The Redbreast

29

Rudolf II Hospital, Vienna. 23 June 1944.

It was like deja vu for Helena. The windows were open and the warm summer morning filled the corridor with the perfume of newly mown grass. For two weeks there had been air raids every night, but she didn't even notice the smell of smoke. She was holding a letter in her hand. A wonderful letter! Even the grumpy matron had to smile when Helena sang out her Guten Morgen.

Dr Brockhard looked up from his papers in surprise when Helena burst into his office.

'Well?' he said.

He took off his glasses and directed his stiff gaze at her. She caught a glimpse of the wet tongue sucking the ends of his glasses. She took a seat.

'Christopher,' she began. She hadn't used his Christian name since they were small. 'I have something to tell you.'

'Good,' he said. 'That's exactly what I have been waiting for.'

She knew what he had been waiting for: an explanation for why she still hadn't complied with his wishes and gone to his flat in the main building despite the fact that he had extended Uriah's medical certificate twice. Helena had blamed the bombing, saying that she didn't dare go out. Then he had offered to visit her in her mother's summer house, which she flatly rejected.

'I'll tell you everything,' she said. 'Everything?' he queried with a little smile. Well, she thought, almost everything. 'The morning Uriah -’

‘His name is not Uriah, Helena.'

'The morning he disappeared and you raised the alarm, do you remember that?'

'Naturally'

Brockhard set down his glasses, parallel with the paper in front of him. 'I considered reporting his disappearance to the military police. However, he miraculously reappeared with some story about wandering in the forest for half the night.'

'He wasn't in the forest. He was on the night train from Salzburg.'

'Really?' Brockhard leaned back in his chair with a fixed expression on his face, indicating that he was not a man who liked to express surprise.

'He caught the night train from Vienna before midnight, got off in Salzburg where he waited for an hour and a half for the night train back again. He arrived at the Hauptbahnhof at nine that morning.'

'Hm.' Brockhard focused on the pen he held between his fingertips. 'And what did he give as his reason for this idiotic excursion?'

'Umm,' Helena said, unaware that she was smiling, 'you may remember that I was also late that morning.'

'Yeess…'

'I was also returning from Salzburg.'

'Is that so?'

'That is so.'

'I think you will have to explain, Helena.'

She explained while staring at Brockhard's fingertips. A drop of blood had formed under the pen nib.

'I see,' said Brockhard when she had finished. 'You thought you would go to Paris. And how long did you think you could hide there?'

'It's probably obvious that we didn't think much at all. Uriah thought we should go to America. To New York.'

Brockhard laughed drily. 'You're a very sensible girl, Helena. I can see that this turncoat must have blinded you with his beguiling lies about America. But do you know what?'

'What?'

'I forgive you.'

On seeing her gawp he continued, 'Yes, I forgive you. Perhaps you ought to be punished, but I know how restless young girls' hearts can be.'

'It's not forgiveness I -'

'How's your mother? It must be hard for her now that you are alone. Was it three years' imprisonment your father was given?'

'Four. Would you please listen, Christopher?'

'I beg of you, do not do or say anything you might come to regret, Helena. What you have told me changes nothing. The deal remains the same.'

'No!' Helena stood up so quickly that her chair toppled over and now she smacked the letter she had been kneading in her hand on to the desk.

'See for yourself! You no longer have any power over me. Or Uriah.'

Brockhard glanced at the letter. The opened brown envelope didn't mean a thing to him. He took out the letter, put on his glasses and began to read.

Waffen-SS

Berlin, 22 June

We have received a request from the Chief of Norwegian Police, Jonas Lie, to hand you over with immediate effect to the police in Oslo for further service. Since you are a Norwegian citizen, we see no reason not to comply. This order therefore countermands your previous orders to join the Wehrmacht. You will be advised of details regarding the meeting point and timing by the Norwegian police authorities.

Heinrich Himmler

Oberkommandierender der Schutzstaffel (SS)

Brockhard had to look at the signature twice. Heinrich Himmler in person! Then he held up the letter to the light.

'You can check it if you like, but I assure you it is genuine,' Helena said.

Through the open window she could hear birds singing in the garden. Brockhard cleared his throat twice before speaking.

'So you wrote a letter to the Chief of Police in Norway?’

‘Uriah wrote to him. I simply posted it.'

'You posted it?'

'Yes. Or no, actually. I telegraphed it.'

'A whole application? That must have cost -'

'It was urgent.'

'Heinrich Himmler…' he said, more to himself than to her.

'I'm sorry, Christopher.'

Again the dry laugh. 'Are you? Haven't you accomplished exactly what you wanted, Helena?'

She forced a friendly smile.

'I have a favour to ask of you, Christopher.'

'Oh?'

'Uriah wants me to go with him to Norway. I need a recommendation from the hospital to be able to apply for a travel permit.'

'And now you're afraid I'll put a spoke in your wheel?'

'Your father is on the governing board.'

'Yes, I could create problems for you.' He rubbed his chin. The intense stare had fixed itself on to a point on her forehead.

'Whatever happens, Christopher, you can't stop us. Uriah and I love each other. Do you understand?'

'Why should I do a favour for a soldier's whore?'

Helena's mouth hung open. Even from someone she despised, someone who was clearly acting in passion, the word stung like a slap. But before she managed to answer, Brockhard's face had crumpled as if he were the one to have been hit.

'Forgive me, Helena. I… damn!' He abruptly turned his back on her. Helena wanted to get up and leave, but she couldn't find the words to liberate herself. His voice was strained as he added: I didn't mean to hurt you, Helena.'

'Christopher…'

'You don't understand. I'm not saying this out of arrogance, but I have qualities which in time I know you would grow to appreciate. I may have gone too far, but remember that I always acted with your best interests at heart.'

She stared at his back. The doctor's coat was a size too big for his narrow, sloping shoulders. She was reminded of the Christopher she had known as a child. He'd had delicate black curls and a real suit even though he was only twelve. One summer she had even been in love with him. Hadn't she?

He released a long, trembling breath. She took a pace towards him, then changed her mind. Why should she feel sympathy for this man? Yes, she knew why. Because her own heart was overflowing with happiness although she had done little to come by it. Yet Christopher Brockhard, who tried every day of his life to gain happiness, would always be a lonely man.

'Christopher, I have to go now.'

'Yes, of course. You have to do what you have to do, Helena.'

She stood up and walked to the door.

'And I have to do what I have to do,' he said.