Satellite People | страница 39
Mrs Wendelboe once again fell silent and sat motionless on the sofa. It was a relief when her husband finally came to her rescue.
‘It was an extremely sad and emotional experience for us all. It happened that very afternoon. We’d set about preparing a celebratory meal. Ole Kristian had gone to sort out a few things, but had promised to be back by three. It was an unusual day, of course, but we started to get a bit anxious when half past three came and went without any sign of him. At a quarter to four, we sighed with relief when Magdalon Schelderup’s big black car swung into view down the road. We assumed that Ole Kristian was with him. But our joy was short-lived. We could soon see that Magdalon was alone in the car and that he was driving towards us at a dangerous speed. My wife took my hand and said that something was wrong, even before Magdalon stopped the car. We could see from his face that something ghastly had happened. Magdalon was not a man who was easily moved, but on that day his emotional turmoil was clear to all. He came over to us and embraced us, told us that there had been a terrible accident and that Ole Kristian was dead.’
Now, almost twenty-five years later, time had once again stopped for Mrs Wendelboe. Even her tears had stopped falling and she sat as if petrified. Her husband gently took her arm before he continued.
‘The accident had involved a gunshot, he told us, and the circumstances were indeed deeply unfortunate. Magdalon and Ole Kristian had driven to the home of a dead Nazi with a younger member of the group, to secure his property and papers. The police arrived at the same time and there were no enemies present. However, Ole Kristian had still fallen victim to a fatal gunshot inside the house, which had been fired by the younger man from our group. Magdalon felt frightfully guilty and apologized profusely for having taken the young man with them. But I was the one who had accepted him into the group, so we were both to blame. The man had seemed so sincere and well-intentioned, but we should of course have realized how weak and mentally unbalanced he was in those final weeks of the war. It is strange to think how different things might have been had I realized that.’
Now it was Wendelboe’s turn to sit in silence and his wife’s to reach out her hand and stroke him. But it was he who took up the story again, his voice sharp and concise.