Albert bought a couple of Norwegian newspapers, found himself a table in the bar, and ordered a cup of coffee. He had hardly had time to skim the headlines when he heard an announcement over the loudspeakers: “This is a personal call for Albert Knag. Albert Knag is requested to contact the SAS information desk.”
What now? He felt a chill down his spine. Surely he was not being ordered back to Lebanon? Could something be wrong at home?
He quickly reached the SAS information desk.
“I’m Albert Knag.”
“Here is a message for you. It is urgent.”
He opened the envelope at once. Inside lay a smaller envelope. It was addressed to Major Albert Knag, c/o SAS Information, Kastrup Airport, Copenhagen.
Albert opened the little envelope nervously. It contained a short note:
Dear Dad, Welcome home from Lebanon. As you can imagine, I can’t even wait till you get home. Forgive me for having you paged over the loud-speakers. It was the easiest way.
P.S. Unfortunately a claim for damages has arrived from financial adviser Ingebrigtsen regarding a stolen and wrecked Mercedes.
P.S. P.S. I may be sitting in the garden when you get here. But you might also be hearing from me before that.
P.S. P.S. P.S. I’m rather scared of staying in the garden too long at a time. It’s so easy to sink into the ground in such places. Love from Hilde, who has had plenty of time to prepare your homecoming.
Major Albert Knag’s first impulse was to smile. But he did not appreciate being manipulated in this manner. He had always liked to be in charge of his own life. Now this little vixen in Lillesand was directing his movements in Kastrup Airport! How had she managed that?
He put the envelope in his breast pocket and began to stroll toward the little shopping mall. He was just about to enter the Danish Food deli when he noticed a small envelope taped to the store window. It had MAJOR KNAG written on it with a thick marker pen. Albert took it down and opened it:
Personal message for Major Albert Knag, c/o Danish Food, Kastrup Airport. Dear Dad, please buy a large Danish salami, preferably a two-pound one, and Mom would probably like a cognac sausage. P. S. Danish caviar is not bad either. Love, Hilde.
Albert turned around. She wasn’t here, was she? Had Mark given her a trip to Copenhagen so she could meet him here? It was Hilde’s handwriting ...
Suddenly the UN observer began to feel himself observed. It was as if someone was in remote control of everything he did. He felt like a doll in the hands of a child.
He went into the shop and bought a two-pound salami, a cognac sausage, and three jars of Danish caviar. Then he continued down the row of stores. He had made up his mind to buy a proper present for Hilde. A calculator, maybe? Or a little radio—yes, that was what he would get.
When he got to the store that sold electrical appliances, he saw that there was an envelope taped to the window there too. This one was addressed to “Major Albert Knag, c/o the most interesting store in Kastrup.” Inside was the following note:
Dear Dad, Sophie sends her greetings and thanks for the combined mini-TV and FM radio that she got for her birthday from her very generous father. It was great, but on the other hand it was a mere bagatelle. I must confess, though, that I share Sophie’s liking for such bagatelles. P.S. In case you haven’t been there yet, there are further instructions at the Danish Food store and the big Tax Free store that sells wines and tobacco. P.S. P.S. I got some money for my birthday, so I can contribute to the mini-TV with 350 crowns. Love, Hilde, who has already stuffed the turkey and made the Waldorf salad.
A mini-TV cost 985 Danish crowns. That could certainly be called a bagatelle in comparison with how Albert Knag felt about being directed hither and thither by his daughter’s sneaky tricks. Was she here—or was she not?
From that moment on, he was constantly on guard wherever he went. He felt like a secret agent and a marionette rolled into one. Was he not being deprived of his basic human rights?
He felt obliged to go into the Tax Free store as well. There hung a new envelope with his name on it. The whole airport was becoming a computer game with him as the cursor. He read the message:
Major Knag, c/o the Tax Free store at Kastrup. All I need from here is a bag of gumdrops and some marzipan bars. Remember it’s much more expensive in Norway. As far as I can recall, Mom is very fond of Campari. P.S. You must keep all your senses alert the whole way home. You wouldn’t want to miss any important messages, would you? Love from your most teachable daughter, Hilde.
