The Hidden Child (61 page)

‘Well, I can’t help wondering why the brother who died paid money to my father all those years. From what I understand, he wasn’t my father. It was the Norwegian. Or do I have it backwards?’ said Göran, looking at Erica.

‘No, you’re right. According to Mamma’s diaries, your father was named Hans Olavsen, or rather, Hans Wolf. Erik and Mamma don’t seem to have ever had a romantic relationship. So I don’t know . . .’ Erica chewed on her lip as she thought. ‘We’ll probably know more when we find out what Axel Frankel has to say.’

‘Probably,’ said Patrik, nodding agreement.

Dan cleared his throat, and everyone turned to look at him. He and Anna exchanged glances, and then Anna said, ‘Well, er . . . we have some news.’

‘What is it?’ asked Erica, stuffing another Dumle into her mouth.

‘Well . . .’ Anna paused, but then the words came tumbling out of her. ‘We’re going to have a baby. In the spring.’

‘Really! That’s great!’ cried Erica, getting up to run around the table and give first her sister a hug and then Dan before she sat down again, her eyes sparkling. ‘So how do you feel? Is everything all right? Do you feel good?’ Erica fired off questions one after the other, and Anna laughed.

‘I’m fine, but I feel lousy. It was the same way when I was expecting Adrian. And I have this constant craving for rock candy.’

‘Ha ha, rock candy, of all things,’ laughed Erica. ‘But I shouldn’t talk. I remember stuffing myself with Dumlekola sweets when I was pregnant with . . .’ Erica stopped in mid-sentence and stared at the heap of Dumle wrappers on the table. She looked up at Patrik, and saw by his open mouth that he was thinking the same thing. Frantically she began calculating. When was her period due? She had been so focused on everything about her mother that she hadn’t even thought about . . . Two weeks ago! She should have had her period two weeks ago. She stared dumbfounded at the Dumle wrappers again. Then she heard Anna start to hoot with laughter.

Chapter 52
Fjällbacka 1945

Axel heard voices downstairs. With great effort he climbed out of bed. It would take time for him to fully recover. That was what the doctor had said when he was examined upon arriving back in Sweden. And his father had looked worried and said the same thing when Axel finally got home yesterday. It had been so blissful to be back home. For a moment it felt as if all the terror, all the horrible things he had been through, never existed. But his mother had wept at the sight of him. And she had wept even more when she put her arms around his gaunt and frail body. That had hurt. Because they weren’t just tears of joy. She was also crying because he was no longer the same. And he never would be. The outspoken, daredevil, cheerful Axel no longer existed. The past years had beaten all that out of him. And he saw in his mother’s eyes that she was grieving for the son she would never get back, at the same time that she rejoiced over the small part of him that had returned.

She hadn’t wanted to go with her husband and be away overnight, even though the plans had been made long ago. But his father had understood that Axel needed some time alone, and so he had insisted that she accompany him.

‘The boy is home now,’ his father had said. ‘There will be plenty of time to spend with him. He needs some peace and quiet so he can rest. And Erik will be here to keep him company.’

Finally she relented and they had left. Axel was relieved to have the chance to be alone; he was having a hard enough time adjusting to being at home again. Getting used to being Axel.

He turned his right ear towards the door and listened. The doctor had told him that he would just have to accept that he had lost the hearing in his left ear for good. He hadn’t expected anything else. When the guard swung the rifle butt and struck him above the ear, Axel knew that something was destroyed. His injured ear would remain a constant reminder of what he’d been through.

With halting steps he went out into the hall. Since his legs were still so weak, his father had given him a cane to use for the time being. It had once belonged to his paternal grandfather. A solid, stout, silver-tipped cane.

Axel had to grip the banister as he slowly made his way down the stairs, but he had been resting in bed for a long time, and he was curious to see who the voices he’d heard belonged to. Even though he had been longing for solitude, right now he wanted company.

Frans and Britta were sitting in armchairs in the library, and Axel thought it strange to see them there again, as if nothing had happened. For them, life had continued along its customary path. They hadn’t seen corpses piled up in heaps, or watched the man standing next to them jerk backwards and collapse with a bullet in his forehead. For a moment Axel was furious at how unfair it all was, but then he reminded himself that he had made the choice to put his life at risk, and thus had to endure the consequences. Some of his anger remained, though, smouldering inside of him.

