It was the spring of 1943 when Papa came home with news. Uncle Johann had been staying for some time now and he was sitting in the kitchen. The two brothers hardly spoke anymore, and being in the same room with them was very uncomfortable.
Papa sat down. He looked exhausted. “A Danish woman has been shot on Knippel Bridge.”
Uncle Johann gave a sort of snort. “What had she done?”
Papa looked at him. “Nothing, Johann. She had done nothing. As far as anyone knows, she wasn’t even a member of the resistance. Just a woman out minding her own business, walking home quietly and peacefully with some shopping when a bored German soldier took aim and shot her down. She died shortly after being admitted to Sunby Hospital. Happy now?”
Johann looked shocked. “I didn’t kill her.” Papa stood up and said quietly, “You might as well have done.” He went to see Mama in her room, and I remember Uncle Johann just sitting there, not saying a word.
Things were getting more and more tense. Not just in our house but in the streets as well.
A regiment of Danish Nazis who had fought with Germans on the eastern front returned to Copenhagen. A large group of them had gathered in Radhuspladsen, the town hall square, to celebrate. I was on my way past to deliver something for the paper, which was up and running again. I stopped to look. I wanted to see what Danes who wouldn’t defend their country looked like. There were German posters everywhere showing blond Danes apparently shaking hands with German soldiers in the fight mot Bolsjevismen—against bolshevism. They claimed that we were all facing a common enemy. There were some people who believed it, but it was hard to tell who they were and I wanted to see for myself. I wasn’t the only one. Pretty soon there was quite a crowd around them. Then a woman called out, “Traitors!”
Soon others were beginning to chant things and shout at the young Nazis. I knew there was going to be trouble. I looked across the mob and standing on the edge, I saw Uncle Johann. He looked old and tired and even a little confused. He didn’t seem to be on either side in the arguments, which were growing louder by the minute. He looked at me and moved as if to say something, but just then someone threw a punch. I don’t know which side it came from, but in seconds there was fighting all around me and I cycled like mad to get away. That night, for the first time, there was rioting in the street. Hitler’s Canary had had enough and wanted out of the cage.
Mama had started back at the theater, but Thomas still stayed with us every night. When she wasn’t working, Mama wore just black all the time. She never dressed up anymore and the spark seemed to have gone out of her. Uncle Johann didn’t come back that night, and no one knew where he had gone. Although the atmosphere was better in the house, I know it made Papa very unhappy. Masha didn’t see Boris anymore, but many nights I saw her standing in the yard with Mrs. Jensen’s cow, Bess, crying and looking out into the street behind. It was a sad time for everyone, but there was worse to come.
One night Papa and I were sitting in the conservatory together. He looked exhausted. We hadn’t heard a word about Orlando for some time. He lowered his voice to a whisper.
“Bamse, I heard some news today.” Papa stopped and looked at me. Suddenly I realized that he had stopped treating me like his little boy; that we were fighting together and that he trusted me. “Orlando has been transferred from prison to Bispebjerg Hospital with some kind of stomach trouble.”
“Who told you?” I asked.
“Your Uncle Johann.”
“And you believe him?”
“I don’t know. He seemed to be trying to help, but it is so hard to know who to trust and who is working on which side. I want to believe him. He is my brother but I don’t know… .”
We sat together and thought about Orlando. What did it mean? Was he really ill or was it a ploy to get him out of the prison? Did this mean he might escape, or had the Germans treated him so badly that now he was ill? It was impossible to know.
The next day, after school, I was carrying a message in my shoe across the road at Store Kongensgade to a new drop for the paper, when someone came up behind me and whispered in my ear, “Bring clothes for your brother to Bispebjerg Hospital tomorrow. Tell no one.”
It sounded like Uncle Johann but when I turned around to see who had spoken, the person had disappeared into the crowd. I didn’t know what it meant; whether it was good news or not. Did telling no one include Anton and Papa? What kind of clothes did he need?
The next day I packed a bag with a few of my brother’s things. I didn’t know where he was going or what it was for, so I chose warm things. I put them in a shopping bag because I thought a suitcase might draw attention to me and cycled to the hospital. when I got there I wasn’t sure what to do.
The woman behind the desk smiled at me. “Can I help you?”
“I … I’m looking for …”
“It’s alright,” she said. “You are safe here.” And I believed her. Sometimes you just had to trust somebody. I took a deep breath and said, “I’m looking for Orlando Skovlund.”
She nodded and looked up his name on her list. “Upstairs. Third bed on the right.”
There he was, sitting up in bed and smiling at me. He looked thin and he had a slight beard, which made him look old, but I ran to him and he hugged and hugged me.
“Oh Bamse, my brave fighter.”
“Oh Orlando, we miss you. Mama cries all the time and Anton and I tried to blow up a bridge and—”
Orlando laughed and told me to shush. “You are a good Norwegian worker.” Then he held me close and whispered in my ear, “You must go now, Bamse. I’ll see you soon. Tell Mama and Papa that I am fine. Go now.”
A man was standing near Orlando’s bed waiting to speak to him, and I knew it was time to leave. I could hardly see for tears but I knew my brother would want me to be brave, so I tried to walk tall and straight. I meant to ride straight home, but there was a small newsstand across from the hospital and I couldn’t resist hiding behind it for a while to see if anything happened. It wasn’t long before a car drew up at a side entrance and I saw Orlando come out and get in. He drove off in the clothes I had brought and somehow I knew it was OK. Mama cried when I told her, Papa nodded quietly, and we just carried on as if everyone were half asleep.