Page 78 of Atlas: The Story of Pa Salt

By the time this letter reaches you (if it ever does), I will be gone. It is my sad duty to inform you that, this morning, the love of my life, Karine Eliana Rosenblum, was shot and killed by our invaders.

Her crime was that she had dared to walk into town to buy bread and milk.

As you both know, it was Karine’s wish to leave Norway. I selfishly failed to heed her warning, and for that, I can offer no excuses. My wife was kinder, cleverer and BETTER than I, and I should have listened to her.

My heart is broken, and can never be fixed.

Elle, I must apologise to you in particular. You were Karine’s best friend, and shared a bond with her perhaps even deeper than my own. It is my fault, and no one else’s, that you will never meet again.

My friends, I throw myself at the mercy of our Lord, but do not expect forgiveness. Writing this letterwill be my penultimate earthly act. Then I will take my father’s hunting gun from the shed, and end my life in the woods above the house. Rest assured, Felix is safe with my loving parents, who I know will be as adoring to my son as they were to their own.

All I ever wanted was to be lauded for my musical prowess. So please, my friends, do not remember me – let that be my eternal punishment. Allow me to be consigned to ash and dirt.

But remember our dear Karine. In a world shrouded by darkness, she was a light, and must shine forever.

Yours,

Jens ‘Pip’ Halvorsen

Neither Elle nor I were able to speak. We simply sat in silence, until Elle’s body began to shake and shudder as her tears arrived. I held her for hours, until she finally relaxed and fell asleep in my arms, exhausted by the emotional toll of what we had learnt.

The morning light eventually arrived, and so did the Caledonian sleeper tickets for ‘Mr and Mrs Tanit’, which caused a fair amount of confusion at the reception desk, for we had signed in under ‘D’Aplièse’. Thankfully, the proprietor accepted my excuse that ‘Tanit’ was my ailing grandmother’s name, and there had clearly been a mistake.

That evening, we took a train from Aberdeen to Glasgow, and boarded the sleeper just before eleven p.m. Having settled into our small cabin – which comprised of a metal bunk bed, a small sink and a foldaway table – I joined Elle on the bottom mattress and squeezed her hand.

‘We will live our lives in her honour. Intheirhonour,’ I assured her. ‘Our happiness will be in remembrance of them,’ I said as the wheels began to roll on the track.

I was distressed to see just how broken Elle looked. ‘I can’t stop thinking about little Felix,’ she sniffed. ‘What will become of him? To lose both of one’s parents at the same time is... well, I know just how painful it is.’ She looked at me dead in the eye. ‘Do we not have a duty to go back for him?’

I pondered Elle’s question. Searching my heart, I felt that the truth was... yes, we did have a duty. But we could not return to Bergen at this moment in time. It would be suicide. ‘Felix will be safe with Horst and Astrid. We know what good people they are. And Karine can rest peacefully knowing that no connection to his religious heritage can now be made. He is well protected where he is.’

Elle put a hand to her mouth. ‘I just feel so very indebted to both of them. Without them, who knows where we would be? And now... it’s too late to repay them for their kindness.’

Elle’s words circled around my head as the train chugged on into the night. Eventually, the gentle rhythm of the train and the clacking of the track lulled me to sleep, and we left Scotland for a new life.

June 2008

All things considered, I’d managed a decent amount of sleep last night. Perhaps I owed it to my brief conversation with Ambrose. He had been on his way to dinner, but hearing his clipped, jovial tones relaxed me. I had promised to call back early this morning with updates. I yawned and looked around my cabin, which was bathed in a pleasant orange glow as dawn crept in through the porthole.

There was a familiar rumble in the belly of the ship as Captain Hans throttled up the engines for another day of cruising. I was certainly glad of the opulent luxury of theTitan, and that I wasn’t crossing the choppy North Sea in a trawler as my parents had done. I rubbed my eyes at the thought of all they had been through. There was no question that I was now deeply emotionally invested in their story, and when we came to lay the wreath for Atlas, I predicted I would be as teary as his other daughters.

They all spoke of their pa with such sincere love. Rather unexpectedly, I found myself a little jealous that I had never been able to receive his affection, despite my biological connection.

My alarm went off – not that I needed it – and I sat up in bed. Then I reached for the satellite phone which had been stationed next to my bed by a friendly young crew member, and punched in Ambrose’s number, and after a few rings, he picked up.

‘Might I presume I am connected to the Mermaid of the Mediterranean?’

‘Good morning, Ambrose,’ I chuckled. ‘Did you have a good time last night?’

‘Sublime, thank you, my dear. I was treated to dinner at the Drury Buildings by a former student of mine. It was “good craic”, as they say...’ He stopped himself, which was generous for Ambrose, as he could have gone on for hours. ‘But enough of me! I insist you tell me everything!’

I leant back on my pillow. ‘I really must thank you for convincing me to fly out here, Ambrose. I have a feeling that it’s going to change my life.’

‘You know, my dear, so do I. Now come along, give me the juicy bits, if you don’t mind.’

‘All right, brace yourself...’ I filled him in on what I’d learnt so far.

Ambrose was flabbergasted. ‘Golly, Merry. Pardon the cliché, but what a roller-coaster.’