“Yes, he is,” Sybilla agreed. She was still smiling but the sparkle had gone from the eyes. She rose from the bed, releasing his hand, and walked to the foot of the bed. Holding onto the pine bedpost she turned, radiant once more.
“When I spoke to you in German last night you replied in German. Do you speak German, Dragan?”
“I have a little colloquial German,” he replied. “Oh, and it’s ‘Dan’ by the way.”
She was slowly pacing now at the foot of the bed. “Colloquial, colloquial.” She repeated the word quietly, turning it over in her mind. Finally, she asked, “That means like a native, doesn’t it?” She shot him a glance that he was able to interpret instantly.
“I’m not German and I’m not a spy,” Dan Kelly told her, his voice firm. Sybilla seemed to relax slightly, but her brow creased in concern, as she walked back to the bed and sat with him again.
“I’m sorry Dan. I didn’t mean to imply anything. It doesn’t matter to me if you are German, English, or Norwegian. I would still look after you if you were hurt.” Then smiling, with laughter in her voice, she said,” I would even look after you if you were Swedish.”
Kelly smiled with her.
“It’s just that I need to know where I stand,” she continued. “I don’t want to have secrets in my house.”
“I am a British sailor,” he confessed. “My ship was torpedoed last night. I think I was the only survivor.”
Her face fell. “Yes. We saw several explosions out at sea, and one much closer in. That was yours?”
“Yes.” Kelly swallowed, thinking of his shipmates. “That was us. You must know that I can’t tell you any more than that.”
“Of course.” She gently patted his shoulder. “You have been very brave.”
They were quiet for a moment before, brightening, she asked, “Will you help me, Dan?”
“If I can,” he replied. “What can I do?”
“I want you to talk with me in German! I need to improve.”
“Why?” Kelly raised his eyebrows.
She was serious now, looking intently into his eyes. “Because I work for the Germans, here in Grense. I have to, there is no alternative.”
Kelly pondered for a while before answering, then replied in German, “Very well, what would you like to talk about?” He knew he was being tested and it disappointed him. It was irrational, but he so wanted this woman to trust him.
Then again, could he really trust her? Perhaps the simplest way to resolve this was to play along.
They conversed in German for about half an hour, talking mainly about themselves. Kelly explained how he had visited Germany before the war with his Serbian mother, and recounted stories of his summers working for his mother’s friend in the vineyards of the Mosel Valley. Sybilla became excited when Kelly mentioned that he had lodged in the village of Burgen. She herself had been born in Bergen in Norway, wasn’t that a coincidence?
As they talked his mind occasionally went back to those days by the Mosel and he thought of the many friends he had made. He wondered if some of these same friends were now submariners torpedoing English merchantmen. What sort of madness had brought the world to this? Deterrence and prevention had to be better than war.
He talked easily and did not attempt to disguise his exceptionally good command of the language. It soon became clear that he spoke German far better than his companion. At length she reverted to English and thanked him for indulging her.
“Did I pass?” he asked.
She smiled, albeit unconvincingly. “It wasn’t a test Dan, really.” He knew she was lying.
She became solemn. “Dan? Promise me you won’t move from this room? Keep the curtains closed and make no noise. I have to go to work.”
“I promise,” he said.
She smiled at him, running her hand through his hair. “You’re safe here, I promise you. Trust me.”
“Of course I do,” he said. He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. As things stood, he had few options at this time.
“I’ve made you some breakfast,” she said and started to leave the room. “Fresh cereals and fruit with delicious Norwegian milk and German bread. The best of both worlds!”
She returned with a tray, which in addition to the promised items also included a piping hot mug of black coffee and, delight of delights, a small jar of marmalade. Placing the tray on the table by his bedside, she proceeded to help him into a sitting position. Between them this was accomplished, not without some difficulty and a great deal of pain. As she lifted the tray onto his lap she bent over and kissed his forehead.
“I’ll be back at midday,” she told him, then turned and left the room. A few moments later he heard the front door slam and the sound of a key turning in the lock. He was alone with his thoughts as he sipped the strong American coffee and bit into the delicious German bread, spread with Norwegian butter and smeared with Scottish marmalade.
The irony of the breakfast, happily co-existing on his tray, was not lost on him. What the hell has gone wrong with the world? wondered Dragan Kelly.
Gunnar had arranged the meeting for the 10 am break. Gunnar and Sybilla sat together on one table in the works canteen whilst Erik Jorgsen sat at the next table, ostensibly talking to a work colleague who politely nodded and smiled at intervals. In reality, he was observing the other workers in the canteen.
“Well,” Erik asked in a low voice, “what is your view? Is he genuine or a German fifth columnist?” He directed the question to the man sitting opposite, smiling broadly. He finished by slapping his comrade’s shoulder. To any casual spectator, it would have looked for all the world as though he was recounting some risqué anecdote.
His comrade responded in kind, rocking backwards in his chair and chuckling gently, mirth evident in his blue eyes which, while hardly
