When no one asked any further questions, they proceeded back the way they came and stopped a few doors down. Sørensen opened the metal door but didn’t go in. The room was so small there wasn’t space enough for more than two or three people to stand. Two fold-down bunks were closed against one wall. Opposite them was a narrow, enclosed space that could be sealed off from the rest of the compartment. Its opaque fiberglass door lay open and one could see that it was a small bathroom. A sink and showerhead were mounted on the wall nearest the passageway, and a small “head” or ship’s toilet sat at the other end. The bathroom was about twice the size of a phone booth.
“Marcie and Jocelyn, these are your quarters. They are probably smaller than what you are accustomed to, but they are the finest available; you should consider this a ‘penthouse suite.’” The rucksacks belonging to the two girls were lying in one corner. The highly efficient crew had already distributed their belongings.
“The room across the hallway is identical and it is reserved for Morgan and Debbie. Aside from the captain’s quarters, these are the only spaces with private facilities.” He turned to Spencer and Jack, “You boys will sleep in the civilian bunkhouse with me and one other individual. There are eight berths there and only four are occupied, so it will not be so crowded. There is a communal water closet next door.” Sørensen paused to allow for questions. Once again there were none.
The four occupants of the ‘penthouse suites’ had gone into their rooms to unpack and the other three had left for the bunk room when the burly Dane stopped and assembled everyone together once again. “I have just remembered something important,” he said. “When the ship last stopped for provisions we could not take on fresh water. Now we are running dangerously low. Please use as little water as possible. Washing one’s face and teeth, drinking, and using the toilet are, of course, acceptable, but until the ship docks again in southern Greenland, and that won’t happen for several days after we leave, everyone must comply with strict water rationing.”
“This is so cool!” Marcie exclaimed. Sørensen had just left with Jack and Spencer in tow and she was taking measure of their accommodations. “Look, the whole bathroom, what there is of it, becomes the shower area. You can sit on the commode while you take a shower. And the bunks fold up against the wall to make room for us to sit and chat…what an efficient use of space.” She was grinning from ear to ear. “So, which bunk do you want? Upper or lower? I’d prefer the top one, but you can have it if you want. I really don’t care that much.”
“Fine, I’ll take this one,” Jocelyn said, sounding bored and pointing to the lower one.
“Great, thanks, Jossy.” Marcie immediately unfolded the bunk, hoisted up her rucksack and then ascended wall-mounted rungs to get into her sleeping nook. “Man, they gave us clean sheets and a heavy blanket, and look,” she said excitedly, “there’s a neat built-in reading lamp up here. This is so cool!” she repeated. “Dr. Sørensen said this was the penthouse suite. He got that right!”
Jocelyn was no stranger to the Spartan arrangements aboard ship. To her, the accommodations were indeed sparse and uninspiring. In a way she envied Marcie’s excitement, her thrill of discovery, but immediately discounted it for what it was: the ignorance and enthusiasm of youth.
Marcie bounced down from her perch and announced, “I’m gonna go to the break room. I bet some of the others’ll be there. You wanna come?”
“Nope”
“Okay, I’ll see you later, at dinner maybe.” Brimming with exuberance and a healthy sense of adventure, the young girl disappeared into the corridor leaving Jocelyn to her thoughts. The room went eerily silent save for the steady thrum of the ship’s engines.
Jocelyn hadn’t slept well in Reykjavik. She also hadn’t bothered to shower at the hotel. Putting up with her period—it had conveniently started on the plane flight from New York—and the hassles of an extended trip, had put her in a foul mood. The summer was becoming a nightmare. She ran her fingers through her long, blonde hair. It felt dirty and greasy. “God, I need a shower,” she muttered, “but I can’t because I can’t use any freakin’ water.” The irony of her situation made her angry. Why have a ‘penthouse suite’ with a shower if you weren’t allowed to use it.?
“Oh, screw it!” Jocelyn delved into her rucksack and extracted a bottle of scented shampoo. “I’m taking a quick shower, and if anyone objects, the heck with ‘em.”
