The Body in the Fjord (30 page)
Read The Body in the Fjord Online
Authors: Katherine Hall Page
Which is how Pix found herself a week later sitting on the terrace of Marit Hansen's house in Tønsberg, eating more
reker
and mayonnaise, drinking white wine. It was Midsummer Eve, St. Hans-aften, and they were waiting for the bonfires to be lighted. Kari had gone off with a group of her friends to Nøtterøy, one of the nearby islands, for a picnic. They would stay by their bonfire, singing and telling jokes until morning.
Marit's Midsummer Eve celebration had transformed a huge mound of shrimp in a large green glass bowl into a heap of shells in another. Shrimp and white wineâthere was nothing better. The Dahl sisters, who had stayed on in Oslo, came down to Tønsberg by train for this farewell celebration. Ursula had been particularly insistent about inviting the sisters. It had proved a congenial group and they lingered long over the meal.
“They should be lighting the bonfires soon,” Louise said. “It's getting quite dark.”
Dark for the time of year. Pix had become used to the long, bright nights that made time stretch lazily forward. It was going to be hard to go to sleep at a decent hour.
Marit stood up. “Could you make some room for dessert? Kari baked some
pepperkaker
and we have
multer,
unless you're tired of them. We also have ice cream.”
Tired of cloudberries? Not likely. Just the sound of the word whetted an appetite.
“Let me help you,” Pix said, taking the tray from Marit's hands.
“Coffee for everyone, too?” Marit's voice went up, but it was a statement.
The Hansens had built a new house after the warâin Kaldnes, across the canal from the main part of Tønsberg, the oldest town in Norway. The house was perched high, looking in one direction across the water to the town itself, distinguished by the spire of the
domkirken
and the thirteenth-century citadel high on the hill at Slottsfjellet. Straight in front of the house, dominating the rocky ridge, high above the trees, was an enormous arrow, an iron weather vane, a landmark for miles around. It was Svend Foyn's weather vaneâthe man who had invented the harpoon gun and revolutionized early whaling, a well-beloved native son. He had erected it on this hill so he could look up from his house on the other shore and always know which way the wind was blowing. The arrow pointed due west at the moment and Pix thought wistfully of flying in that direction in the morning. It was time. Time to go home. Sam had called earlier to verify the flight. “I miss you terribly, darling. And we really need you.” Pix focused on the first part of his statement and let the rest, with its implications of travail, lie for the moment. She missed them, too. She went into the house with the tray, lingering at the door to look back at her mother and the two Dahl sisters, comfortably ensconced around the table, Marit's deep purple pansies tumbling out of the planters, soft velvet in the increasing dark.
“It's so beautiful here,” Erna said after Pix and Marit left. “Sometimes I wish we could stay in Norway permanently, except we have so many friends in Virginiaâand our jobs.”
Erna was a hairdresser and Louise a legal secretary, Ursula recalled. But the words Mrs. Rowe spoke had little to do with the twins' vocations or place of residence.
“Why did you do it? Were you born at the home? Were you
Lebensborn
babies? Was that it?”
Erna clutched her throat and turned to her sister, whose expression had not changed at all. No one said a word.
Louise looked up at the iron arrow, which was moving ever so slightly. The sky was Prussian blue and a few bonfires dotted the shore far below. The light hit the water in pools, creating islands where none existed.
“When we were little, Mother would wake up screaming. She seldom slept a night throughâever. But for a time, the nightmares stopped. We weren't
Lebensborn
children, but her first child was. We were born just after the war. Our father was Norwegian, but his family made him leave her when they discovered her past. She tried to find our sisterâthe baby had been a girl, but it was too late. She hadn't wanted to give her up, go into the home, but she had no choice. Her family had turned on her. The village shaved her head. We would hear her cry out, âNazi whore,' and we knew that was what she had been called.”
“People can be horrible,” Erna said. There were tears in her eyes.
Louise continued. “She took us to the United States as soon as she saved the money. She wanted to go someplace where she didn't know anyone and where there wasn't a Scandinavian community, but she was always homesick. Our house could have been here. We ate Norwegian food, spoke Norwegian, and kept all the customs. It made her feel better. I saw an ad for Scandinavian foods by mail from a town in New Jersey and sent for the catalog. She looked forward to getting it each month and would plan for days what to order.”
