A small smile slid over Anton Hansen’s face, but then quickly gave way to a grimace.
‘Well, yes, but Konrad Jensen has not harmed a fly since the end of the war. I never asked Harald how he felt about having a former Nazi as a neighbour, but it was not a problem for me. In a strange way, it felt as though Konrad and I shared a fate. We were both small, weak men who tried to dance with the big, strong men like Harald Olesen during the war. And we paid for it dearly in later years, each in our own way.’
‘Can you remember any particular events or people from the occupation that may be of significance?’
He heaved a heavy sigh – and then had to gasp for air.
‘My problem is that I remember too much. So much happened during those years, and most of it was secret, so I am not sure what might or might not be important. I remember the happy moments: Liberation Day and the return of the royal family. And I remember the first refugees who we hid in our cellar. There were four of them in 1942 to 1943, and all made it over the border to Sweden. While they were with us, I will never forget that tension. If the Germans had come while they were there, both my wife and I would have been shot along with our guests. We lived together for a few days, with the threat of death hanging over us. The youngest of these guests was a petrified lad of only sixteen or seventeen who spoke both Norwegian and German. He came back ten years later with his wife and child to give us gifts in thanks for our help. That is one of my best memories from after the war.’
Anton Hansen smiled for a moment, until he was once again overwhelmed by a coughing fit.
‘And then there were the three last ones… and they were not quite so lucky.’
I moved even closer into his range of vision and indicated impatiently that he should continue.
‘A young couple with a baby who came to us in February 1944. Dark-haired, attractive and well dressed, but terrified by the danger hanging over them. They scarcely dared to let one another or the child out of sight for a moment, and I heard them crying and whispering together in a foreign language every night. They spoke Norwegian, but their intonation was odd and they used lots of strange words, so I realized that they came from another country and had somehow found themselves behind enemy lines in Norway.’
He was seized by an extreme fit of coughing. I was afraid that Anton Hansen would die in the middle of the very interesting story, but his eyes were still shining when his chest calmed down.