Albert sighed despairingly, but he went into the store and shopped as instructed. With three plastic carriers and his flight bag he walked toward Gate 28 to wait for his flight. If there were any more messages they would have to stay there.
However, at Gate 28 he caught sight of another white envelope taped to a pillar: “To Major Knag, c/o GATE 28, Kastrup Airport.” This was also in Hilde’s handwriting, but the gate number seemed to have been written by someone else. It was not easy to judge since there was no writing to compare it with, only block letters and digits. He took it down. This one said only “It won’t be long now.”
He sat down on a chair with his back against the wall. He kept the shopping bags on his knees. Thus the proud major sat stiffly, eyes straight ahead, like a small child traveling alone for the first time. If Hilde was here, she was certainly not going to have the satisfaction of discovering him first.
He glanced anxiously at each passenger that came in. For a while he felt like an enemy of the state under close surveillance. When the passengers were finally allowed to board the plane he breathed a sigh of relief. He was the last person to board. As he handed over his boarding pass he tore off another white envelope that had been taped to the check-in desk.
Sophie and Alberto had passed Brevik, and a little later the exit to Kragera.
“You’re going awfully fasf,” said Sophie.
“It’s almost nine o’clock. He’ll soon be landing at Kjevik. But we won’t be stopped for speeding.”
“Suppose we smash into another car?”
“It makes no difference if it’s just an ordinary car. But if it’s one of our own . . .”
“Then what?”
“Then we’ll have to be very careful. Didn’t you notice that we passed the Bat Mobile.”
“No.”
“It was parked somewhere up in Vestfold.”
“This tourist bus won’t be easy to pass. There are dense woods on each side of the road.”
“It makes no difference, Sophie. Can’t you get it into your head?”
So saying, he swung the car into the woods and drove straight through the trees.
Sophie breathed a sigh of relief.
“You scared me.”
“We wouldn’t feel it if we drove into a brick wall.”
“That only means we’re spirits of the air compared to our surroundings.”
“No, now you’re putting the cart before the horse. It is the reality around us that’s an airy adventure to us.”
“I don’t get it.”
“Listen carefully, then. It is a widespread misunderstanding that spirit is a thing that is more ‘airy’ than vapor. On the contrary. Spirit is more solid than ice.”
“That never occurred to me.”
“And now I’ll tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a man who didn’t believe in angels. One day, while he was out working in the woods, he was visited by an angel.”
“And?”
“They walked together for a while. Then the man turned to the angel and said, ‘All right, now I have to admit that angels exist. But you don’t exist in reality, like us.”What do you mean by that?’ asked the angel. So the man answered, ‘When we came to that big rock, I had to go around it, but I noticed that you just glided through it. And when we came to that huge log that lay across the path, I had to climb over it while you walked straight through it.’ The angel was very surprised, and said ‘Didn’t you also notice that we took a p
ath that led through a marsh? We both walked right through the mist. That was because we were more solid than the mist.’
“Ah.”
“It’s the same with us, Sophie. Spirit can pass through steel doors. No tanks or bombers can crush anything that is of spirit.”
“That’s a comfort.”
“We’ll soon be passing Ris0r, and it’s no more than an hour since we left the major’s cabin. I could really use a cup of coffee.”
When they got to Fiane, just before S0ndeled, they passed a cafeteria on the lefthand side of the road. It was called Cinderella. Alberto swung the car around and parked on the grass in front of it.
Inside, Sophie tried to take a bottle of Coke from the cooler, but she couldn’t lift it. It seemed to be stuck. Further down the counter, Alberto was trying to tap coffee into a paper cup he had found in the car. He only had to press a lever, but even by exerting all his strength he could not press it down.
This made him so mad that he turned to the cafeteria guests and asked for help. When no one reacted, he shouted so loudly that Sophie had to cover her ears: “I want some coffee!”