‘Axel! It’s good to see you awake!’ said Erik, sitting up straight in the chair behind the desk. His face lit up when he saw his brother. That was what had warmed Axel’s heart the most when he came home. Seeing his brother’s face again.

‘Right. The old man is managing to get around with the use of his cane,’ laughed Axel, raising the cane in jest to show it to Frans and Britta.

‘There’s somebody here I’d like to introduce you to,’ said Erik eagerly. ‘Hans is Norwegian. He was in the resistance movement, but he fled by stowing away on Elof’s boat when the Germans were on his trail. Hans, this my brother Axel.’ Erik’s voice was filled with pride.

At first Axel noticed that someone was standing at the far end of the room. He had his back to the door, so Axel saw only a slender figure with curly blond hair. Axel took a step forward to say hello, and then the person turned around.

At that moment the world stood still. Axel saw the rifle butt. He relived the sense of betrayal, how it felt to trust someone he thought was on the side of the good, only to be disappointed. He saw the boy in front of him and recognized him at once. There was a rushing sound in his ear, and the blood raced wildly in his chest. Before Axel was even conscious of what he was doing, he lifted the cane high overhead and swung it right at the boy’s face.

‘What are you doing!’ yelled Erik, rushing over to Hans, who had fallen to the floor, his hands over his face, with blood gushing out between his fingers. Frans and Britta had also jumped up and were staring at Axel in disbelief.

He pointed his cane at the boy and, his voice shaking with hatred, he said, ‘He lied to you. He’s not a Norwegian resistance fighter. He was a guard at Grini when I was a prisoner there. He’s the one who robbed me of my hearing. He smashed his rifle butt into my ear.’

Silence descended over the room. ‘Is it true, what my brother said?’ Erik finally asked in a low voice as he sat down next to Hans, who was whimpering as he lay on the floor. ‘Did you lie to us? Were you working for the Germans?’

‘At Grini they said he was the son of an SS officer,’ said Axel, still shaking all over.

‘And someone like you has got Elsy pregnant,’ said Erik, looking at Hans with hatred.

‘What did you say?’ asked Frans, his face turning white. ‘He made Elsy pregnant?’

‘That’s what he wanted to tell me. He even had the nerve to ask me to take care of her if anything should happen to him. Because he needed to go back to Norway.’ Erik was so furious that he was shaking. He kept opening and closing his fists as he stared at Hans, who was struggling to get to his feet.

‘Right. I bet he did. He was probably going to run back to his father,’ said Axel, raising his cane again. With all his strength, he again struck Hans, who curled up at once with a groan.

‘No, I was going to . . . my mother . . .’ Hans slurred his words as he pleaded with the others.

‘You fucking bastard,’ said Frans between clenched teeth, and he kicked Hans hard in the diaphragm.

‘How could you? How could you lie to us like that? When you knew that my brother . . .’ Erik had tears in his eyes and his voice broke. He stood up and backed away a few steps. Wrapped his arms around his body and began shaking even more.

‘So you were planning to bolt, is that right?’ yelled Frans. ‘Get Elsy pregnant and then leave? Jesus Christ, you fucking pig! If it was any other girl . . . but not Elsy! And now she’s going to have a German brat!’ His voice rose to a falsetto.

Britta stared at him in despair. Only now did she seem to realize what deep feelings Frans had for Elsy. The pain in her heart made her collapse in a heap on the floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Frans turned to look at her for a few seconds. Before anyone had time to react, he went over to the desk, picked up the letter opener lying there, and stabbed Hans in the chest.

The others stared at him in horror for several seconds. Erik and Britta were paralysed with shock, but the sight of the blood welling up around the letter opener released something bestial in Axel. He directed all his own fury at the motionless heap on the floor. Uttering primitive sounds, he and Frans punched, kicked, and pummelled Hans. And when they stopped, exhausted and out of breath, the boy on the floor was no longer recognizable. They looked at each other. Scared but somehow elated. The feeling of releasing all that hatred, everything inside of them that wanted to get out, was liberating and powerful, and they could see that in each other’s eyes.

