The Lifeline

by Deborah Swift

‘I think of them often,’ she said, ‘of how it must feel to drown.’

  ‘How old were you when they died?’

  ‘Sara’s age. My aunt brought me up after that. But I never really felt I belonged. They had two other children, and I was just … well, different. I don’t know any other Norwegian that’s afraid of water.’

  ‘Don’t worry, the men who crew the boats will be experts,’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t do it otherwise. For them it will be just another ride.’ He put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘And we will both be there with you. If Sara can do it, so can you. If I can learn to ski, then you getting on that boat should be a walk in the park.’

  She looked up at him, at his concerned face, so thin and worried. She managed a smile. ‘I’m just tired. I’ll be all right. Finding the man dead like that, well, it just made me realise how expendable we all are. And how will we get to the meeting place? He was supposed to take us. We’ll never get there in time now.’

  ‘We will. Somehow. Don’t give up now.’

  Astrid woke when a hand shook her by the shoulder. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Isaak said. ‘Now it’s light, I can see the fjord.’

  They emerged into a new world. The storm had passed and a sliver of sun sparkled on the fjord below. Astrid inhaled the freshness of the air as they hurried towards the water, giving the cowshed and its grisly scene a wide berth.

  ‘Look! Our boat.’ Sara ran ahead.

  There was a small rowing boat moored there after all. Astrid eyed it with trepidation. The boat looked sound enough, despite the storm, and rocked on the water which was still slapping against the shore after yesterday’s wind.

  ‘Doesn’t look so dangerous, does it?’ Isaak said, searching her face. It looked very small, and the water very big. She swallowed her apprehension.

  Sara was full of energy after a night’s sleep and tried to skim stones across the rippling surface.

  Astrid took a few moments to wash in the icy water at the fjord’s edge, and Isaak shaved. Being unshaven was like a warning bell to the Nazis, so he had to make sure to do it every day.

  ‘I’m glad you came with us,’ Isaak said, wiping his razor on a cloth. ‘It would have been much harder on my own. And Sara likes you. She always used to talk about Miss Dahl when she came home from school.’

  ‘I like her too. She’s a stalwart, isn’t she? And cheeky with it. That business of Aunt Hilde and the dog. She’s certainly got a vivid imagination.’

  He grinned, and it lit up his face, and gave her a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t imagine doing this without him. His wiry toughness through the mountains had been impressive; for someone who wasn’t Norwegian, he’d learned to ski quickly. And he was a good father, always thinking of Sara. But more than that, she felt she could trust him.

  Together they loaded their packs and their skis onto the boat, and Isaak held her arm firmly as she climbed in. The feeling of being on unstable ground made her grip the seat tight as Isaak took up the oars. Sara had no qualms about the boat, and her confidence made Astrid relax a little.

  The early morning sky was palest blue, with a thin veiling of cloud. Astrid was relieved to be leaving the farm, though guilty they could not do more for the corpse of the farmer they’d left behind. After last night’s violent wind, today was such a contrast. Nothing stirred around them on the Hjørundfjord except the plash of the oars as they slid past the low-lying farms. By mid-morning, the water had settled to a smooth ripple as they glided between the rearing mountain peaks of the Sunnmøre Alps.

  ‘The world is so beautiful,’ she said.

  ‘Until us humans come and mess it up,’ he replied. ‘Sitting here, it’s hard to think such things as Nazis even exist.’

  ‘What will we do if we don’t get there in time for the boat?’ She was still worrying.

  He paused in his rowing. ‘I don’t know. I’m just going day by day. In one way, I’d just like to sit in this rowing boat forever and not have to think about tomorrow. The other half of me is telling me to row quicker.’

  ‘Maybe I should shout to you like the Romans did to their galley slaves,’ she said.

  ‘Or you could take one oar,’ he said wryly, ‘instead of sitting there giving me advice.’

  She made a face at him, but plucking up courage, moved gingerly to sit next to him on the bench.

  ‘We’ll make a sailor of you yet,’ he said. ‘Heave ho!’

  Within a few minutes they had a rhythm going and were making better speed. He turned to her and smiled.

