Hans Lahlum - The Human Flies

‘We had established quite a routine with the refugees by the last couple of years of the war. Everything had gone well up until then, so we had perhaps become a bit careless. I had an uncle in Elverum who lived on the refugee route and helped to get everything organized. He would call me when he had seen refugees passing, and in among all the talk of family and farms, he would slip in a message that would tell us who was on their way and how many were in the group. We would then sit up with food and refreshments and wait for them to arrive. These messages were coded, of course, in case the phones were tapped. But it has plagued me in later years that this was maybe how the tragedy started.’

He stood for a moment and stared despondently at the mountainside. Then he continued, but was in no rush.

‘It was early on the evening of 20 February 1944 when my uncle called, with a message that Deerfoot and his father had passed with two large sacks and one small one. This meant that Harald Olesen and Deerfoot had two adult refugees and a child with them. No more than an hour later, my uncle called again and sounded extremely agitated. The message was that a pack of six wolves had just passed outside the window. And so our greatest nightmare became reality. Harald Olesen and Deerfoot were by now in open terrain with the refugees, and a German military patrol was following their tracks.’

Hans Andersson was really slowing down now. Powerful memories were obviously pressing in.

‘And then…’ I prompted.

‘And then the worst winter storm of the year blew up,’ he said, with a heavy heart. ‘I had been up since five in the morning, but still did not get to sleep until four that night. I went out several times with my binoculars, but it was impossible to see anything on the mountain in the dark and whirling snow. The storm was a double-edged sword. The weather would make things very hard for their pursuers, but at the same time, it would be hell on earth to be out there with the German soldiers on your tail – especially with a screaming baby. The wind and cold were dangerous enough at night. When I finally went to bed at four, I was sure that I had seen Harald Olesen and Deerfoot for the last time. My wife woke me at ten in the morning to tell me that the wind had dropped, but that there was still no sign of life on the mountainside. I more or less gave up hope there and then.’

Hans Andersson did not say anything for what seemed like an hour. He stood staring up at the mountainside.

‘I still remember the morning of 21 February 1944 in detail. The wind had dropped completely over the space of a few hours. The sky was blue and the air was clear, but still treacherously cold and dry – the thermometer showed minus twenty-five degrees. So I waited in my office that day with dwindling hope. I have never really believed in God, but around two that afternoon, I experienced what perhaps might be called an epiphany. I suddenly felt very strongly that I had been given a kind of order to go outside to see if there was any sign of movement on the mountainside. It was impossible to remain in the office after that, so I grabbed my binoculars and went out.’

He handed me the binoculars and said firmly: ‘Look up at the top of the mountainside.’

I did as he told me. The weather was clear, but I still saw no sign of any people up there. He nodded.

‘The mountainside was just as deadly still that perishingly cold day in February 1944. Then all of a sudden I saw a slight movement through the binoculars that made me start. It turned out it was just a hare. But it seemed to be frightened, running from something in a way that made me wonder if there was more movement up there. Then a flock of ptarmigan was startled into the air. And suddenly he came sailing down from the mountain and the cold. A solitary man on skis – and he was going hell for leather like he had the devil at his heels!’

‘Harald Olesen?’ I asked. The grim possibility that he and little Sara were the only two who had come out of it alive suddenly struck me.

Hans Andersson shook his head.

‘That is what I thought at first. But I recognized the lightness of foot before I could even see him clearly through the binoculars. It was Deerfoot who came flying down over the seas of snow.’

I held the binoculars close to my eyes and could almost imagine Deerfoot skiing down the side of the valley from the mountain. I waited in breathless anticipation to hear the rest of the story of the time when he actually had.

‘At first, I hoped that I would see Harald Olesen and the other refugees coming up behind him. And then I started to fear that our worst nightmare was upon us and that the German soldiers in their desire to catch the guide had crossed the border and come into Sweden. An old fear was awakened. In the first years of the war, we had discussed what on earth we would do in such a situation and had never found a better answer than that we would immediately ring Stockholm. I remember thinking that they would have to appear soon if they were to keep him within shooting range. But there was no one behind him, neither friend nor foe. Normally the guide came with a small party, but this time Deerfoot was guide to no one. And still he kept pace like I have seen no champion do. I could not comprehend it and started to fear that he had lost his mind. Especially when I realized which path he planned on taking.’

I lowered the binoculars and looked at him, wide-eyed. He gave a sombre nod and pointed to the cliff.

‘My relief at seeing Deerfoot soon gave way to desperation as I watched him speeding towards the cliff. It would be treacherous even to try jumping it at the end of February. The scree was bare at the bottom and then gradually got covered by snow. It was simply madness that Deerfoot, exhausted as he must be after coming over the mountains and with the wrong skis on, would even dare to attempt it. I tried to wave to him to stop, but he was already mustering strength and speed for the jump.’

There was no one to be seen on the mountainside or by the cliff today, and yet, as I listened to the story, I could see it so clearly, Deerfoot sailing over the edge.

‘It was the most terrifying moment of my life, standing here watching him launch himself over the edge of the cliff. At first, it looked as though he was heading straight for the stones. But he had obviously jumped on skis before and leaned forwards over his skis as he cut through the air. The skis just grazed the last big stones. He landed safely on the snow and remained crouching until he lost speed, and then he stood straight up again, pushing himself to get here as fast as he could. I thought he had lost his marbles. But when I was able to see his face clearly in the binoculars, there was no sign of fear or panic, just the manic determination to get down to me as quickly as possible. Once down in the valley, he fair flew along, his arms moving so fast that you could scarcely see them.’

He stopped abruptly and shook his head.

‘It’s still incredible that I did not understand what was going on. Do you?’

I shook my head slowly, without even thinking about it.

‘I still did not understand when he was down here on the fields and only yards from me. Then the world around me stopped when he pulled a lifeless baby, bundled up in a scarf and a woolly sweater, from inside his anorak.’

I looked down at the snow for a moment, and possibly admitted to myself that, like him, I should have realized. Fortunately, he immediately carried on.

‘If there is one dramatic event in my life I will never forget, that is it. Deerfoot slapped the baby on the cheeks twice, without any reaction, but still did not give up hope. “There’s still warmth in her,” he said, in a remarkably calm voice. Then he handed the baby to me and told me to put her in warm water. I was still paralysed and stood there without moving for a few seconds. Deerfoot told me again in a louder voice that I had to get her into hot water immediately. It almost sounded like an order. But it was only when he reached out to take the little girl back that I came to life and ran up the stairs with her.’