The Whaler

by Ines Thorn

  “Now don’t go thinking you’re special. At sea, everyone has to be there for everyone else. The others would have done the same for me. Or for you.”

  Maren laughed softly. She knew that it wasn’t true. After all, she had been the only one willing to jump in the water after him. But she also knew that the captain wouldn’t want to be reminded of that.

  “You don’t have to work anymore either,” he grumbled. “Everyone saw that you’re expecting a child. No one shall say that I took advantage of a woman who was with child.”

  Maren smiled again and put both hands on her belly.

  “You can have the cabin until we reach Amsterdam. As soon as I’ve recovered, I’ll move into the wardroom with Zelda. And I hope by God that it won’t be for long.”

  “Aren’t we on the way home?” Maren asked.

  “No. The sea has frozen around us. That idiot of a first mate was focused on caring for the sick, and in his concern, he ignored the approaching storm front. Now we’re caught in the ice.”

  Shock went through Maren’s body like a bolt of lightning. She was a Sylt girl. She knew what it meant for a ship to be caught in the ice.

  Then Zelda returned with the hot soup. Maren studied her as she approached. She was pale and had dark circles under her eyes, and her cheeks seemed hollow.

  “The provisions!” she said fearfully in realization. “There aren’t enough, are there?”

  “Don’t worry about that. There’s enough for you and your child,” Zelda replied, and Maren knew immediately that Zelda was suffering from hunger.

  She drank a few sips of the hot broth and then gave the cup to Zelda. “You should have some too. You need it just as much as I do.”

  Zelda glanced at the cup covetously, but then she swallowed and shook her head. “If you can’t finish it, give it to the captain. He’s still very weak.”

  Maren nodded and was about to hand him the cup, but the captain shook his head determinedly. “You’re with child. If anyone must eat and drink, it’s you.”

  Maren swallowed. She knew very well what it meant to be hungry. She had often been hungry, but never so much that it had been a question of life and death. And although neither Zelda nor the captain mentioned it, she knew how the crew was feeling.

  “Will the ice melt soon?” she asked quietly.

  Zelda shook her head. “No. It’s gotten colder. Our only hope is that another ship will find us.”

  “But how will they get to us through the ice?”

  She shrugged, and Maren realized how demoralized the older woman was when she saw the gesture of futility.

  “You’re scared, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Yes, but this isn’t about me. I’ve lived my life. But you and your child . . . I’m worried for you.”

  All at once, a wave of pain rolled over Maren’s body, and she felt a flood of wetness between her legs.

  “Something . . . something’s happening to me!” she stammered. Zelda lifted up the blanket and saw a greenish fluid. She smiled, but there was sadness in her expression too.

  “Your baby is coming,” she whispered.

  Another wave went through Maren. She grimaced and reached for Zelda’s hand. “Please don’t leave me alone,” she said.

  Zelda gently extricated her hand. “We need hot water and clean cloths. Don’t be afraid. I’ll be right back.” She squeezed Maren’s hand and then left the cabin, and Maren, rigid with fear, didn’t dare to move.

  “Is it his?” An annoyed voice broke her paralysis. “Is it Thies Heinen’s child?”

  “Who else’s could it be?” Maren hissed, and let out a muffled cry because it felt as though her entire lower body was being squeezed.

  “Then you truly love him?”

  Maren hesitated. In the last weeks, she hadn’t thought about Thies very much. But that was surely because she hadn’t had a single peaceful moment on this damnable ship. “Of course I love him,” she declared in a steady voice. “We will be married as soon as I return to Sylt.”

  At that, the captain turned toward the wall. “If you prefer, I can leave,” he said. “I’m sure I can find a corner somewhere.”

  “No!” The word was out faster than Maren’s thoughts. “No, please, stay with me.” She didn’t know exactly why it seemed vital for him to stay, but it was doubtlessly so.

  “Why? I won’t be much help.”

  “But . . . but somehow I feel . . . safer . . . when you’re around.”

  Captain Boyse laughed. “So far, I haven’t had that impression. You saved my life, and not the other way around. If anything, I should be the one to feel safer in your presence.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Maren said with her teeth clenched. “When you’re here, nothing can happen to me.”

  Then Zelda returned. She turned back the covers and pushed Maren’s clenched knees apart. “It will take a while,” she said, sounding sure.

  “How do you know that?” Suddenly Maren was afraid. Afraid that her child would be born dead, afraid that she herself would die, out here on the icy Arctic sea.

  “In my profession, it’s easy to get with child. And there’s usually not enough money for a midwife. Believe me, I’ve delivered more babies than you can imagine.”

  Zelda felt Maren’s round belly, mopped the cold sweat from her brow, and held her hand during each contraction. The captain, still shivering with fever, asked how she was doing every now and then.

  They passed many hours that way, with Maren’s cries coming at regular intervals and shaking them out of their reveries. And then Maren felt as though she would be torn apart from the inside out.

  Zelda sat between her spread knees. “It’s coming,” she said. “I can see the head. It won’t be long now.”

