The Rat Chatcher - Max Manus - Bog

The rain splashes down, and the same strange old feeling explodes in his chest. The memories come and go as he trudges along the streets in the dark autumn night. In a particularly dark place in the street, he stops for a moment, and as he pretends to pull his raincoat tighter around his neck, he takes a good look around.
Not spotting any people, he slips his hand under his armpit. He moves the gun from his armpit into his coat pocket. It's nice to feel the wonderful sense of security that the touch of a gun always gave him. His cigarette has gone out a long time ago, he puts the rain soaked stub in his mouth, however reluctantly he wants to, he has to spit out the remains.
He dreams more and more back to the time when it was serious. The time when he had a task, and life really seemed to have meaning. How far it was, and yet so damned close. Tonight he feels more intensely than ever how lonely he is, and how foolish his whole life seems to him.his life which for five long years he has fought so hard to preserve.
His innate sense of humour is slowly starting to help him get back on track. Although it'a chore, he stops and unbuttons his coat so he can reach into his trouser pocket for his cigarettes and matches. With his cigarette lit again, he felt significantly better and saw the situation a little brighter.