  ‘How far?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know; guess about five hours? According to the papers, our contact is in Sæbø, and we need to find Moen, the local doctor.’

  And so the morning passed, in the splash of oars and occasional jump of a fish. The nearer they got to the end of the fjord, the more boats they saw. Both of them kept an eye open for anything that looked like a German boat, but at first they saw only lone fishermen. Sara put her head down on the bags and slept again, the rocking boat lulling her to sleep.

  ‘Pappa,’ Sara said, when she woke up, ‘I need to pee.’

  After another ten minutes or so, they saw a small pebbly shore with a rickety jetty. The place looked deserted.

  ‘Five minutes then, just to stretch our legs,’ Isaak said.

  They pulled the boat ashore and Sara ran off into the brake of birch trees behind. When she came back she was calling, ‘Look, Miss Dahl! I’ve found some bottles and tins. Someone’s had a picnic!’

  Astrid went over. ‘Don’t touch them, they could be dirty.’

  The litter consisted of a few beer bottles, along with some German chocolate wrappers and cigarette packets. The thought of Germans nearby made Astrid uneasy, but even as she was thinking this the ‘phut phut’ of an engine made her hurry to Isaak’s side.

  ‘A patrol boat,’ he said, grimly. ‘And it looks like it’s heading for here.’

  ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Behave normally, like we’ve every right to be here.’ He turned. ‘Sara!’ he said sharply. She came running. ‘Get in the boat. But nice and slow, like we are just leaving after a day out.’

  ‘Will I need to do acting again, Pappa?’

  ‘Maybe. But I’d rather you just kept quiet, okay?’

  The motorboat had turned in towards land. It was just two men, both in German uniform.

  Astrid helped Sara climb into the boat whilst Isaak untied it from the large stone he’d used as an anchor. She clambered in after him and they took up the oars to take a few strokes.

  The motorboat cut its engine. They pulled again on the oars.

  ‘Hey!’ called one of the Germans from the boat.

  Isaak ignored it and continued to row.

  ‘Halt! Or we shoot,’ one of them said in Norwegian.

  Isaak fixed Astrid with a look that clearly said they could do nothing, but she knew the safest way was to try to brazen it out.

  They let the oars rest. ‘Just do what we say,’ she whispered to Sara.

  Sara gave a frightened nod.

  The boat cut its engine and drifted in towards them. It sat taller in the water than them, and one of the men leaned out to talk down to them.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Isaak asked in Norwegian.

  The Germans raked their eyes over them, taking everything in. Astrid found she was gripping the seat so hard her nails dug into the wood.

  ‘Sailing permit?’ asked one of them.

  ‘It’s only a rowing boat,’ Astrid said, smiling in what she hoped was a disarming way. ‘We didn’t think we needed one.’

  ‘What are you doing here? Why is the child not at school?’

  ‘She’s been ill,’ Astrid improvised. ‘We thought a day out on the fjord in the fresh air might help her get better.’

  ‘What’s the matter with her?’

  ‘Polio.’ It was the first thing that came into her head. She saw Isaak’s eyes flash in surprise. Sara took on a hang-dog expre
ssion.

  The conversation between the two men continued in German. She was able to translate it, though Isaak obviously understood every word. ‘What are they doing in “our place”?’ asked the one who was behind the wheel. ‘It’s a long way from town.’

  ‘Don’t know, better look at their papers I suppose.’

  The Germans told them to get out of the boat and have their papers ready. They did what was asked, wading back to shore through freezing water up to their knees. Sara’s hand held onto hers in a tight grip.

  When they were back on the beach, the taller of the two Germans, who had a small pinched mouth and receding chin, looked over their papers. It was only when the other shouted that they realised he’d dragged the boat ashore and had been going through their luggage.

  The two Germans huddled over their belongings, obviously thinking it suspicious they had so much luggage for just a day out.

  ‘You lied to us,’ the taller one said. ‘You don’t need underwear for a day out.’

  ‘What shall we do?’ the shorter man asked.

