about to enter the Danish Food deli when he noticed a small envelope taped to the store window. It had MAJOR KNAG written on it with a thick marker pen. Albert took it down and opened it:
Personal message for Major Albert Knag, c/o Danish Food, Kastrup Airport. Dear Dad, please buy a large Danish salami, preferably a two-pound one, and Mom would probably like a cognac sausage. P. S. Danish caviar is not bad either. Love, Hilde.
Albert turned around. She wasn’t here, was she? Had Mark given her a trip to Copenhagen so she could meet him here? It was Hilde’s handwriting ...
Suddenly the UN observer began to feel himself observed. It was as if someone was in remote control of everything he did. He felt like a doll in the hands of a child.
He went into the shop and bought a two-pound salami, a cognac sausage, and three jars of Danish caviar. Then he continued down the row of stores. He had made up his mind to buy a proper present for Hilde. A calculator, maybe? Or a little radio—yes, that was what he would get.
When he got to the store that sold electrical appliances, he saw that there was an envelope taped to the window there too. This one was addressed to “Major Albert Knag, c/o the most interesting store in Kastrup.” Inside was the following note:
Dear Dad, Sophie sends her greetings and thanks for the combined mini-TV and FM radio that she got for her birthday from her very generous father. It was great, but on the other hand it was a mere bagatelle. I must confess, though, that I share Sophie’s liking for such bagatelles. P.S. In case you haven’t been there yet, there are further instructions at the Danish Food store and the big Tax Free store that sells wines and tobacco. P.S. P.S. I got some money for my birthday, so I can contribute to the mini-TV with 350 crowns. Love, Hilde, who has already stuffed the turkey and made the Waldorf salad.
A mini-TV cost 985 Danish crowns. That could certainly be called a bagatelle in comparison with how Albert Knag felt about being directed hither and thither by his daughter’s sneaky tricks. Was she here—or was she not?
From that moment on, he was constantly on guard wherever he went. He felt like a secret agent and a marionette rolled into one. Was he not being deprived of his basic human rights?
He felt obliged to go into the Tax Free store as well. There hung a new envelope with his name on it. The whole airport was becoming a computer game with him as the cursor. He read the message:
Major Knag, c/o the Tax Free store at Kastrup. All I need from here is a bag of gumdrops and some marzipan bars. Remember it’s much more expensive in Norway. As far as I can recall, Mom is very fond of Campari. P.S. You must keep all your senses alert the whole way home. You wouldn’t want to miss any important messages, would you? Love from your most teachable daughter, Hilde.
Albert sighed despairingly, but he went into the store and shopped as instructed. With three plastic carriers and his flight bag he walked toward Gate 28 to wait for his flight. If there were any more messages they would have to stay there.
However, at Gate 28 he caught sight of another white envelope taped to a pillar: “To Major Knag, c/o GATE 28, Kastrup Airport.” This was also in Hilde’s handwriting, but the gate number seemed to have been written by someone else. It was not easy to judge since there was no writing to compare it with, only block letters and digits. He took it down. This one said only “It won’t be long now.”
He sat down on a chair with his back against the wall. He kept the shopping bags on his knees. Thus the proud major sat stiffly, eyes straight ahead, like a small child traveling alone for the first time. If Hilde was here, she was certainly not going to have the satisfaction of discovering him first.
He glanced anxiously at each passenger that came in. For a while he felt like an enemy of the state under close surveillance. When the passengers were finally allowed to board the plane he breathed a sigh of relief. He was the last person to board. As he handed over his boarding pass he tore off another white envelope that had been taped to the check-in desk.
Sophie and Alberto had passed Brevik, and a little later the exit to Kragera.
“You’re going awfully fasf,” said Sophie.
“It’s almost nine o’clock. He’ll soon be landing at Kjevik. But we won’t be stopped for speeding.”
“Suppose we smash into another car?”
“It makes no difference if it’s just an ordinary car. But if it’s one of our own . . .”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll have to be very careful. Didn’t you notice that we passed the Bat Mobile.”
“No.”
“It was parked somewhere up in Vestfold.”
“This tourist bus won’t be easy to pass. There are dense woods on each side of the road.”
“It makes no difference, Sophie. Can’t you get it into your head?”
So saying, he swung the car into the woods and drove straight through the trees.
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief.
“You scared me.”
“We wouldn’t feel it if we drove into a brick wall.”
“That only means we’re spirits of the air compared to our surroundings.”
“No, now you’re putting the cart before the horse. It is the reality around us that’s an airy adventure to us.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Listen carefully, then. It is a widespread misunderstanding that spirit is a thing that is more ‘airy’ than vapor. On the contrary. Spirit is more solid than ice.”
“That never occurred to me.”
“And now I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a man who didn’t believe in angels. One day, while he was out working in the woods, he was visited by an angel.”
“And?”
“They walked together for a while. Then the man turned to the angel and said, ‘All right, now I have to admit that angels exist. But you don’t exist in reality, like us.”What do you mean by that?’ asked the angel. So the man answered, ‘When we came to that big rock, I had to go around it, but I noticed that you just glided through it. And when we came to that huge log that lay across the path, I had to climb over it while you walked straight through it.’ The angel was very surprised, and said ‘Didn’t you also notice that we took a path that led through a marsh? We both walked right through the mist. That was because we were more solid than the mist.’
“Ah.”
“It’s the same with us, Sophie. Spirit can pass through steel doors. No tanks or bombers can crush anything that is of spirit.”
“That’s a comfort.”
“We’ll soon be passing Ris0r, and it’s no more than an hour since we left the major’s cabin. I could really use a cup of coffee.”
When they got to Fiane, just before S0ndeled, they passed a cafeteria on the lefthand side of the road. It was called Cinderella. Alberto swung the car around and parked on the grass in front of it.
Inside, Sophie tried to take a bottle of Coke from the cooler, but she couldn’t lift it. It seemed to be stuck. Further down the counter, Alberto was trying to tap coffee into a paper cup he had found in the car. He only had to press a lever, but even by exerting all his strength he could not press it down.
This made him so mad that he turned to the cafeteria guests and asked for help. When no one reacted, he shouted so loudly that Sophie had to cover her ears: “I want some coffee!”
His anger soon evaporated, and he doubled up with laughter. They were about to turn around and leave when an old woman got up from her chair and came toward them.
She was wearing a garish red skirt, an ice-blue cardigan, and a white kerchief round her head. She seemed more sharply defined than anything else in the little cafeteria.
She went up to Alberto and said, “My my, how you do yell, my boy!”
“Excuse me.”
“You want some coffee, you said?”
“Yes, but. . .”
“We have a small establishment close by.”