They stood there for a moment, sharing the emotion, drinking it in, covered with Hans’s blood – on their hands and clothes and faces. It had splattered in a wide circle all around them, and a pool of dark blood was slowly spreading underneath the body. Some of it had also splashed on Erik, who still stood there, his arms wrapped around his body, shaking violently. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the bloody heap, and his mouth was half open as he now turned to look at his brother. Britta was sitting on the floor, staring at her hands, which were also flecked with blood, and her expression was as blank as Erik’s. None of them said a word. It was like the uncanny silence after a storm. Everything was quiet, but the silence still held memories of the roaring wind.

Frans was the one who finally spoke.

‘We need to get rid of this,’ he said coldly, poking his foot at Hans’s body. ‘Britta, you stay and clean up. Erik, Axel, and I will get him out of here.’

‘But where should we take him?’ asked Axel as he tried to wipe the blood off his face with his shirt sleeve.

Frans pondered that question for a moment and then said:

‘I know what we’re going to do. We’ll wait until dark to carry him out of the house. We’ll put him on top of something so he won’t bleed all over. In the meantime, we can help Britta clean up in here and get washed up ourselves.’

‘But . . .’ Erik began, his voice trailing off as he sank to the floor, staring at a spot somewhere beyond Frans.

‘I know the perfect place. We’ll bury him with his own kind,’ said Frans with a hint of amusement in his tone.

‘His own kind?’ repeated Axel, his voice sounding hollow. He was staring at the end of his cane, which was covered with blood and hair.

‘We’ll put him in the German soldiers’ grave. In the cemetery,’ said Frans, his smile even bigger. ‘There’s a poetic justice in that.’

‘
Ignoto militi
,’ murmured Erik as he sat on the floor, staring straight ahead. Frans gave him a puzzled look. ‘To the unknown soldier,’ Erik explained quietly. ‘That’s what it says on the grave.’

Frans laughed. ‘See? It’s perfect.’

None of the others laughed, but they offered no objections to Frans’s plan. Moving numbly, they started doing what had to be done. Erik went to get a big paper sack from the basement, and they placed Hans’s body on top of it. Axel brought cleaning supplies from the cupboard in the hall, and Frans and Britta began the laborious job of scrubbing the library clean. It turned out to be a lot harder than they’d imagined. The blood was viscous and at first just seemed to smear with each attempt to remove it. Britta cried hysterically as she scrubbed, sometimes pausing to sob some more as she knelt on the floor with a scrubbing brush in her hand. Frans snarled at her to keep going. He worked until the sweat poured down, but unlike the others, there was no sign of shock in his eyes. Erik scrubbed mechanically; he had stopped saying that they needed to report what had happened to the police, having finally realized that Frans was right. He couldn’t take the chance that Axel, who had just returned home after surviving the hell of the concentration camps, might be seized by the police and thrown in jail.

After more than an hour of hard work, they wiped the sweat from their brows, and Frans made sure that no trace remained of what had played out in the library.

‘We need to borrow some clothes from my parents’ wardrobe for you,’ said Erik in a subdued tone, and then left to get them. When he came back, he stopped to look at his brother, who was huddled up on the floor in a corner of the library, his eyes still fixed on the blood and hair stuck on the tip of his cane. Axel had said very little since venting his rage, but now he looked up and stared straight ahead. ‘How are we going to get him over to the cemetery? Wouldn’t it be better to bury him in the woods?’

‘Your family has a moped with a platform. We’ll use that,’ said Frans, who refused to give up his idea. ‘If we bury him in the woods, some animal will just come along and dig him up. But no one will ever guess that there’s another body in the Germans’ grave. I mean, there are already several corpses buried there. And if we take him over on the moped, with something covering him up, no one’s going to see anything.’

‘I’ve dug enough graves,’ said Axel absently, shifting his gaze back to his cane.

‘Frans and I will do it,’ said Erik hastily. ‘You can stay here, Axel. And Britta, you should go home. They’ll start to worry if you’re not home for dinner.’ He spoke quickly, rattling out the words like a machine gun, without taking his eyes off his brother.

‘Nobody cares whether I come or go,’ said Frans dully. ‘So I can stay. We’ll wait until ten o’clock. There usually aren’t many people out at that time of night, and it will be dark enough then.’