His anger soon evaporated, and he doubled up with laughter. They were about to turn around and leave when an old woman got up from her chair and came toward them.
She was wearing a garish red skirt, an ice-blue cardigan, and a white kerchief round her head. She seemed more sharply defined than anything else in the little cafeteria.
She went up to Alberto and said, “My my, how you do yell, my boy!”
“Excuse me.”
“You want some coffee, you said?”
“Yes, but. . .”
“We have a small establishment close by.”
They followed the old woman out of the cafeteria and down a path behind it. While they walked, she said, “You are new in these parts?”
“We might as well admit it,” answered Alberto.
“That’s all right. Welcome to eternity then, children.”
“And you?”
“I’m out of one of Grimm’s fairy tales. That was nearly two hundred years ago. And where are you from?”
“We’re out of a book on philosophy. I am the philosophy teacher and this is my student, Sophie.”
“Hee hee! That’s a new one!”
They came through the trees to a small clearing where there were several cozy-looking brown cottages. A large Midsummer bonfire was burning in a yard between the cottages, and around the bonfire danced a crowd of colorful figures. Sophie recognized many of them. There were Snow White and some of the seven dwarfs, Mary Poppins and Sherlock Holmes, Peter Pan and Pippi Longstocking, Little Red Ridinghood and Cinderella. A lot of familiar figures without names had also gathered around the bonfire—there were gnomes and elves, fauns and witches, angels and imps. Sophie also caught sight of a real live troll.
“What a lot of noise!” exclaimed Alberto.
“That’s because it’s Midsummer,” said the old woman. “We haven’t had a gathering like this since Valborg’s Eve. That was when we were in Germany. I’m only here on a short visit. Was it coffee you wanted?”
“Yes, please.”
Not until now did Sophie notice that all the buildings were made out of gingerbread, candy, and sugar icing. Several of the figures were eating directly off the facades. A baker was going around repairing the damage as it occurred. Sophie ventured to take a little bite off one corner. It tasted sweeter and better than anything she had ever tasted before.
Presently the old woman returned with a cup of coffee.
“Thank you very much indeed.”
“And what are the visitors going to pay for the coffee?”
“To pay?”
“We usually pay with a story. For coffee, an old wives’ tale will suffice.”
“We could tell the whole incredible story of humanity,” said Alberto, “but unfortunately we are in a hurry. Can we come back and pay some other day?”
“Of course. And why are you in a hurry?”
Alberto explained their errand, and the old woman commented:
“I must say, you certainly are a pair of greenhorns. You’d better hurry up and cut the umbilical cord to your mortal progenitor. We no longer need their world. We belong to the invisible people.”
Alberto and Sophie hurried back to the Cinderella cafeteria and the red convertible. Right next to the car a busy mother was helping her little boy to pee.
Racing along and taking shortcuts, they soon arrived in Lillesand.
SK 876 from Copenhagen touched down at Kjevik on schedule at 9:35 p.m. While the plane was taxied out to the runway in Copenhagen, the.major had opened the envelope hanging from the check-in desk. The note inside read:
To Major Knag, as he hands over his boarding pass at Kastrup on Midsummer Eve, 1990. Dear Dad, You probably thought I would turn up in Copenhagen. But my control over your movements is more ingenious than that. I can see you wherever you are, Dad. The fact is, I have been to visit a well-known Gypsy family which many, many years ago sold a magic brass mirror to Great-grandmother. I have also gotten myself a crystal ball. At this very moment, I can see that you have just sat down in your seat. May I remind you to fasten your seat belt and keep the back of your seat raised to an upright position until the Fasten Seat Belt sign has been switched off. As soon as the plane is in flight, you can lower the seat back and give yourself a well-earned rest. You will need to be rested when you get home. The weather in Lillesand is perfect, but the temperature is a few degrees lower than in Lebanon. I wish you a pleasant flight. Love, your own witch-daughter, Queen of the Mirror and the Highest Protector of Irony.