The break room was indeed the social gathering place for the archeological passengers. Both Holloways, Jack Malinowski and Marcie Van Wormer milled around, snacking on a tray of cold cuts, cheese and fresh bread. The food was an impromptu ‘welcome aboard’ gift brought from the galley. Conspicuously absent was Spencer Bowen. Jack had informed the others that his roommate wanted to rest for a while before gracing them with his presence. A fresh pot of coffee rested in a binnacle-type holder to keep any sudden motions of the ship from spilling its contents. Debbie and Marcie opted to choose from a wide selection of teas stocked in a drawer beside the microwave.
Morgan sipped his beverage contentedly. He decided this would be a good opportunity to educate his young assistants about life on Eviskar Island and the nature of the encampment where they would be living in the near future. “As we sail onward towards what I believe will be the experience of a lifetime for all of you, I think it is appropriate to contemplate the trials of those who preceded us a thousand years ago. What an amazing journey it must have been for those intrepid Norsemen who braved these same waters, piloting their longboats through heavy seas for hundreds of miles searching for habitable land.” He looked at his watch. “By my reckoning, we’ve just crossed the Arctic Circle and we still have to go more than 700 miles further north. That reminds me; one of the main adaptations you’ll have to make is getting used to the lack of darkness. Some folks suffer from severe insomnia up there. I can pretty much guarantee, however, that all of you will be fine. Believe me, after a long day of very rewarding but backbreaking field work, a little sunlight won’t keep you from getting your requisite shuteye.”
Morgan continued on about the work they’d be doing and the excitement it would provide. Most of what he was saying they had already heard during gatherings in New York and Reykjavik and on the bus ride to Olafsvik. He was obviously really into his profession, and although the students were looking forward to their summer jobs, it was difficult for them to work up a high level of enthusiasm by just listening to him talk. They had to actually be there.
Jack and Marcie were leaning against the counter. Morgan’s back was to them, and while their leader droned on about excavation protocol, Jack explained to his young admirer the astronomical reason for the long northern summer days. Marcie was, to say the least, in heaven. Not only was her cabin on the ship the neatest accommodation she’d ever experienced, but Jack Malinowski was giving her his undivided attention.
In a page of Marcie’s notebook, Jack drew a circle to represent the Earth in cross-section and then ran two mutually perpendicular lines through its center. “Okay, say this is the Earth, this is its axis of rotation and this is the Equator,” he began, “You can see that if one’s latitude is high enough and if the Sun’s declination is high enough—that is, if their sum is greater than ninety degrees—then even when the Sun is on the other side of the Earth, at local midnight, it will still be above the northern horizon.
“The Sun’s maximum height above the Equator, its maximum declination, is about 23 ½ degrees. That means only at latitudes above 90 – 23 ½ or 66 ½ degrees can the phenomenon of twenty-four hours of daylight be observed. That latitude is called the Arctic Circle. Eviskar’s latitude is about 76 ½ degrees and that means the Sun’s center won’t set until August 17th. Also, due to the effect of atmospheric refraction and the fact that the Sun isn’t a point source, some part of the Sun will lie above the horizon for several days beyond that. Only in the last ten days or so of our stay there will we experience darkness.”
“Wow, that is so cool!” Marcie
exclaimed with her characteristic enthusiasm. The outburst, to her chagrin, was loud enough to interrupt Morgan. He turned around to face them.
“What’s so interesting?”
Thinking quickly, she responded, “Sorry, I just, um…what you were saying about the island…it sounds fascinating.”
Morgan beamed, “It is, isn’t it. Don’t worry, Marcie, in a matter of days we’ll be up to our ears in archeological work, and I promise, this summer will be one you’ll never forget.”
* * *
Jocelyn entered the break room just as Morgan’s speech was winding down and the others were preparing to leave. She wore a clean shirt and jeans, light deck shoes and her hair was wet, smelling of apricots. “Hi, everyone,” she said pleasantly, “did I miss anything?”