“She was a seamstress and supported us. We grew up and supported her. It was a kind of life. Not happy, not sad. We knew about our sister, and when we got older, we offered to try to find her, but my mother was afraid of disturbing the child's lifeâshe was always to be a child. âShe might not know and I could destroy her happiness. I've made enough mistakes,' Mother said.
“Then in one issue of the food catalog the conceited fool Melling put a picture of himself as a young man in
bunad,
our national dress. It was to celebrate Constitution Day, the seventeenth of May. Our
mor
looked at the picture, whispered, âIt's him,' and fainted.”
Erna was wringing her plump hands. “We didn't know what had happened. She was never strong, and she wouldn't talk about it. Norwegians are very good at keeping their mouths shut,” she added. “It went on for months. We watched her disappear before our eyes. She refused to see a doctor and ate only when we became so distressed, she felt she had to please us. The nightmares got worse, and finally she told us the whole story.”
Louise was venomous. “She was a child herself. Barely sixteen, high-spirited, and restless living on the farm. There was only hard work and boredom. Oscar Eriksen was a neighbor, handsome and with some money. Not a jarl's family, but not a cotter's, either. He began to court my mother and convinced her to run away with him to Bergen. Once there, he took her to a rooming house. He raped her, then explained that she was to make herself available to the German officers who came. No decent Norwegian man would have her now, he said, and it was her duty to produce a child for the new world order, the Third Reich. She was terrified, but knew she could not go home. Her parents were very strict, very religious. When she did get pregnant, he arranged for her to go to Stalheim, where she received very good care. Then the baby was taken from her and Oscar himself drove her to her village, pushing her out of the car in front of the church. He'd made sure everyone knew what she had done. He portrayed himself as her rescuer, bringing her home to âgood' people.”
“A sadist,” whispered Ursula. It was worse than she could have imagined. How had the woman managed to keep the will to live?
“It wasn't until much later that the truth about Oscar Eriksen came outâhis lucrative business in supplying healthy, beautiful young Norwegian women for this experiment. By then, it was too late for my mother.”
“What did she do?”
“She ranâliving in the forest for a while, then did whatever she could to earn enough to feed herself for the rest of the Occupation. It couldn't have been much. There was very little food in Norway for anyone. She was never strong afterward. She married a man from the northern part of Norway and they lived there. We were born. She thought she was safe, but it is a small country, after all, and the story came out. So she had to leave for good.”
What kind of man abandons his wife and children over something like this? Ursula wondered. A proud man. A narcissistic man. A hard man.
“What are you going to do?” Erna whispered, her voice barely audible. Louise didn't ask. She sat straight and looked Ursula in the eye. It was not a challenge, nor did she beseech. It was a look of resignation.
“Do?” Ursula repeated. “I think quite enough has been done already, don't you? Evil will out.”
Louise nodded. Some strands of her straight gray hair fell across her face and she pushed them back. “I believe that, but we had to do itâfor her.”
“And for Norway.” Erna's voice was firm.
They could hear Marit and Pix laughing in the kitchen, the bright lights from inside the house streaming out to the terrace, sending their faces alternately into shadows and brightness.
Louise asked Ursula, “How did you guess?”
“I have spent the whole trip watching. I'm not as active as I once was. I leave that to my daughter. I came to Norway to help my friend find her daughter and the best way I could think of was to try to keep a close eye on everyone on the tour. You two were different. You appeared to be having a good time, caught up in the discovery of your roots, but I soon detected a carefully concealed anxiety below the surface. What are these women so worried about? I wondered. And I kept watching. In the days following Eriksen's death, the worry began to lift. You weren't euphoric, but you were calm. A job accomplished.
I talked to Marit, who is also a keen observer. She told me that she had noticed red paint under Erna's fingernails and it seemed odd for a beautician. They weren't paper cuts. They had to be from the swastika, and whoever painted that was linked to Melling. Tonight I took a chance.”
Louise nodded and reached for her sister's hand.
Marit came out onto the terrace, bringing an old bottle of cognac with the coffee. She carefully filled five delicate handblown glasses, so thin, the liquor seemed to quiver in the air. Ursula nodded slightly at her old friend and smiled. Marit stood up. “I wish to make a toast. To the new generation of âCartwright sisters.' We may not have crossed the
vidda
on horseback, but I think we have taken another kind of journey together.