  The taller man was still pulling things from Astrid’s bag. He pulled out a pair of panties and waved them. ‘Hey, Kurt! Take a look at these. Fancy, eh?’ He tossed them to his smaller friend, who let them fall on the ground. Astrid didn’t like the way things were going. She started to move towards Sara, thinking to shield her from it.

  ‘Leave off,’ the short man said. ‘Think I want to touch these from a dirty bitch like her?’

  ‘She’s not!’ Sara’s voice piped up in perfect German. ‘Don’t say those things about her!’

  The tall man turned to her. ‘Was?’

  Sara clammed up. She must have realised she shouldn’t have spoken in German. Astrid put herself between the tall, thin-lipped man and Sara.

  ‘So you speak German, eh?’

  ‘No,’ Astrid said in Norwegian. ‘I mean … a little. She learned it in school. In der Schule.’

  ‘Out of the way.’ He shoved her roughly aside.

  ‘Look at this. Maps of the coast,’ the short man waved the map aloft.

  ‘All right, little girl. Tell me what you learnt in school.’ The tall man loomed over Sara, but Sara said nothing. Her lips were pressed together. He suddenly swung around to Astrid and punched her hard in the face. She saw the fist coming but couldn’t move in time. The shock was such that she crumpled instantly. Instinctively Sara crouched down, her hands over her head.

  ‘Don’t hit her!’ Isaak shouted in Norwegian.

  ‘Shall I hit your Mama again?’ the man said to Sara in German, looming over her. ‘Tell us where you came from this morning and where you’re going.’

  Sara was frozen where she was, huddled on the ground. She didn’t answer. Isaak tried to move towards her but the smaller man brought out a gun and levelled it to Isaak’s chest. ‘One more move and you’re dead.’ He shouted to his friend, ‘It’s hopeless. She’s not going to speak. What shall we do with them?’

  ‘We’ll have to take them in. They’re refugees from somewhere. Could be Jews.’

  ‘But there’s no room in the boat, and then the Kommandant’ll know we’ve been skiving.’

  ‘We could fit two. One of them and the child.’

  ‘And let one go?’

  ‘Not much choice, have we? We should take the man and the woman. Someone would soon pick up the child.’

  ‘No!’ Isaak said in German. ‘I’m not leaving without Sara. You could tow our boat. We’d come quietly.’

  Sara leapt to her feet and rushed to her father’s side. At the same time, face throbbing, Astrid stepped forward, ‘I’ll stay,’ she begged. ‘Let them go together.’

  The taller man pushed her hard in the chest. ‘Don’t you tell us what to do.’ She staggered back and tripped, landing heavily on her hip on the stony beach. ‘You want to stay here, do you?’ The man crouched over her. ‘In that case, you’d better give me a good time.’

  His eyes were mocking, enjoying the power he had over her. She tried to stand but he pressed her down thumping a heavy hand into her sternum. He said something in German she couldn’t make out, but his expression told her it was a threat. A cold hand tugged up her skirt. This couldn’t be happening.

  Isaak’s voice in German, ‘Leave her alone!’

  But the man’s heavy weight was on top of her now, his belt buckle grinding her hip bone as he fumbled with his flies. Stones dug into her back, his breath stank of beer. Over his shoulder she saw Isaak, still as a statue, and the other German still pointing his gun at him.

  Nothing she could do. Lie quiet. Pray it would soon be over. Cold, sharp fingers probed between her legs.

  Isaak suddenly swung himself to face the German.

  A deafening bang and the German staggered and fell.

  Another loud crack. The man on top of her slumped and rolled.

  What was happening?

  She scrambled to her feet in time to see the other German clutching his stomach. His rifle had fallen from his grip. Hardly knowing what she was doing, Astrid ran and swept it up away from his reaching fingers. The weight of it in her hands felt cold and alien.

  She swung it towards where her attacker had been, but he lay still, eyes open.

  ‘It hit him in the back of the head,’ Isaak said. His voice seemed strange; far away. ‘He’s dead.’

  It was then she looked at Isaak’s overcoat. There was a big blast hole in the front of it. The gun. It had been in his pocket.

  ‘I shouldn’t have done that,’ he said, leaning over, vomiting onto the shingle.