“Not really,” Morgan said, “we were merely brushing up on what we’ll be doing once we get to Eviskar—things you’ll be aware of soon enough.”
She spotted the tab of a tea bag draped over the side of Marcie’s cup. “Oh, man, I could so use a cup of hot tea. What kinds do they have?” She sidled over to the beverage drawer and began sorting through the contents.
Marcie leaned over and said in a half whisper, “Jossy, you didn’t take a shower did you? Don’t you remember what Dr. Sørensen said about the water shortage?”
“Relax, I didn’t use much. You’re such a worry wart. Nobody’ll even notice. All right!” She pulled a packet from the drawer, “orange-flavored green tea. Perfect, just what the doctor ordered.”
Light conversation and laughter filled the room as Jocelyn nuked a cup of water for her tea. Marcie gravitated away from her roommate to ask Jack more questions about daily light/dark cycles at high latitudes. She wanted to engage him in stimulating conversation before Jocelyn finished preparing her drink and inevitably tried to usurp his attention. Before she could speak to him, however, there was commotion in the hatchway.
Sørensen walked in followed closely by a slender, petite woman in uniform. Behind her was one of the crew, also in uniform. Sørensen bore a worried look and began to speak, but the woman stepped forward and cut him off.
Captain Katrine Magnussen came from a distinguished maritime family and wore the uniform of the Royal Danish Navy with extreme pride. Her blonde hair was tucked neatly under her cap, her black deck shoes shined like mirrors, and the uniform that she sported was immaculately pressed. Piercing blue eyes lined with fine crow’s feet attested to decades at the helm, enduring the effects of sun, wind and salt air. Although diminutive in size and delicately featured, the way she carried herself indicated that Magnussen was a solid, wizened mariner. A highly respected officer, she had a reputation not only for fairness and impartiality, but also of someone who harbored no tolerance for anyone who broke the rules. As commander of the Stjerne, she had absolute authority over all that took place on board, and she was about to demonstrate that authority in the civilian break room. Her laser-like gaze scanned the room and settled upon Jocelyn and her wet hair.
The captain addressed those in the room in Danish, pausing periodically for Sørensen to translate. “In the past half-hour there has been a noticeable drop in my ship’s potable water supply. This is unacceptable.”
Jocelyn knew the lecture was meant for her and she didn’t appreciate it one bit. Standing a good four inches taller than Magnussen, she wasn’t intimidated in the least. Taking a shower was no crime. The woman’s imperious attitude was insulting. “Just who do you think…”
Sørensen stepped in front of Jocelyn and interrupted. “I am very sorry, Captain Magnussen. Perhaps I, uh…perhaps I didn’t emphasize enough the gravity of the water situation in my introductory remarks to our passengers. I accept full responsibility. There will be no further problems; I assure you.”
Magnussen wasn’t listening. She stepped around Sørensen and stood two feet from Jocelyn. It was at that instant Jocelyn realized her mistake. The captain’s eyes were cold, almost encouraging the girl to escalate the encounter. The famous Clint Eastwood line "…go ahead, make my day," radiated telepathically through the captain’s gaze. Jocelyn fell silent.
“Any further rule violations will result in immediate incarceration. Our brig, for your information, is located opposite the main crew quarters and has a chain-link door—no privacy. It also does not have a water supply. All bodily wastes must be deposited in a steel canister, in full view of any passersby. Have I made myself clear?”
Jocelyn’s obduracy faded and she looked away, nodding meekly. Magnussen abruptly turned and headed for the bridge, her subordinate in tow. She had a ship to run and couldn’t waste any more time chastising passengers.
Sørensen breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He clasped his hands together in a beseeching gesture and said to everyone in the room, “I assure you; Captain Magnussen does not make idle threats.” He turned to Jocelyn, “Please do not antagonize that woman, Ms. Delaney. She is also the chief martial arts instructor on board, and I’m told that she and her husband are the fleet’s Tae Kwon Do sparring champions. We have little more than a day left in our voyage. Let us not cause any more trouble.”
