Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

Turning to Kelly, Hans spoke. “This is as far as I go,” he said. “The border is about fifteen minutes’ walk towards the next ridge. I dare not approach in case I am picked up. They would assume I was a spy, coming as I do from German occupied Norway.”

He gestured into the distance. “When you get to the ridge look half left. You will see a long wood. The wood descends to the River Jakobselv. Further into the wood you will find a small wooden bridge. Cross there. Nobody guards it. It’s too small to be important. Climb up the ridge on the other side keeping to the treeline, then walk along the treeline until you come to the first firebreak. Go along it. About 800 metres in you will see a cabin.”

Kelly nodded, listening to the instructions carefully.

“It is the cabin of Josef Sverlov, a woodcutter. I used to stay there when I was younger, before the war. It was a good centre for walking and climbing. Mention my name, he will remember me. He speaks a little English. It was our common language. I speak no Russian and he speaks no Norwegian.”

“Quite a long way to go to climb?” Kelly suggested.

Hans laughed. “I had a motive! He had the most beautiful daughter, years older than me, but I was madly in love with her.”

“Still see her?” asked Kelly

“Never,” Hans smiled. “She married a senior party member and moved to Leningrad. Had a child as I remember. Stays with the old man occasionally.”

“I’ll give him your regards,” said Kelly as they shook hands prior to parting.

Kelly watched Hans making his way back towards Bjornstad and his two sisters. How he wished he could return with him. Reluctantly, he turned towards his goal and strode out for the ridge.

Kelly hammered on the door of the wooden chalet. It was dark and cold. The journey had been relatively easy but had taken him longer than expected. He reflected that he was now in Russia, only just perhaps, but in Russia, nevertheless.

The cabin door creaked open ever so slightly and the small crack revealed an eye peering out. A gruff voice spoke in what Kelly knew was Russian. At Cambridge he had majored in Balkan languages and, although Russian wasn’t covered, there were many similarities.

“I am British,” said Kelly in English. “Hans Knudsen sent me. I speak no Russian.”

Instantly the door swung open and the creature with the eye sprang out, embracing Kelly enthusiastically. Finally, he stepped back, grasped Kelly’s hand, and shook it vigorously.

Kelly now saw that the creature was in fact a man, Josef no doubt, small in height, but rotund with a large barrel chest. The arms were as thick as a bear’s and clearly extremely powerful. The head was covered in a shock of grey hair, hanging in curls that reached to his shoulders. He was dressed in heavy pants and wore a thick angora sweater. Both had seen better days.

“Come in! Come in!” the man cried, ushering Kelly into the warmth of the cabin. It was like entering an enchanted chalet. A log fire spluttered and spat in the grate, casting shadows and suffusing everything in a soft red glow. Besides the fire, the lighting consisted of one oil lamp hung in the centre of the room. All around the room, countless ornaments and brass fittings glistened. The walls were hung with rich tapestries and religious icons.

The floor was bare wood, except for a rug which lay in front of the fire. On either side of the rug sat two heavy leather armchairs, old and battered but still serviceable. Directly in front of the fire was a sofa, draped in loose throws. The whole scene was one of comfort and warmth, a welcoming oasis in a bleak landscape. After introductions were completed, Kelly gave a very brief account of his presence in Russia, much to the old man’s delight.

Josef asked, “How is Hans? I miss him, I don’t see him now that Tanya is gone.”

“He is well,” said Kelly. “He said to give you his regards.”

The old man struggled with the meaning of ‘regards’, so Kelly reinterpreted as, “He said he likes you and misses seeing you.”

“Pah!” spat the old man, making a swiping motion with his hand. “Misses Tanya, you mean. He was so in love with her, poor boy, so young.”

He shook his head and smiled as he reminisced about what must have been happy days.

“Do you see her much?” asked Kelly.

“Two or three times a year,” Josef responded. “She is a good daughter and never forgets her old papa. She has a child of her own now.” He gestured upstairs, putting a finger to his lips in a sign of silence for the sleeping child.

“Tanya is here?” asked Kelly surprised.

“No, just the child,” said Josef. “Tanya comes, but only stays a few days. She has a very busy job in the ministry in Leningrad, but she leaves the child for two, three, occasionally four weeks with old grandpa, then collects her again later.”

“Doesn’t the child mind?” asked Kelly.

Josef shook his head and smiled broadly. “She loves it here.” He swept his arm in a half circle to indicate the landscape as if the walls of the cabin were transparent. He stood and walked to the small dresser, which was the only other piece of furniture in the room, and retrieved two glasses. Balancing the glasses in one hand he reached for a bottle of clear liquid, pulled the cork out with his teeth, and proceeded to pour an ample measure into each glass, passing one to Kelly.

Kelly knew it was vodka as soon as the liquid touched his lips. It burned his throat and he fought to catch his breath. However, after a few more sips, he decided he could get to like it.

They talked and reminisced for a little while longer before the old man started to prepare the sofa as a bed for Kelly.

When