I nodded, despite a niggling doubt that I would ever have the heart to fulfil my promise. Then I mumbled a farewell and said thank you again. I was at a loss as to what more to say and suddenly had a strong desire to leave the hospital before I was accused of causing the death of Anton Hansen the caretaker.
I caught a final glimpse of the caretaker from the doorway as I left. He had already fallen asleep. I dutifully stopped a passing nurse and asked her to see to him. Then I walked through the long corridors to the exit with the feeling that I had just seen a dying human fly and it was an incredibly sad sight. It also occurred to me that in the end human flies are human beings as well.
The caretaker’s good memory, which had plagued him so, had given me plenty to think about. In addition to the familiar faces of the other residents, I now also had to look for a refugee family that had disappeared and a faceless ghost from the war. There were – as Patricia had already intimated yesterday – an increasing number of threads that needed to be tied up that all led back to the dark days of the war.
The clock in reception showed half past four by the time I left the hospital. There were still two and half hours to go before my dinner appointment with Patricia. I was unsure for a few minutes as to what I should do: should I go back to the station or go and talk to the deceased Harald Olesen’s neighbours? I decided on the latter in the end. I wanted to know whether the caretaker’s wife had anything to add to her husband’s story from the war. What is more, a rather alluring idea was staring to form in my mind. The fact that I should not mention the discovery of the diary to any of the residents was absolutely clear. But in the course of my journey, I changed my mind at least eight times as to whether or not I should confront the neighbours with the name Deerfoot and the initials D, J, N and O.
The caretaker’s wife was at her post when I arrived. She could confirm her husband’s story from the war, but had nothing of importance to add. She remembered well the young refugee from the war who had returned ten years later with gifts and thanks. It was also one of the highlights of her post-war years. She had never seen the other refugees again, and her memory of them was more hazy. Nevertheless, she could confirm that a young couple with a baby had been hidden there for a few days, and that Harald Olesen had collected them the night before the Gestapo showed up at the door. She thought she had heard her husband mention the name Deerfoot, but could not remember Olesen talking about him.