Vær så god.
”
As is the toasting custom in Norway, she selected one individual and looked straight into her eyes before taking a drink.
She picked Pix.
“Didn't you tell me there was someone named Sidney Harding on your trip?”
Faith Fairchild, carrying a newspaper, walked into Pix Miller's kitchen late one afternoon a week after Pix's return from Norway.
“Yes. Why?” Pix had to get Danny to soccer and drop off Samantha's bathing suit, which she'd forgotten, for a pool party. She was also trying to think of something she could feed her husband for dinner that did not have red sauce or come with chopsticks.
“He's mentioned in the business section of the
Times
today.”
Pix was two days behind in reading her
Boston Globe
. “What does it say?”
“âOil Company Reels at Unexpected Exec Departure.' It looks like he suddenly decided to resign what has been a key position in the research and development of Norwegian oil fields. âWhen asked the reason for his departure, Mr. Harding issued no comment.'”
“So he
was
a spy, or passing secrets, whatever! Mother is always right, but let's not tell her for a while. I think she's holding out on me about something else. She keeps giving me these looks fraught with meaning. I'll let things simmer, then offer a trade.”
Pix remembered she had a meat loaf in the freezer. Her postpartum Norway blues were beginning to lift. Soon she'd set out for the summer on Sanpere Island in Maine's Penobscot Bay. It was very beautiful there, too, but the water wasn't that incredible color and there weren't any mountains. Yet she knew everybody, as she did in Alefordâand they knew her. Good old dependable Pix.
Maybe it was time for another trip.
Katherine Hall Page
from Avon Books
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
M
OONLIGHT
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
B
IG
A
PPLE
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
B
OOKCASE
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
B
OG
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
B
ASEMENT
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
C
AST
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
V
ESTIBULE
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
B
OUILLON
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
K
ELP
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
B
ELFRY
And in Hardcover
T
HE
B
ODY IN THE
B
ONFIRE
HAVE FAITH IN YOUR KITCHEN
BY
Faith Sibley Fairchild
A WORK IN PROGRESS
Â
Â
Â
Â
A sign in a Norwegian restaurant:
CONSUMPTION OF ALCOHOL IS FORBIDDEN UNLESS ACCOMPANIED BY FISH. ALL FOOD IS CONSIDERED FISH, EXCEPT SAUSAGES. IF SAUSAGES ARE ORDERED, MAY GOD FORBID, SAUSAGES CAN BE CALLED FISH
.
FISKEPUDDING WITH SHRIMP SAUCE
1 tablespoon unsalted butter
1½ pounds white fish fillets (Haddock or a combination of haddock and sole is good.)
½ cup light cream
1 cup heavy cream
2 teaspoons salt
1½ tablespoons cornstarch
a buttered sheet of aluminum foil
Preheat the oven to 350°F.
Melt the butter and coat the inside of a mold, such as a pudding mold or Bundt pan. The mold should be large enough to hold six cups. Set aside. Start boiling enough water so that the mold will be covered by water three quar
ters of the way up when placed in a large baking pan during cooking. Cut the raw fish into small pieces, approximately one-inch squares. Mix the creams together in a measuring cup with a spout or a pitcher. Using the sharp blade on a food processor or a blender, blend the fish with the cream, one batch at a time. Don't overfill the container of the blender or food processor. Transfer the mixture to a bowl and add the salt and cornstarch. Beat vigorously. It will be light and somewhat fluffy. Transfer the pudding into the mold. Bang it on the countertop and smooth the top with a knife. (Norwegian cooking tends to get physical.)
Seal the mold with the foil and place it in the baking pan. Pour in the boiling water and set the pan in the middle of the oven. Cook for one hour. Take the mold from the pan. Let it stand for five minutes and then unmold it on a decorative round platter. Drain off any liquid that may have accumulated. Spoon on some of the sauce (recipe follows) and garnish with whole shrimp and parsley sprigs. Serve the rest of the sauce separately. Don't forget to serve with lingonberries and boiled potatoes. Faith actually likes this dish, but she uses steamed new potatoes or fingerlings instead of the boiled potatoes.
Serves 6.
Note: This can also be made in individual molds as a first course.