  But then the child turned: the head disappeared, and a tiny foot became visible. Zelda reached for the foot gently and moved it carefully, but Maren screamed as though she were being stabbed.

  “What’s wrong?” Captain Boyse asked. He sat up and looked at Zelda.

  “The baby. It’s in the wrong position. I have to try to turn it.”

  “No, no,” Maren whimpered. “I’m going to die. I won’t survive it.” Her body stiffened and she screamed, and Zelda wiped the sweat off her brow with her lower arm.

  “You have to help me, Captain. You have to hold her.”

  Boyse got up and came to the straw pallet, and put Maren’s head in his lap and held her by the shoulders.

  Zelda took a deep breath. “You have to be strong now, Maren.” Then she put one hand on Maren’s lower abdomen and the other at the top of her belly. She pushed and pulled, kneaded and tugged, and sweat ran freely down her face. Maren was stiff with fear and horror.

  “Help me!” Zelda cried. “You have to push now!”

  The captain held her by the shoulders and encouraged her. “I’ll count to three, and then you push. One, two, three!”

  Maren tried, pushed as hard as she could, but nothing happened.

  “And again,” Zelda said, and once more the captain counted for her. Maren had no more strength; she’d been suffering terrible pain for so many hours.

  “Do it! One more time!” The captain urged her on as he had the oarsmen on the whaleboat.

  Maren gathered her last bit of strength and pushed, and she felt something slide out of her.

  “Yes, yes! Good!” Zelda cried. She caught the baby and slapped it once on the bottom to make it cry.

  Maren sank back in exhaustion.

  Boyse rubbed her shoulders. “Good girl,” he said.

  Then Zelda washed the baby, swaddled it in a warm blanket, and laid it on Maren’s chest. “She’s so small and delicate,” Zelda said.

  “Will she live?” Maren asked fearfully.

  Zelda didn’t answer her. The captain spoke instead. “Yes. She will live. I’ll see to it.”

  With a smile, he put on his boots as he gazed at the little girl sleeping calmly at Maren’s breast. “First, we must christen her,” he sa
id. “I’ll get something for the young mother to eat.”

  CHAPTER 21

  Maren would never have imagined that the tiny baby would melt the hard hearts of the sailors. The news of the birth had spread through the ship like wildfire, and they were overwhelmed by a flood of visitors. Jakob came and brought her a piece of smoked meat.

  “I . . . I thought you’d need something for your strength,” he stammered.

  Maren knew that he’d practically had to cut the meat from his own ribs, and she accepted it gratefully.

  Then Raik came, bringing a pullover made of woman’s hair. “You can wrap the little one in this,” he said. “My sister made it for me out of her own hair.”

  Maren was grateful for this too and thanked him warmly. Then the first mate came, accompanied by two sailors who were carrying a brazier full of coals.

  “This is to keep the little one warm,” they said, and Maren knew that the brazier was from the pilothouse, and those who worked there would be even colder now.

  Most of the time, Zelda was at her side. “The baby arrived too soon,” she repeated. “We have to help her drink. She might not be able to nurse by herself.”

  It was true. Maren held the baby to her breast, but she fell asleep immediately. Zelda gently stroked one of Maren’s swollen nipples, caught a few drops of milk on her fingers, and gave it to the child. Otherwise, the baby slept. Maren squeezed her tightly against her body to warm her, and although she was very delicate, she seemed to be at peace in her arms.

  Sometimes Zelda bathed her and rubbed her with whale oil afterward. It stank, but it helped to protect the baby’s skin against the cold.

  Then, when the child was a week old and had finally learned to nurse, Captain Boyse called everyone on deck on a very cold, sunny morning. Maren and the baby were summoned too. Before they left Amsterdam, Boyse had asked a priest to bless the brig. He still had a bottle of holy water on board. It was intended for giving last rites to the dying, but this was an important occasion.

  Right before the christening, the captain returned to the cabin. He stood undecidedly by Maren’s bed, and then kneeled down by the straw pallet and peered thoughtfully at the little one. How gentle his face had suddenly become! He even smiled as he carefully stroked the baby’s cheek with one finger.

  “Do you have everything you need?” he asked Maren.

  “I have more than I need,” she replied. “Everyone has been so kind to me.” She paused and swallowed the lump in her throat. “No one has been cruel or complained. Even though she is illegitimate, and I am a woman who lost her virtue.”

  Boyse nodded. “What name do you intend to give her?”

  Maren had been thinking about it carefully. At first, she’d wanted to name the baby Finja, after her mother. But then she’d changed her mind. Her mother surely wouldn’t want to have an illegitimate child named after her. She had deliberated and had settled on the name Angret. She had no relatives with the name, so no one would feel as though they had been dishonored. And yet, Angret was a respectable name on Sylt.

  “Angret,” she said. “Just Angret.”

  Boyse grimaced.

  “You don’t like the name?”

  He took a deep breath. “That was my mother’s name.”

  Maren flinched. “I . . . I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “What didn’t you mean?”

  “I didn’t mean to name my illegitimate child after your mother.”