  She dropped the rifle down as she struggled to take hold of Sara who leapt up to cling to her like a monkey, legs wrapped around her waist, burying her head in her shoulder. The man on the ground was still groaning, clutching his stomach.

  ‘Let’s get out of here,’ Isaak said.

  ‘And leave him?’ She was still in a world where you didn’t leave injured people to fend for themselves.

  ‘We haven’t a choice. We certainly can’t turn up at the local hospital with him in tow,’ Isaak said.

  ‘It seems…’ She began to weep.

  ‘Don’t cry. I know it seems terrible. But we have to do it. For Sara’s sake. For her future.’

  Astrid let Sara down to the ground, and stifled her tears.

  ‘Come on,’ Isaak said again.

  Astrid grasped Sara by the hand and pulled her towards the water.

  ‘Not that way,’ Isaak said. ‘We’ll take their motorboat. We’ve got more chance of making the rendezvous and if you keep low, people will just ignore it. It’s a patrol boat, after all.’

  ‘What about our luggage?’

  ‘Grab what you can, but be quick. Someone might have heard the shots.’

  A few moments later Astrid hoisted Sara into the motorboat. There was no time to think. Isaak took the wheel, pulled on the cord, and the motor sprang to life.

  Once they were away from the shore another shot rang out. She looked back. The German with the injured stomach had crawled to the rifle and was now firing at them.

  ‘Down!’ She pulled Sara down into her seat as the boat sped off.

  Nobody spoke for a long while. Isaak was concentrating on driving. From here, his head and shoulders were rigid, his white hands gripping the wheel. Astrid leaned forward to place a hand on his shoulder and he nearly jumped out of his skin.

  ‘Only me,’ she said. He slowed a little then, and seemed to exhale.

  ‘Miss Dahl!’ Sara said. She held out a packet. ‘Food!’

  Astrid turned back to see what she’d found. ‘Looks like it’s the Germans’ lunch,’ she said. ‘They must have been going to eat it on the shore where we stopped.’

  ‘Ugh.’ Sara threw it overboard. ‘I don’t want anything they’ve touched.’ Her lower lip quivered. ‘Will they come after us?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ She decided to be honest. ‘When they don’t turn up where they’re supposed to be, I expect they’ll send out a search party. Bu
t I hope we’ll be long gone by then.’

  Sara snuggled up to her and put her hands around her neck for a hug. Astrid put a hand on her head to stroke her hair. ‘Your face looks funny,’ Sara said, leaning back to look. ‘Like you’ve got the mumps.’

  They kept to the middle of the fjord, like the Germans did, and hoped no-one would stop them. They passed another German motorboat, but it paid them no attention, and after a brief moment of heart-stopping tension, they were able to continue down the fjord undetected.

  Astrid glanced at her watch. Damn, it was broken. The glass had gone. She wondered when that had happened but couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t want to dwell on the day’s events. The motorboat’s engine ruled their speed, and she was grateful for its monotonous hum, which seemed to echo the numbness she felt. Her cheek throbbed. She reached up a hand to feel it, and felt the swelling’s heat.

  No-one stopped them and by the late afternoon they’d reached Sæbø. There was no-one about as they pulled up at a small jetty opposite a few turf-roofed wooden houses and a clinker-built general store. In the distance the spire of a white-painted church, by far the largest building in the village, jutted up over the houses. It was a picture of normality.

  They went in the general store and there was a calendar hanging up behind the counter. November the 8th. They’d made it. But they still needed to get out to Radøy before the evening tide, and the sky was darkening and time was getting short. She wished her watch still worked.

  ‘We are meeting Dr Moen’s boat here,’ she said.

  The wrinkled store-keeper in his woollen hat looked at her swollen face and shook his head.

  ‘The boat to Shetland?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘No boat.’

  Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘We’re too late?’

  He must have realised her distress. ‘You are refugees?’

  ‘We need to get to Radøy, for the boat to England,’ Isaak said. ‘And it will leave without us if we don’t get there by the evening tide.’

  ‘Dr Moen telephoned earlier to say there’s been trouble. Too many German patrol boats. He’s delayed.’

  ‘What time is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Half after six. He should have been here at four.’