he wants to be an advisor, then that’s all right. The resistance can use his leadership. You can be a pretty damn powerful man in a wheelchair. Look at Roosevelt!’
“THE WEEK PRECEDING the Folketing elections was pure mayhem. My father and his Social Democratic Party held rallies, passed out leaflets, and canvassed door-to-door, but that was nothing compared to the DNSAP’s campaign blitz. There were nightly torch parades and military marches with dozens of German soldiers in formation, rifles on their shoulders, dressed in full battle gear. They had marching bands and girls carrying banners highlighting the DNSAP candidates, all of which was flooded with a storm of confetti and streamers. Danish Nazi flags, bright red background with a white twisted Nazi swastika instead of a Christian cross, were passed out to the children who lined the street curbs. In the parks and on the busy corners, DNSAP candidates perched like falcons on platforms shouting Germany’s praises and accomplishments through megaphones. ‘The world’s mightiest military.’ ‘The world’s strongest economy.’ ‘Denmark’s most important trading partner and best friend.’ Danish citizens were also promised increased wages and a better life through DNSAP leadership. They promised that Denmark would have Germany’s full support and protection, and a seat at the European governing council to be formed at the conclusion of the war.
“But between the lines were ominous references to those countries that were foolish enough to reject Germany’s generous expressions of friendship. Norway, for example, now flat under the German boot. Danish Jews knew all too well what happened to the Norwegian Jews. Beginning in November 1942, Nazis began to round up the Jews in Norway. They were aided by collaborators and sympathizers. Almost a thousand Jews were sent to concentration camps. And the Netherlands. Oh, the Netherlands. We all knew what happened to the poor Dutch. Formerly a neutral country, just like Denmark, the Netherlands was now under the total control of the Reichskommissariat Niederlande headed by the brutal Arthur Seyss-Inquart and his reign of terror. So, the clear message was, if you don’t want to be like Norway and the Netherlands, vote DNSAP!
“My father justifiably feared that the Danish electorate would be swayed, and that the Folketing was destined to become a Nazi rubber stamp. He thought perhaps people in the outlying rural areas would continue to support their incumbent representatives, but voters in Copenhagen and the larger cities were bombarded with this powerful barrage of German propaganda.
“‘I’m afraid there are many who see Germany’s military conquests and regard Hitler as unstoppable,’ my father lamented, ‘and they are justifiably afraid. They have seen him steamroll through Europe and they have witnessed his wrath at those who have the temerity to stand against him. They fear that there will be repercussions if the Nazi slate is defeated. And I’m sure there are those who believe DNSAP’s economic promises and want a share in the good life. Either way,’ my father said with regret, ‘I fear our people will be motivated to vote for the DNSAP candidates.’ Ultimately, my father was dead wrong about our people, but dead right about the repercussions.
“Two days before the election, my father left to pick up Lukas. In the midst of the electioneering madness, no one would be keeping track of where he went. He was bound to be traveling on campaign business. Likewise, we expected the Gestapo to be so occupied with DNSAP rallies that they wouldn’t have time to pay attention to what went on in our house. In truth, I hadn’t seen the two Gestapo agents in weeks. Despite Grethe’s paranoia, I did not think they were monitoring our home.
“Grethe calculated that it would take four hours for my father to make the round-trip; ninety minutes each way and an hour or so at the hospital, and according to my mother, she checked her watch every five minutes. I went along with my father, not because I would be such a big help, but because I was familiar with the hospital. My father had already made arrangements for releasing Lukas and a wheelchair had been delivered and was available to take him home.
“Sister Elizabeth was sitting at her station when we arrived, and she greeted me with her patented smile. ‘Well, if it isn’t Nelson Nelson’s sister-in-law,’ she said. ‘Nice to see you again.’ My father looked at me with a puzzled expression. I waved it off. ‘It’s a long story,’ I said. We had brought a fresh change of clothes for Lukas, and Sister Elizabeth suggested that she and the staff help Lukas change.
“A few minutes later, Lukas wheeled himself into the reception area. ‘He’s been practicing,’ Sister Elizabeth said. ‘He’s a very determined young man.’
“‘Don’t we know,’ I replied.
“Lukas reached up and hugged her. ‘You’ve been so good to me,’ he said, ‘I owe my life to you and the St. Vincent staff. I’m going to miss you all.’
“She had a tear in her eye as well, but she never lost her smile. ‘When you get the chance, and when things are safer and quiet down, you come back and visit us, and bring that new baby with you.’ Little did she know how prophetic that request would be, and how soon that would occur.
“It was dark when we arrived home. Mama told us that Grethe had been nervous and had scanned the street all afternoon for any sign of the two Gestapo men, but they were nowhere to be seen. As it happened, the homecoming was sweet and without incident. Isabel took right to Lukas, and he to her. The family portrait was complete.”