A secret for me to keep and you bury deep

15 January 1940Narvik, Norway

My dearest Carl,

I know from your last letter that you did not wish for me to write again. With a heavy heart, I shall disregard your wishes just this once. If I am to make you unhappy, let it be of my own choosing, for I would rather face your anger than the silence that separates us. I shall be brief, for paper is scarce.

They called us a perfect pair once, a balance of absurd humour and intelligence. Not to say that you are not bright, of course, you are, even if you once thought a kangaroo was a make believe animal. I am joking, as always. You were and will always be the brightest of us two, and likely of the whole world. I wish you had been given the chance to study at university, you would have surely discovered a way for anyone to fly.

It has been two summers since I last saw you, and I fear we are as distant in spirit as we are in miles. I hope your mother and sisters are well and that your farm remains untouched. I pray that you gave Tini a scratch behind the ear before you left, she was always my favourite.

The days here are short, and my father longs for the sun. I, however, have always favoured the stars. They remind me of your smile, bright and unwavering. You never saw my home, though I walked the fields of yours. It is an injustice I wish I could undo. If fate ever allows you to travel north, I will show you the places I spoke of, the hidden wonders you swore must be photographed. Do you remember? You hushed me then, fearful that others might uncover it. A secret for you to keep and for me to bury deep, you said. I know your dream was always to capture the world through a lens. I asked a family friend if I might borrow a camera for you to use, should the occasion ever arise.

I fear that time may change us beyond recognition. Once, we swore we would never change, that we would remain as we were, forever playing in the long grass, untouched by the world. But we were children then, and childhood promises are fragile things.

If we are never to meet again, let me leave you with this, you were my truest friend, and you shall remain so, no matter where life takes us.

Yours always, Lukas

9 April 1940Narvik, Norway

My dearest darling boy,

It is with the greatest sorrow that I have taken so long to put pen to paper. Perhaps it is cowardice on my part, but I never could bear the thought of my words being lost before they reached you. Yet last night, I woke with an overwhelming need to hear your voice.

I miss the touch of your fingers trailing softly through the stubble of my beard. You will be pleased to know that I shaved it off yesterday. I remember how you used to wrinkle your nose when it scratched against your skin, how you would swat at my face and tell me to be rid of it. Well, now you cannot complain any longer, my darling.

The cold here is relentless. The snow never ceases, and the wind cuts through our coats like a blade. Even now, as I write, my hands tremble, and I fear I am beginning to lose feeling in them. Our men are falling, some to illness, others to exhaustion, and too many to bullets. I miss them, and I fear I may be next. Even if we were to win, the cold is a foe more ruthless than any blade.

Do you remember the first time you met my mother, back in those long, golden summers before the world turned against us? She told you that no matter where you stood, the sky above remained the same. But she was wrong. The sky changes with every mile. And the sky at home, ah, it is the most beautiful of them all. I can see it now, the sun low over the fields, the warm breeze tousling my hair as I wait by the old stone farmhouse, watching for you to turn the corner after your long journey.

God, how I miss your smile. And those stray wisps of hair that would fall across your eyes to your great frustration. I want this to be clear, I loved pushing them back behind your ear before stealing a kiss, as if we were the only two souls in the world.

Sometimes, I curse the stars. Who else would have betrayed us? Who else, in this godforsaken world, would have seen our happiness and sought to tear it from us so cruelly?

This war is a terrible jest, played upon men who were never meant to be enemies. And you and I, my love, are just two among countless others, forced to play our parts. It is a terrible thing to admit, but there are times when I have wished that you were not so brave. That you had chosen another path, even if it meant losing yourself, as long as it meant you could live. And yet, I know you, know the fire in your heart, and I would not have you any other way.

Even as I write this, I can picture your spirit, gritting your teeth, giving me that infamous glare of defiance. You need not curse me, I know my thoughts are selfish and foolish. A bird in a cage is still a prisoner, no matter how gentle the hands that placed it there.

My love, you fought well. Soon, I fear, we will lose everything. And when that time comes, your men will cheer. I will smile with them, I swear it.

When I go, I hope you will know that I would have traded my soul to see you again, to protect you as I failed to do.

I am sorry. I love you, and I am sorry.

This is my first and last letter to you. From one ghost to another, you, lost in body, I, in soul. I wish I could place this letter in your hands before they find you cold upon the mountain. But I cannot. It is too great a risk, to my safety and to your legacy. I will keep this letter close, together with the last one you wrote to me. Both shall rest in my chest pocket, near my heart, that foolish thing that still beats only for you. A secret that, perhaps, one day, the world will no longer demand be hidden.

I will see you soon, my light in the dark.

Forever yours,C