Jo Nesbo - The Redbreast

They both laughed. Helena knew that the other patients were watching them. She mustn't spend more time with him than the others.

'And your head? It's getting a little better every day now, isn't it?'

'Yes indeed, it's getting better and better. One day I'll be just as good-looking as I used to be, you'll see.'

She remembered when they brought him in. It seemed to contravene the laws of nature that anyone could survive the hole he had in his forehead. She caught his teacup with the pot and it almost toppled over.

'Whoa!' he laughed. 'Were you out dancing until the wee small hours last night?'

She looked up. He winked at her.

'Mmm,' she said, and became flustered because she was lying about such a silly thing.

'What do you dance here in Vienna?'

I mean, no, I wasn't dancing. I just went to bed late.'

'You probably dance waltzes, don't you? Viennese waltzes and so on.'

'Yes, I suppose we do,' she said, concentrating on the thermometer.

'Like this,' he said and stood up. Then he began to sing. The others looked up from their beds. The song was in an unfamiliar language, but he had such a warm, beautiful voice. The healthiest patients cheered and laughed as he pivoted round with small, careful waltz steps and the loose dressing gown cords swung with him.

'Come back here, Uriah, or I'll send you right back to the Eastern Front,' she shouted sternly.

He went back obediently and sat down. His name was not Uriah, but it was the name he had insisted they use.

'Do you know the Rhineland Polka?' he asked.

'Rhineland Polka?'

'It's a dance we've borrowed from the Rhineland. Shall I show you?’

‘You sit there nice and still until you're well again.’

‘And then I'll take you out in Vienna and teach you the Rhineland Polka.'

The hours he had spent in the summer sun on the veranda over the past days had given him a healthy complexion, and now his white teeth sparkled against his happy face.

'I think you sound well enough to be sent back already,' she countered, but was unable to stop the blush which had shot into her cheeks. She was standing ready to continue her round when she felt his hand against hers.

'Say yes,' he whispered.

She waved him away with a bright laugh and went on to the next bed with her heart singing like a little bird in her bosom.

'Well?' Dr Brockhard said, peering up from his papers when she came into his office, and as usual she didn't know if this 'well?' was a question, an introduction to a longer question or simply his way of speaking. So she just stood by the door. 'You asked to see me, Doctor?'

'Why do you insist on being so formal with me, Helena?' Brockhard sighed with a smile. 'My goodness, we've known each other since we were children, haven't we?'

'What was it you wanted from me?'

'I've decided to report the Norwegian in Ward 4 fit for duty’

‘I see.'

She didn't turn a hair. Why should she? Patients came here to become well again, then they left. The alternative was dying. That was life in a hospital.

'I passed on the report to the Wehrmacht five days ago. We have already received his new posting.'

'That was quick.' Her voice was firm and calm.

'Yes, they desperately need more men. We're fighting a war, as you know.'

'Yes,' she said. But didn't say what she was thinking: We're fighting a war and you're sitting here hundreds of kilometres from the front, twenty-two years old, doing the job a seventy-year-old could have done. Thanks to Herr Brockhard Senior.

'I thought I would ask you to give him his orders since the two of you seem to get on so well.'

She could feel him scrutinising her reaction.

'By the way, what is it that you like so much about him particularly, Helena? What distinguishes him from the four hundred other soldiers we have here at the hospital?'

She was about to protest, but he pre-empted her.

'Sorry, Helena, this is none of my business of course. It's just my curious nature. I…' He picked up a pen in front of him between the tips of his two index fingers, turned and looked out of the window. '… simply wonder what you can see in a foreign fortune-hunter who betrays his own country in order to curry favour with the conquering army. If you understand what I mean. How's your mother by the way?' Helena swallowed before answering.

'You don't need to worry about my mother, Doctor. If you give me the orders, I'll pass them on.'

Brockhard turned to face her. He picked up a letter from the desk.

'He's being sent to the 3rd Panzer Division in Hungary. You know what that means, I take it?'

She frowned. 'The 3rd Panzer Division? He volunteered for the Waffen SS. Why should he be enlisted in the regular Wehrmacht?'

Brockhard shrugged his shoulders.

'In these times we have to accomplish what we can and perform the tasks we are set to do. Or don't you agree, Helena?’

‘What do you mean?'

'He's in the infantry, isn't he? In other words, he has to run behind combat vehicles, not sit in them. A friend of mine who was in the Ukraine tells me that every single day they shoot Russians until their machine guns run hot and the bodies are piled high, but they keep pouring in as if there were no end to them.'

She only just managed to restrain herself from snatching the letter off Brockhard and ripping it to pieces.

'Perhaps a young woman like you should be a little realistic and not develop too strong an attachment to a man who, in all probability, you will never see again. Incidentally, that shawl really suits you, Helena. Is it a family heirloom?'

'I am surprised and happy to hear your considerate words, Doctor, but I can assure you they are completely redundant. I have no special feelings for this patient. Meals have to be served now, so if you would excuse me, Doctor…'

'Helena, Helena…' Brockhard shook his head and smiled. 'Do you really believe I am blind? Do you think I can watch the pain this is causing you with a light heart? The close friendship between our families makes me feel there are bonds which tie us together, Helena. Otherwise I would not talk to you in this confidential manner. Please forgive me, but you must have noticed that I bear warm feelings of affection for you, and -'

'Stop!'

'What?'

Helena had closed the door behind her and now she raised her voice.

'I'm a volunteer here, Brockhard. I'm not one of your nurses whom you can play with as you will. Give me that letter and say what you have to. Otherwise, I'll be on my way immediately'

'My dear Helena,' Brockhard wore an expression of concern, 'don't you understand that this is up to you?'

'Up to me?'

'A full bill of health is an extremely subjective thing. Especially with regard to a head injury of that kind.’

‘I see.'

'I could provide him with a medical certificate for another three months, and who knows if there will be any Eastern Front in three months' time?'

She looked at Brockhard, puzzled.

'You're a keen reader of the Bible, Helena. You know the story of King David, don't you? Who desires Bathsheba even though she is married to one of his soldiers? So he orders his generals to send the husband to the front line so that he will be killed. Then King David can woo Bathsheba unhindered.'

'What's that got to do with this?'

'Nothing. Nothing, Helena. I wouldn't dream of sending your heart's desire to the front if he was not fit enough. Or anyone else for that matter. That's exactly what I mean. And since you know this patient's state of health at least as well as I, I thought I might consult you before I make a final decision. If you consider him not to be fit enough, I ought perhaps to send a further medical certificate to the Wehrmacht.'

Slowly the nature of the situation began to sink in.