SHRIMP SAUCE
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
3 tablespoons flour
1½ cups milk
1 thin slice of onion
1
/
8
teaspoon nutmeg
salt
white pepper
¾ pound uncooked small, fresh shrimp, peeled and deveined
The sauce can be made while the pudding is cooking. Melt the butter in a heavy saucepan. Add the flour, cooking for two to three minutes over low heat, stirring constantly. Increase the heat slightly and slowly add the milk, whisking or stirring constantly again. Add the onion slice and continue to stir for five minutes. Remove from the heat, discard the onion slice, add the nutmeg, along with salt and pepper to taste. Return to the heat and add the shrimp, reserving some for the garnish. When the shrimp are pink, serve immediately. (You can make the sauce ahead and do this last step just before serving.)
Cook the shrimp for the garnish in rapidly boiling water until pink.
CUCUMBER AND DILL SALAD
2 large cucumbers
2 teaspoons salt
½ cup white vinegar
2 tablespoons sugar
¼ teaspoon pepper
3 tablespoons fresh finely chopped dill
dill sprigs for garnish
Slice the cucumbers as thinly as possible, using a sharp knife or a food processor. One of my relatives uses a cheese slicerâan
ostehøvel
, “cheese plane,” which was invented by the Norwegians. When used with cheese, it produces one thin slice of
gjetost
at a timeâpossibly all one may want. If you have a slicer, it produces a cucumber slice one can almost see through.
Toss the cucumbers with one teaspoon of salt, cover, and refrigerate for at least thirty minutes. Drain the excess liquid.
Combine the vinegar, sugar, remaining salt, and pepper and pour over the cucumbers. Add the chopped dill and mix to be sure it is evenly distributed. Cover the cucumber salad and return to the refrigerator.
Before serving the salad, transfer it to a bowl, using a slotted spoon, and garnish with the dill sprigs. This
salat
is particularly good with fish (of course) and game. It is a
koldtbord
standard and, once refrigerated, will keep for days.
Serves 6 or more, depending on number of side dishes.
LUTEFISK
No, this is not a joke. I am reproducing my cousin Hege Farstad's recipe verbatim, so you will know what people like Garrison Keillor are talking about. But Hege's
lutefisk
bears as much resemblance to the butt of all those jokes as does, to paraphrase James Thurber, Little Red Riding Hood's grandmother to the wolfâor the Metro-Goldwyn lion to Calvin Coolidge.
Â
The best raw material for
lutefisk
is
torsk
, cod, split along the backbone before hanging to dry. The dried fish is usually cut into two parts and put into cold water for six to eight days. The water is change twice daily.
After the fish is removed from the water, the fish is peeled off the bones and put into
lut
, acid, which covers the fish. The
lut
consists of thirty-five grams of caustic soda and seven liters of water. The fish should stay in the
lut
until soft, usually from twenty-four to forty-eight hoursâthat is, when soft enough to pierce with a finger. The fish is then put into cold water for two to three days, and the water is changed twice daily. The best way to keep finished
lutefisk
is to cut it into pieces and deep-freeze it.
To serve
lutefisk
(4 people): 2 to 2½ kg
lutefisk
, 1 to 2 spoonfuls of salt, some water. Use a pan for poaching fish. Put water into the pan nearly up to the rack. Put the
lutefisk
on the rack when the water boils, the larger pieces first. Sprinkle the salt over the fish, put the lid on, and boil until you can pierce the fish with a small baking pin, about ten to fifteen minutes. The fish must be served
immediately
!
Trimmings: béchamel sauce, with mustard added according to taste; fried bacon strips and fat; steamed green peas; boiled potatoes.
Serve
lutefisk
with Norwegian beer and Linie aquavit
(
NOT
that Danish stuff). Norwegian aquavit can be called
linjeakkevitt
only if it has been shipped in barrels to Australia and backâthat is, crossing the
linje
, the equator, twice.
Â
In this country, it may be more convenient to start with dry, unsalted cod. Norwegian-American cookbooks call for potash lye to make the
lut
.
Now you know.
SMÃRBRÃD OPEN-FACED SANDWICHES
If you have traveled in Scandinavia, you have some idea how deliciousâand addictiveâthese are. The point is to compose something as appealing to the eye as to the palate, and a buffet of several different kinds of
smørbrød
makes for a good party, aquavit or no aquavit.
