The caretaker’s wife hesitated when I thanked her. Then from her pocket she produced a folded sheet with something akin to awe.
‘A telegram boy came here today. It has happened before – it’s not that. Harald Olesen received a great number of telegrams when he was in the government. But this one was for me!’
She held it out to me with a trembling hand. The text was short:
TO MRS RANDI HANSEN 25 KREBS STREET OSLO IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE WISHES OF THE DECEASED HARALD OLESEN YOU ARE ADVISED TO BE PRESENT AT OUR MEETING ROOM IN 28B IDUN STREET ON WEDNESDAY 10 APRIL AT 12 NOON STOP THIS IN CONNECTION WITH THE READING OF MR OLESENS WILL STOP RØNNINNG, RØNNING & RØNNING LAW FIRM
I nodded with interest and asked if the other residents had also received such a telegram today. To which she nodded, slowly.
‘Yes, yes – they all received one. The American was out, so the telegram boy went on to the embassy. Konrad Jensen did not want to open the door until he heard my voice, so I had to go up with the boy. I am sure it means nothing special, except that it’s the first time anyone has sent me a telegram. But still, I thought…’
The caretaker’s wife suddenly blushed like a schoolgirl and averted her gaze. A minute passed before she smiled apologetically and continued.
‘Well, we all have our little dreams… Harald Olesen was such a kind man, you see, who always remembered to give us Christmas presents and the like. And my husband did help him during the war, after all, and I have done his cleaning for him for many years. So I thought that maybe there was a slight chance that he had left us a small amount in his will.’
I said nothing. This obviously made her nervous, so she hurried on.
‘Yes, I know – it’s terrible to think like that, but it’s so easy to drift off into daydreams when you’ve had as little as I have for so long. If it was three hundred or five hundred kroner, that would be a small fortune to me… Two thousand would be enough to keep me in coffee and Christmas and birthday presents for my children and grandchildren until I turn seventy and get a pension. I would be eternally grateful to Harald Olesen. It would never be that much, of course. But he was kind and rich, so maybe I can hope for a couple of hundred. I have started to pack my belongings, as I will have to move out as soon as Anton dies, and then I will stay with one of my daughters; they will have to keep me out of charity for a few months each. It’s always nice to see the children and grandchildren, but it will be awful to sit there and not have the money to buy anything for them.’