The Body in the Fjord

The swastika. At the time of the war, Norway had very few Jews, still didn’t. Jews, monks, and Jesuits were not even allowed into the country under the 1814 constitution, which named the Church of Norway, Evangelical Lutheran, as the religion of the government. The prohibition against Jews was repealed in 1851. The monks had to wait until the end of the century and the Jesuits until some time in the 1950s. From Marit, Pix knew that not too many Norwegians actually attended church services, although they belonged to the church. It had also been a surprise to find out some years back that only about half of Norway’s Jews had survived the war—those who escaped to Sweden at the very beginning of the Occupation, about seven hundred. Had the swastika been meant to symbolize collective guilt?

And what about the man in the beard on the balcony? A thief? All these beards. She was very aware of the photograph tucked away in her pocketbook, the picture of Sven and Hanna, Kari’s mother and father. Hanna, definitely a Lebensborn baby. Kari had been deeply upset at the discovery. Marit had said Kari wanted to find out about her family and that she had agreed to help. Pix would have to ask her if they’d started to search, and if so, how? Poor Kari. To discover suddenly that both sides were a

mystery. She’d grown up with no knowledge of her father or his people. Did she want to search for him, too? Or maybe she had found him? The beards. Pix had discovered the name of their hirsute captain, Captain Hagen, but his first name was Nils, not Sven. Still, people changed their names. Captain Hagen? But if Kari had found her father, why would she and Erik have gone off? And surely she would have said something to Marit. Could this have been what she wanted to talk about?

Pix was tired. And muddled. The chanteuse was crooning “Dream, Dream, Dream” and the couples on the floor slowly swayed. Pix liked the Everly Brothers better. She was in a grumpy mood. Time to hit the sauna and sweat all the bad vibes out. Sonja and Anders were directly in front of her table. She couldn’t get up without disturbing them. Their eyes were closed and they weren’t moving at all, her arms around his neck, his about her waist. The music stopped and they broke apart, seemingly startled to find themselves at the Kvikne’s Hotel and not whatever private neverland they shared.

Back on the job, Anders was polite and cordial. “Mrs. Miller, are you enjoying the music?”

Before she could answer, the drummer stood up, grabbed the mike, and exclaimed in several languages, “Time for everyone to wet their whistles. We’ll be right back.”

Roy senior, looking none too pleased, reclaimed his wife, and Oscar, whose whistle seemed drenched already, presumably went in search of more.

“May I get you something?” Anders asked, and Sonja sat down next to Pix.

“That’s very kind of you, but I still have some Coke, thank you,” Pix answered, realizing that in her effort to nurse the drink, she’d scarcely touched it.

“A beer for you?” he asked Sonja.

“Ja, takk,” she answered, and he walked away toward the bar to join the long queue already formed.

Sonja repeated Anders’s question, but she broadened it. “So, are you enjoying the tour?”

“Very much,” Pix replied. “It’s so beautiful. I loved being on the boat, watching the mountains and waterfalls. I hadn’t wanted to dock, but this is lovely, too.” It was true. In the front of the ship, sailing along the fjord, she had felt so calm and all things had seemed possible. Kari would be found. There would be some sad but logical explanation for Erik’s tragic death. Draw your strength from mountains. If true, then the Norwegians must be the mightiest people on earth. Well, at one time, she supposed they might have been, if pillaging and far-flung travel counted. Even now, with a system that cared for all, they had managed things quite well. But on land, lovely as Balestrand was, the dark thoughts came and she recalled herself to her task.

“Only I can’t help but think of that poor young man, the one who was killed, and the girl who has disappeared. Those must have been difficult days in Bergen.”

Sonja’s cheeks flamed, and it was not the warmth of the room, or Ringnes beer.

“Better to put it out of your mind. Yes, it was hard in Bergen, but Anders and I were there already and could start work right away, so none of the guests suffered too much.”

“I mean everyone must have been upset. I heard Erik and Kari were very well liked.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Sonja almost snapped. Would have snapped if the soft inflection her accent gave to her words allowed for emphasis.

“They weren’t well liked? But I thought…”

“He was a nice boy and we all thought very much of him. As for Kari, she did not deserve him. Last summer, he was always worried about what she was doing when he wasn’t there. I was only with her a few times, but I knew the type. I don’t know what the English word is for it—Kari liked to tease the boys, not that she wanted anyone but Erik. Oh no, she had him where she wanted—

with a ring through his nose for her to lead him around until she got the ring on her finger.”

Pix was taken aback at the vehemence of Sonja’s tone. She asked her, “Was Erik one of Anders’s friends, too?”

“No. Anders never met him. This is his first time working for the tour.”

Pix started to ask another question, but Sonja forestalled her. “You will enjoy the visit to the farm tomorrow. The farmer’s wife makes pancakes for everyone and usually serves little cakes, too. Their goat herd is not too far away. You can get some nice pictures.”

Anders sat down with the drinks and Pix realized that the girl had seen him approaching before Pix had.

“The band is going to start again soon. Have you ladies been having a nice chat?”

Neither lady said a word; then both said yes at once. Sonja burst into giggles and seemed once more sweet and unaffected—just like Pix’s notion of Kari.

Carl and Jan stood in the doorway. No rest for the weary, Pix thought. Tour guide was not the job for her, although she had been functioning as such unofficially for years during every family vacation. “And now you will see the famous Anasazi cliff dwellings, where we will spend some hours walking in their footsteps….” Carl and Jan didn’t have to cope with the “Oh, Moms” that greeted her efforts. Maybe being on a payroll wasn’t so bad.

The two young men were making for her table.

“Are you having a good time, Mrs. Miller?” Jan asked. “And your mother? She’s okay?”

“Oh, yes, we’re both enjoying the trip very much. Mother went up to bed after coffee.”

“Good, good.” Carl beamed. Pix was curious about what they did during the winter. The two guides had come in search of the stewards and the four were conversing rapidly in Norwegian. It must have to do with arrangements for tomorrow. Anders kept nodding and saying,

“Ja.” Sonja added a word or two and the four seemed to have finished their business.

“What do you do in the winter?” Pix asked. “I think someone mentioned you and Anders are at the University of Oslo,” she added, addressing Sonja.

“Yes, we are still students. I am studying economics and Anders is in a business course. We want to make a lot of money,” she quipped.

“And you?” Pix asked Carl.

“I work for Scandie Sights all year. We have many tours during the winter—ski holidays, trips to warmer places. We even go to the United States. The Norwegian Farmers Tour.”

Pix assumed he was joking and laughed.

“No, really. In the early spring, we go to Bismarck, Fargo, and places in Minnesota. I must admit, though,” he said ruefully, “I enjoy the summer tours more. The farmers all treat me like a city boy. Well, I am a city boy. I’ve never worked on a farm in my life. They give me quite a hard time and nothing impresses them. They visit each farm, rub some dirt through their fingers, and shake their heads. The most fun I’ve ever had on one of these trips was when I took them to the Mall of America. I didn’t know what it was and the weather was bad. It was the only thing I could think of to do with them. They weren’t interested in the art museum. They were like terrified children —it was so huge—and suddenly I was the big man. They clung to me like glue!”

Pix got the picture, and “Prairie Home Companion” ’s Garrison Keillor was ringing in her ears.

“And you, Jan? Do you work for Scandie Sights all year, too?”

“Nei. My family is in the oil business, and as soon as summer is over, it’s back to the office for me. I live now in Stavanger.”

The band returned; before they started, Pix decided to call it a night—at least close this chapter.