In the evening, Kåre took us across the way to meet his brother, Amund. Though their homes were separated only by a narrow island road, we were about to learn their lives were divided by a chasm that could never be breached.

It was milking time, and we found Amund in a small barn seated at the side of a swaybacked, red Norwegian cow. Armand continued to pump milk into a nearly full bucket while conversing with my grandfather in Norwegian. Distracted by his visitors and the occasional swipe of the cow’s long wet tail, he failed to react quickly enough to keep “Bossy” from lifting up her hind foot and planting it squarely in the middle of the bucket. Unfazed, he flashed a wry smile and kept milking. He had my sympathy because I had experienced the same misfortune while milking cows on my grandfather’s farm.

As we returned to Kåre’s house, he surprised us by talking about the strained relationship with his brother. He said it was important for us to meet Amund, but he would otherwise avoid him. They spoke only if necessary. In fact, most of the islanders ignored Amund because, as Kåre explained, he was a “Quisling.”

Vidkum Quisling was a Norwegian Fascist politician. When Germany invaded Norway in April 1940, Quisling seized power in a Nazi-backed coup d’etat and collaborated with the Germans. After the war, he was executed by a ring squad made up of what some said were the ten most envied men in Norway. The word “Quisling” became synonymous with “traitor.”

It was not clear if Amund was a Nazi sympathizer or if he had any choice. But while many Norwegians participated in a heroic underground resistance, Amund worked for the Germans. They placed him in charge of a farm called Bodin Gard, which produced food for the German Army. For that he was well paid by the Nazis but scorned by his fellow Norwegians.

Twenty-two years after World War II ended, the people of the island had still not made peace with him.