'Who lives here?' I asked.
'Peer's sister,' Sunde replied. 'She's married to an Aurland man.' He pushed the kittens away with his boot and knocked again. The iron knocker made an empty sound on the wooden door. He looked down at the kittens who were sitting, mewing at him. 'They're hungry,' he said and beat violently on the door.
'Hva vil De?' called a voice. A fat woman with a white apron had come out of the neighbouring house. 'Men det er jo hr. Sunde,' she said.
'Hvar er?' he asked.
There followed a quick conversation in Norwegian. Finally Sunde broke a pane of glass and climbed in through the window, taking two kittens with him. I followed. 'Where are they?' I asked.
'They left early this morning,' he answered. 'Gerda, her husband, Peer and a stranger.'
'Farnell?'
He nodded, and led the way through to the kitchen. The kittens followed him, mewing plaintively. He poured some milk into a saucer and placed it on the wooden floor. 'They all had heavy packs and skis.' He opened the door of the food store and put a plate of fish on the floor for the kittens, together with the remains of the milk in a bowl. 'Gerda would never have left the kittens with nothing to eat unless she was upset.'
'But why did she go with them?' I asked.
'Why?' He laughed. 'You ain't got much idea of wot the mountings is like, eh? Olsen goes inter 'idin', see. Maybe 'e's makin' fer one of the turisthytten, maybe fer one o' the old saeters — that's our summer farms. Well, there ain't nobody up there this time of the year. It's all snow. So every bit o' food's got ter be taken up. That's 'ow we lived durin' the war. We lived in the mountings an' people like the Gundersens next door an' Gerda — yes, women as well as men — brought food up to us.' He went over to the kitchen range and put his hand up the chimney.