Albert could not quite make out whether he was angry or merely tired and resigned. Then he started laughing. He laughed so loudly that his fellow passengers turned to stare at him. Then the plane took off.
He had been given a taste of his own medicine. But with a significant difference, surely. His medicine had first and foremost affected Sophie and Alberto. And they—well, they were only imaginary.
He did what Hilde had suggested. He lowered the back of his seat and nodded off. He was not fully awake again until he had gone through passport control and was standing in the arrival hall at Kjevik Airport. A demonstration was there to greet him.
There were eight or ten young people of about Hilde’s age. They were holding signs saying: WELCOME HOME,
DAD — HILDE IS WAITING IN THE GARDEN — IRONY LIVES.
The worst thing was that he could not just jump into a taxi. He had to wait for his baggage. And all the while, Hilde’s classmates were swarming around him, forcing him to read the signs again and again. Then one of the girls came up and gave him a bunch of roses and he melted. He dug down into one of his shopping bags and gave each demonstrator a marzipan bar. Now there were only two left for Hilde. When he had reclaimed his baggage, a young man stepped forward and explained that he was under the command of the Queen of the Mirror, and that he had orders to drive him to Bjerkely. The other demonstrators dispersed into the crowd.
They drove out onto the E 18. Every bridge and tunnel they passed was draped with banners saying: “Welcome home!”, “The turkey is ready,”
“I can see you, Dad!”
When he was dropped off outside the gate at Bjerkely, Albert Knag heaved a sigh of relief, and thanked the driver with a hundred crown note and three cans of Carlsberg Elephant beer.
His wife was waiting for him outside the house. After a long embrace, he asked: “Where is she?”
“She’s sitting on the dock, Albert.”
Alberto and Sophie stopped the red convertible on the square in Lillesand outside the Hotel Norge. It was a quarter past ten. They could see a large bonfire out in the archipelago.
“How do we find Bjerkely?” asked Sophie.
“We’ll just have to hunt around for it. You remember the painting in the major’s cabin.”
“We’ll have to hurry. I want to get there before he arrives.”
They started
to drive around the minor roads and then over rocky mounds and slopes. A useful clue was that Bjerkely lay by the water.
Suddenly Sophie shouted, “There it is! We’ve found it!”
“I do believe you’re right, but don’t shout so loud.”
“Why? There’s no one to hear us.”
“My dear Sophie—after a whole course in philosophy, I’m very disappointed to find you still jumping to conclusions.”
“Yes, but. . .”
“Surely you don’t believe this place is entirely devoid of trolls, pixies, wood nymphs, and good fairies?”
“Oh, excuse me.”
They drove through the gate and up the gravel path to the house. Alberto parked the car on the lawn beside the glider. A little way down the garden a table was set for three.
“I can see her!” whispered Sophie. “She’s sitting down on the dock, just like in my dream.”
“Have you noticed how much the garden looks like your own garden in Clover Close?”
“Yes, it does. With the glider and everything. Can I go down to her?”
“Naturally. I’ll stay here.”
Sophie ran down to the dock. She almost stumbled and fell over Hilde. But she sat down politely beside her.
Hilde sat idly playing with the line that the rowboat was made fast with. In her left hand she held a slip of paper. She was clearly waiting. She glanced at her watch several times.
Sophie thought she was very pretty. She had fair, curly hair and bright green eyes. She was wearing a yellow summer dress. She was not unlike Joanna.
Sophie tried to talk to her even though she knew it was useless.
“Hilde—it’s Sophie!”
Hilde gave no sign that she had heard.
Sophie got onto her knees and tried to shout in her ear:
“Can you hear me, Hilde? Or are you both deaf and blind?”
Did she, or didn’t she, open her eyes a little wider? Wasn’t there a very slight sign that she had heard something—however faintly?
She looked around. Then she turned her head sharply and stared right into Sophie’s eyes. She did not focus on her properly; it was as if she was looking right through her.