The bread, which may be white, wheat, rye, whole-grain, or whatever you like, acts as the platform for the creation. Slice the bread thin, but thick enough to hold what you will be arranging on top. Spread it with unsalted butter or herb butter. In addition to the butter, most sandwiches start with a lettuce leaf, but you can also use other thinly sliced vegetables.
Smørbrød
are eaten with a knife and fork. Thick bread detracts from the taste of the other ingredients and is also hard to cut through.
Generally, white bread is used for more delicate flavors, such as shrimp. Heartier breads are used for things like smoked fish or roast beef.
To make Pix's favorite, spread the bread lightly with unsalted butter, add a leaf of Boston lettuce, then arrange several rows of small cooked shrimp on top. Pipe some mayonnaise (Norwegian mayonnaise is a bit sweeter than Hellman's) from a pastry tube on top of the shrimp. Cut a thin slice of lemon, remove the seeds, then cut the slice almost crosswise and twist it, placing it across the shrimp.
Other good combinations are:
⢠Roast beef topped with a thin slice of tomato and horseradish mayonnaise
⢠Thin meat patty (beef or veal) grilled, then topped with fried onions and served at room temperature
⢠Smoked salmon topped with thin asparagus spears that have been marinated in a vinaigrette and a final dollop of crème fraîche
⢠Smoked salmon topped with slices of cucumber and dill salad
⢠Slices of hard-boiled egg topped with anchovies or herring and tomato slices
⢠Smoked mussels or smoked eel on top of scrambled egg
⢠Sliced liverwurst topped with crisp bacon and garnished with a sliced cornichon, the small, tart French gherkin
⢠Jarlsberg cheese with turkey, topped with a spoonful of chutney
It is important to put enough on the sandwich so the bread is hidden. It is also important to decorate the surface with chopped parsley, a carrot curl, sprigs of herbs, capers, caviar, strips of pimento or peppers fanned to make a floral shape, or lemon.
The sandwiches are served on large trays or platters that have been covered with paper doilies.
VAFLER SOUR CREAM WAFFLES
2 eggs
1 cup sour cream
1
/
3
cup melted butter
1
/
8
teaspoon vanilla (or substitute
1
/
8
teaspoon of ground cardamom to vary flavor)
¾ cup milk
1 cup flour
3 tablespoons sugar
½ teaspoon baking powder
¼ teaspoon salt
Beat the eggs and add the sour cream, whisking well together, then add the butter, vanilla, and milk, whisking again. Add the dry ingredients and stir. The batter may seem thinner than your usual waffle batter. Cook in a preheated waffle iron; one that makes heart shapes is all the better. The finished waffle should be nicely browned. Makes approximately two dozen three-inch heart-shaped waffles.
Vafler
are served room temperature with jam and butter, or sometimes with powdered sugarâ
never
maple syrup.
PEPPERKAKER
GINGER SNAPS
2
/
3
cup butter (1 stick plus 2
2
/
3
tablespoons)
1
/
3
cup brown sugar
1
/
3
cup white sugar
1 tablespoon molasses
1½ teaspoons ground clove
2¼ teaspoons cinnamon
2¼ teaspoons ginger
1 teaspoon baking soda
¼ cup boiling water
2½ cups flour
Preheat the oven to 325°F.
Heat the butter, sugars, and molasses in a heavy saucepan over low heat until the butter melts. Remove the pan from the heat and stir in the spices. Transfer the mixture to a bowl and let cool for five minutes. Mix the baking soda with the boiling water and add to the bowl. Stir in the flour, mixing well to make a smooth dough. Refrigerate for at least one hour.
Working in batches, roll the dough to a thickness of approximately
1
/
12
of an inch. These cookies are best when thin and crisp. A heart and a fluted round cutter, each two inches wide, were used for the recipe. Bake the cookies on lightly buttered sheets for eight to ten minutes. Transfer immediately to cool on brown paper or racks. Makes approximately six dozen cookies. Store the cookies in an airtight tin. The dough may also be frozen for use later.
Pepperkaker
are made all year long, but they are essential at Christmas. Norwegian families with small children have a
pepperkaker
baking day just before the holiday. The dough is cut into many shapes: hearts, stars, men, women, and pigs or other farm animals. White icing is piped onto the cooled cookies to decorate them. My cousin Hege relates that the dough is so good that at these parties, usually only half makes it into the oven!