Dusk was just beginning to creep across the sky when Orlando managed to find his way to where he had stayed the previous night. Much of the day had been spent haggling with boatmen and then trying to retrace his steps back to Viggo's building. Orlando realized that staying with this man might be the only way he could stay safe -- he knew that there were people looking for him after what had happened in Germany, and he couldn't risk being caught. The thought of requesting shelter again from a man who had already shown him so much generosity was distasteful to Orlando, but he didn't have any other choice.
Walking up the stairs in the apartment building, he tried to think of what to say, how much to reveal, and exactly how much he could trust Viggo. When he reached the apartment, he took a deep breath and knocked on the door. He immediately heard Milo barking, and a small smile came across his face at the sound of the happy dog.
Orlando heard Viggo call out something in Danish, and assumed he was asking who the visitor was. "It's Mr. Foster," he said, hoping he was answering the correct question.
The door opened. "You couldn't find passage?" Viggo asked.
"No." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "The fact that I don't have papers hurt me. And then SS officers arrived at the port and I didn't know what to do."
"Why don't you come in instead of discussing this in the hallway?" Viggo suggested.
Orlando nodded and walked into the apartment. "I'm so sorry to bother you after all you've done for me--"
"Please, don't apologize. What can I do for you?"
"I need a place to stay, Mr. Mortensen. At least until it becomes easier to get back to England. I can pay you, I can even clean and cook for you if that would help. If you don't want to provide shelter for me, I understand completely, but I'm begging you to help me. I don't know what will happen to me otherwise." Orlando's voice shook as he talked, and he was close to tears.
Viggo was silent for a long time, chewing his lip as he thought about the situation. "First of all, the situation in Europe might not get better for a long time. It could take months or even years before you would be able to go back home."
"I understand that. I suppose I'm asking shelter from you for as long as you're willing to provide it. And I have money. I didn't have any last night, but I pawned my valuables this morning for passage."
"Before we even get to that, though, I need to know what I'm getting myself into by housing you. You have to be honest about what you're running from and why you need to stay here instead of simply paying for shelter at a boarding house. It's because you're in hiding, isn't it?"
"Yes."
Viggo sighed and sat down on his couch, motioning for Orlando to sit in the chair across from him. "What are you hiding from?"
"I can't tell you that."
"You have to trust me if I'm going to give you a place to stay."
"My fear is that you won't allow me to stay here because of what I'm hiding from." Orlando fidgeted on the chair, nervously twisting his fingers together. "I'm afraid that you'll tell the police. In times like these, it's difficult to know who I can trust."
"Mr. Foster, I didn't tell anyone that you were here last night. I didn't alert the police about the fact that you were trying to leave without papers and wanted to go to an enemy country. Whatever you tell me, I promise I won't summon the police."
Viggo paused to study Orlando, hoping that the younger man would believe him. "However," he continued, "I have a right to know what I would get myself into by allowing you to hide here. I can't give you an answer either way until you tell me the truth about who you are and what you're running from."
Orlando took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he could truly trust Viggo. He remembered how genuinely kind the other man had been and how comforting his nature was; somehow, he could sense that Viggo wouldn't jeopardize his safety. Realizing that he had to take a chance, Orlando decided tell the truth about who he was. "Alright. What do you need to know?"
"Well, let's start with your real name. I know that it's not Thomas Foster; you're smart enough to use an alias."
"Yes, it was an alias." He sighed. "My real name is Orlando Bloom."
Viggo nodded. "That suits you much better than Thomas Foster does. Now, tell me honestly what your story is. Why are you hiding? Why were you in Germany?"
"I moved to Germany five years ago, back in 1936. I fell in love with a Berliner and went to Germany so we could be together." He knew he would have to lie about the fact that his lover had been a man. Simply being Jewish was enough to incur hatred, but being Jewish and homosexual was even more dangerous. "We were very much in love, and even when the war broke out I refused to leave her. Despite how terrible things were, we managed to find happiness together."
"What happened to her, Mr. Bloom?" Viggo asked gently, picking up on the mourning tone of Orlando's voice.
"She was killed." Orlando's eyes were dead as he said this. "She was shot right in front of me."
Viggo closed his eyes and shook his head, overwhelmed by sympathy for what Orlando had been through. "I'm so sorry."
"Thank you." Tears pricked at Orlando's eyes again, and this time he couldn't stop one from escaping and running down his cheek. This was the first time he had talked about what had happened to Andre, and all of his pain and grief came rushing back, flooding his senses.
"Why was she killed?"
"Because she was Jewish." Orlando didn't dare to look at Viggo. "We heard that the SS was 'relocating' Jews and tried to leave, but before we got very far, we were stopped by the police. They confiscated our papers and then attempted to arrest us. When she resisted . . . they shot her twice in the head." He paused to try and collect himself. "When they bent over for a moment to pick through what she had in her bag, I turned and ran. I didn't look back. One of them fired his gun as I fled, but missed hitting me."
"And there are people looking for you now?"
"Yes. They have my papers, they know my name and what I look like."
"So they're looking for you because you're British," Viggo stated.
"That's one reason."
"What's the other?"
"Because I'm also Jewish." Orlando finally looked up at Viggo, but he found compassion in the other man's eyes instead of the disgust he had been anticipating. He felt a sliver of hope that he would find shelter here, that perhaps Viggo wasn't an anti-Semite. "I'm a fugitive, an Englishman, and a Jew named Orlando Bloom. Now you know exactly who you would be giving shelter to."
"Thank you for telling me the truth," Viggo said. "I can understand how difficult trusting me with this kind of information must be. And . . . I'm so sorry about what happened to the woman you love. I can't imagine the kind of pain you've experienced." Orlando stayed silent. "Let me tell you honestly that I harbor no prejudice towards anyone based on their religion."
"You don't?" Relief flooded through Orlando.
"No. I can't understand how a single race or religion can be categorized as bad. Most people in Denmark don't hold strong anti-Semitic beliefs, but now that Hitler has invaded, your fear of being caught is warranted."
"You do realize that you are putting yourself at risk if you give me shelter?" Orlando asked, not wanting any harm to come to the man who had shown him such incredible kindness.
"Of course I do," Viggo said. "But I can't turn you away because you're Jewish. Besides, I know the dangers you face if you are left without a place to stay, and I can't subject you to that, especially since I have a chance to keep you safe."
"So does this mean you will allow me to hide here?"
Viggo smiled warmly. "Yes. You can stay here until it's
safe to leave for England."
