Norway: The Secret Bunker (cont.)

As I watched him turn his key in the heavy steel padlock, joking about the Nazi skeletons we would soon step over inside the bunker, Kari pulled a cell phone from her purse to provide meager illumination once we entered the inky darkness. I was the first to cross the threshold. Maneuvering through a labyrinth of narrow rooms that 60 years ago held an array of weapons, ammunition, and emergency rations, he continued to try to spook the girls, periodically turning off his own tiny light or stopping suddenly in mock trepidation.

“Did you hear that?” he would whisper with barely disguised glee.

The experience was slightly eerie at first, but I was genuinely hoping to see more than we encountered. There was considerably less to fascinate or frighten than I had expected. Moving ahead of the three of them, I anxiously peered into room after room only to find the majority empty. Part of the space had been converted into a makeshift gymnasium within, and, to my disappointment, our path led us past worn floor mats and dusty trophy cases rather than forgotten drums of heavy water or desks littered with once classified intelligence documents. Apparently he had trained some of his kung fu students here and knelt down to proudly dust off a small photo album filled with pictures of smiling teenagers in stiff white uniforms. Lacking any real curiosities to appreciate, our expedition eventually decided to head home to bed. Obligingly he led us back through the subterranean complex. 

As he pulled the heavy chain back across the door behind us, our guide abruptly paused. Following his gaze down to the ground, I noticed several stacks of roofing tiles at his feet by the entrance. In the stillness of the pre-dawn, I could almost hear the cogs in his mind turning. A good host couldn’t let our only night in town end prematurely—and here at last, a chance to back up hours of martial arts bravado with a flashy demonstration.

“How many of these do you think I can break?” he asked with a grin. “Two, three… four maybe?”

Bending over to inspect their thickness more closely, he straightened carrying a stack of four reddish tiles, and generously offered them to me. Now at this point I would have been happy to walk back down the hill to Kari’s apartment and climb into bed, but I could see that wasn’t an option. The curtain was already up, my co-star patiently waiting for the next line. Trying my best to seem nonchalant, I took the cold clay shingles in my clammy palms.

“Like this?” I replied hesitantly, hoping he would interpret my response as a plea for mercy. No such luck.

“Yes, that’s good,” he informed me, adjusting the space between us in order to maximize the force of his blow. “Just watch your head.”

Not exactly the words of reassurance I needed to hear. With no other instructions to follow, I assumed a defensive stance, my left leg slightly behind the right, tiles held in outstretched arms in front of my all-too-vulnerable torso. Preparing for the worst, I turned my face away from the anticipated point of contact and wondered what it would feel like to try to fill your lungs with air after your sternum had been cracked by a sharp kick in the chest from a black belt. And while the girls looked on with obvious concern, neither made any motion to prevent the inevitable. I may have closed my eyes.

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