* * *
Jocelyn remained in the break area after the others had left. Her mood was one of anger and self-pity. She was definitely jinxed. Trouble seemed to follow her wherever she went. Even the simple act of bathing was enough to get her in trouble. “What’s next?” she thought bitterly. “Will that bitch captain decide to execute me for breathing some of the ship’s precious air?” She suddenly had an overwhelming desire to go back home to Corpus Christi. The aggravations she’d experienced in just the first three days of this trip made her regret her decision to apply for this stupid program.
Spencer entered the room. He appeared to be in discomfort; his hair was tousled and he looked pale. “They got any Pepto Bismol in heah?” he asked as he took a seat at the table and buried his face in his hands.
Recognizing the unmistakable signs of seasickness, Jocelyn smiled, “Hi, Spence, you look a bit under the weather.”
“Yeah, it’s real funny; that’s why I’m laughin’.”
“You want me to ask Morgan for some Dramamine?” Spencer just shook his head. “C’mon, I’m just trying to help.”
“You’ve been enough help already. Jack told me all about it. If the captain had her way, we’d be swimmin’ to Eviskah Island. She’s pissed at all of us, not just you, even though you’re the one who broke the rules.”
“Hey, I took a shower, okay? It’s not like I killed someone or robbed a bank.”
He looked away. “Whateveh”
Jocelyn wouldn’t let it go. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be really smart, some kind of kid genius, I’d expect you to be more objective, Spencer.”
“Just leave me alone, would ‘ya. I’m not feelin’ a hundred percent right now.”
Her temper flared. “Well then, maybe you need something to eat, to get your mind off the miserable motion of the ship. I’ve been seasick before and I know what you’re going through, Spence: the headache, the shakes and especially the nausea. About all you can do is to hang in there and try not to think about it. I remember one time I was out in the Gulf on a friend’s boat when a squall rolled in. We must have been four or five miles out and the storm was between us and land. There was nowhere to go. We just hung on through twenty foot seas. Huge swells took us on a roller coaster ride. We’d get lifted up high and then we’d slam down into a trough, sending up a mountain of spray. One of the girls with us was a heavy smoker. Being in the confined cabin of that boat, sitting there nauseous and breathing that foul, second-hand smoke—it makes me queasy thinking about it.”
She paused to monitor his countenance. He was pale and swallowing repeatedly. His downcast expression indicated he was almost there. “I’m getting hungry,” she continued, “let’s see what’s in the fridge.” She bent down and opened the door of the small refrigerator that was under the counter. Stuffed within were numerous containers of food. Hardly a square inch o
f empty space remained—the unit hadn’t been cleaned in quite a while. She rummaged through an assortment of paper bags, Tupperware-type plastic tubs, beverage bottles and cans, most of which bore labels in indelible marker identifying their owners. Finally she found what she wanted. Stashed way in the back was a transparent re-sealable container, the contents of which had been long forgotten. She opened it and curled her nose. “Yech! Some people are so disgusting. I would never leave something like this in a public refrigerator. Look…” she shoved it under Spencer’s nose.
Weeks earlier the container had held some sort of casserole, a slice of pie or maybe some stew. It was now identifiable only as a decomposing organic mass covered with several types of mold. Greenish slime coated what had once been the entrée, while around the periphery and on the underside of the lid grew delicate feathery whiskers of something both beautiful and pungently aromatic.
What may have been a microbiologist’s delight proved too much for the ailing Spencer. “Noooo…” the poor boy groaned. He pushed away from the table and dashed for the trash can by the door.
He almost made it.
Marcie came back just in time to witness Spencer regurgitate the last of his lunch. “Spencer, are you okay?” she asked with concern.
Jocelyn stepped over a puddle of half-digested chum and slipped past Marcie, making her way to the door. “He’s just got a touch of ‘mal de mer.’” She looked back at Spencer with undisguised contempt. “Don’t worry about him; he’ll live.”
Eviskar Island Page 9