Orlando was unable to stop himself from gasping with relief. After countless days of running for his life and dodging police, he would have a place to hide until things got better. He knew that staying with Viggo was as close as he could get to being safe until he got across the North Sea.
"Mr. Mortensen, I can't even *begin* to tell you how grateful I am," he said. "What you're doing is nothing short of saving my life."
"I'm just happy that I'm able to help you. Nobody should have to suffer the way you have." Viggo's voice was soft and gentle. "And as long as we're both careful, I imagine that you'll be completely safe here."
"I certainly hope so." Orlando paused. "Concerning the issue of compensation, I have some money I can give you. It's not an extraordinary amount, but I hope that it will be enough." He reached into his sack and pulled out what he had collected from the pawn broker.
"I can only accept a portion of what you have. Otherwise, you won't have money to pay your way when you finally find passage."
"But still, for housing and feeding me you deserve to be paid fairly. Especially considering the risk you're taking. I can't get a job to earn extra money because of the risk of being caught; in fact, I don't even think I can leave the apartment."
"No, you really can't," Viggo agreed sadly.
"So all I can give you is what's here," Orlando said, gesturing to the money.
"I think maybe a third of this should be enough," Viggo told him as he looked at what Orlando had.
"That sounds fair." Orlando counted out a third of the money and handed it to Viggo. "There you are."
"Thank you." Viggo looked at the clock. "I think it's time for dinner. Have you eaten at all since breakfast?"
"No," Orlando admitted, realizing for the first time that he was hungry. Food had been so scarce when he was on the run that he had learned not to let hunger gnaw at him.
"Well, I was going to broil some fish. I remember you saying something about not eating meat, though."
"Yes, I'm a vegetarian."
"Would a cheese sandwich and some salad do? It's not much, but it's what I have. I'm not used to stocking food for two people," Viggo told him apologetically.
"A sandwich and salad sounds wonderful. To be honest, just the fact that I'm eating a meal is enough for me."
"Good. Well then, why don't you put your bag in the bedroom where you stayed last night, and I'll get dinner going."
"Alright. Thank you again, Mr. Mortensen."
"You know, now that we're going to be living together I think we can afford to call each other by our first names."
Orlando smiled. "Well, then thank you, Viggo."
"You're welcome, Orlando."
After putting his sack in the spare room and quickly using the bathroom, Orlando walked to the kitchen where Viggo was preparing the fish. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Well, I can show you where the salad ingredients are if you want to put that together."
"Okay."
Soon the two men were standing at the counter, working side-by-side in a peaceful silence as they prepared dinner. As Viggo seasoned the fish, Orlando found himself studying the other man. There was a small green stain on Viggo's hand that Orlando reasoned had to be paint; the forearms revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt were surprisingly muscular, and there were calluses on his fingers. Perhaps Viggo was a laborer, someone who painted houses. He had to admit that he was curious about the man who was putting his own safety on the line to protect him, but at the same time he didn't want to be impolite by asking too many questions.
When dinner was ready, they sat at the table and immediately heard the patter of paws as Milo came trotting into the kitchen. The dog sat down and looked back and forth between Orlando and Viggo as if gauging which man was more likely to give him some of their food. Finally, he fixed his gaze on Orlando: two pairs of big brown eyes staring at each other. Viggo chuckled when Milo got impatient and whimpered.
"If you really want to, you can give him a scrap or two. He's well-fed, but he still begs all the time."
Orlando tore off a tiny corner of his sandwich and held it out for the basset hound. "Here you go, Milo." The dog quickly gobbled it up and then went back into the living room.
"He likes you," Viggo observed. "He's usually very wary around new people, but he took to you at once."
"Dogs are wonderful. They have more love to give than any other creature on earth."
"Except for children," Viggo said softly. "Children are the most wondrous creatures."
"I'll have to take your word on that. I've never had children, only dogs."
"Did you have a dog in Germany? I mean . . . sorry. You don't have to talk about that."
"No, it's alright," Orlando told him. "I had a wonderful dog named Maude. But she's safe and in a good home. Before leaving Berlin, we gave her to a neighbor who we knew would take good care of her."
"What kind of dog is she?"
"A mutt." Orlando smiled fondly as he speared some lettuce with his fork. "She adopted us more than we adopted her. We were probably the only people in Germany with a dog named Maude."
"May I ask you a question?" Viggo said hesitantly.
"Of course."
"Why did you stay in Berlin for so long? Things have been going steadily downhill for Jews in Germany for the better part of a decade."
Orlando sighed. "Because we thought it would pass. Nobody believed that it would get as bad as it did, that businesses would be taken away and synagogues destroyed, that children wouldn't be able to go to school. Every time a new law was passed, we felt more and more helpless. But still, my girlfriend loved Berlin. Her family was there, her friends . . . she didn't want to leave, I didn't want to leave her, and we truly believed that everything would turn out alright in the end."
"I can't even imagine what you had to live with," Viggo murmured. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."
"Don't apologize," Orlando said. "If I didn't want to talk about it, I wouldn't have answered the question."
"Still, it was insensitive of me to ask you about what you've been through."
"Viggo, please don't worry about it," Orlando assured him.
"Alright."
There was an awkward silence for a few minutes as the men continued eating. "So," Orlando said finally, "would you tell me a little about yourself? After all, you already know most of my life story."
Viggo chuckled. "I suppose that's only fair. What would you like to know?"
"Anything."
"Well, you already know that I was born in New York and moved here in my twenties. I had some odd jobs while I tried to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and I finally settled on being an artist."
"An artist?" Orlando asked, intrigued. "Like a painter?"
"Yes, I paint canvases. My style is mainly abstract. I also write a bit of poetry, and I published a book of my poems several years ago."
"That's impressive," Orlando told him. "It's wonderful that you can make a living doing something you love."
"Yes, I feel very lucky in that respect. Art is my passion; it's my life."
"I love art. I used to sculpt when I was a bit younger."
"Really? Why did you stop?"
"I discovered the theatre," Orlando said with a smile. "And I never looked back."
"So you're an actor?"
"I *was* an actor in Berlin. Nothing major, just several small productions. But then I was blackballed for being Jewish, and that was the end of that."
Viggo shook his head. "The Nazi policies are absolutely incomprehensible to me."
"You mean fixing the 'Jewish problem'?" Orlando laughed bitterly. "Those policies should be incomprehensible to any decent person, but unfortunately, decent people are in short supply these days. Many people we believed to be our friends turned their backs on us when we needed help. We asked a number of them to hide us and they all refused." He sighed. "Which makes your agreeing to take me in all the more remarkable. You're risking your safety for a complete stranger."
"I'm simply doing what I think is right," Viggo told him, his eyes reflecting
incredible compassion. Orlando was struck once again by the unfettered
kindness of the other man. "There was no way I could refuse to help
you last night. I know what you're
running from, and I certainly won't turn you away and force you to
be at risk like
that."
"Well, I know I've said it many times before, but thank you. Thank you for giving me shelter. Thank you for keeping me alive."
"You're welcome." Viggo smiled, and Orlando found himself smiling
as well. He had believed that he couldn't trust anybody, but he knew
now that he was wrong. He could trust Viggo.