  All at once, the captain seemed to be annoyed. “I forbid you ever to call that child illegitimate again. You said that Thies is her father and that you love him. That means she’s a love child.” He paused. When he saw the look of shock on Maren’s face, he forced a smile onto his lips. “It would be lovely if your daughter had the same name as my mother.”

  Now Maren smiled too. She smiled hesitantly, but she squeezed the little girl against her and kissed her delicate head.

  “And the godparents? Who have you chosen?”

  Maren didn’t have to think long about that. “Zelda. I’d like to have Zelda as godmother.”

  The captain made a face again. “She’s a whore; you know that.”

  “She’s a friend. That’s what I know,” Maren replied.

  “You need two godparents.”

  Maren nodded. She had also deliberated about a godfather. She had thought about asking Raik, and then Jakob. But something inside her resisted those thoughts. She would have preferred Boyse himself to be the godfather, but she didn’t dare to ask him.

  “I don’t have a godfather for her,” she said instead. “Maybe Zelda will be enough.”

  “No, she’s not enough. You know that yourself. Godparents are there to care for a child if you can’t do it yourself. Think about how Zelda lives. And then think about who you would like to choose as a godfather.”

  “I’d like you to be the godfather.”

  The captain took a deep breath. “You didn’t want to marry me, but I’m good enough to be your child’s godfather?”

  Maren lowered her eyes. She knew without looking at him that he was still hurt by her rejection. But why? It couldn’t be because he loved her. If he did, he would have been nicer to her during all their months at sea. Although he’d been kind to her at times . . . He’d given her a place to sleep in his cabin and had helped to deliver her child.

  “That’s completely out of the question!” His words sounded harsh and determined. And Maren also heard the words that the captain hadn’t said but which echoed through the air between them anyway. I won’t be the godfather of an illegitimate child.

  She sighed. “Well, then I’d like to ask someone who lives on Sylt. Maybe old Piet.” She said it defiantly, wanting to provoke the captain, but he just nodded.

  “If Piet doesn’t want to, I’ll order the first mate to do it.”

  Order? Maren broke into tears. She was still weak from the birth, and she longed for home, longed for Thies and Finja. She didn’t know how she was going to make a living with her little girl. Her body hurt and her emotions were intense—and they made her cry. Now she wept all the tears she’d been holding in for months. She wept all the tears that were left inside her because Thies hadn’t been able to protect her from going on the voyage. She wept because her father was dead and because she was homesick. She wept and sobbed, and her shoulders quaked. The captain stood in front of her and observed her dispassionately, and Maren wished very much that he would take her in his arms and comfort her, but of course he didn’t.

  “Stop your weeping,” he said. “It won’t help.” Then he pointed to the little one. “It was your own choice. No one is responsible for your unhappiness but yourself.”

  Maren knew that what he said was true, and she cried all the harder because of it. The captain left the cabin, and she buried her face in her pillow, holding the small child tightly. Then Zelda came and helped her to get up and dress.

  “Hurry, the crew is already on deck, and a storm is coming.”

  A little later, Maren stood on the foredeck with the baby in her arms. First, Raik read Christ’s call to baptism from a battered Bible, warped from being soaked with seawater and drying out again. Then everyone on deck spoke a creed. There should have been a sermon, but who besides the captain could have given one? And he said nothing, only regarded the baby for a moment and then glanced at Maren’s eyes, which were puffy from crying. Then he asked Zelda and old Piet, who was delighted, if they would agree to be the godparents. Both godparents affirmed they would, and then the christening candle was lit. In this case, it was a beeswax candle from the wardroom.

  Then the captain opened the small bottle of holy water and dripped a little over the baby’s head. “I christen thee Angret, and give thee into the care and protection of God.”

  Afterward everyone congratulated Maren, and the first mate gave her a roll of parchment upon which he’d written Angret’s baptismal verse in his best calligraphy: Fear not, but speak and do not remain silent. For I am with thee, and no one
shall dare to do thee any harm.

  Maren hesitated a moment before taking it. The baptismal verse didn’t sound like it came from the Bible, but more like something the captain might have said to the child. But the first mate added that God had spoken the words to the apostle Paul during his ministry to the Corinthians, and that Zelda and Piet had chosen it.

  Finally, those who had gifts came forward. Raik had whittled a wooden rattle for Angret, Jakob brought a quart of yogurt, and Zelda offered a blanket made of soft wool, which she had been sleeping under herself every night. One sailor brought a jar of whale oil, and another brought a wooden comb, and another brought a ball made of rags. But the most beautiful gift of all on the christening day came from the men themselves. Maren saw their glowing eyes and their tender glances at the tiny baby, and one of them spoke the words that all the others were thinking. “Now that we have the little one, God can’t possibly let us perish in the ice. The child is hope. All shall be well.”

  CHAPTER 22

  They were stuck in the ice for two months, one week, and four days. The men became bored and would fight every now and then. They fought over the scarce drinking water and provisions, but whenever they saw Angret, they were calm and kind. In the meantime, the little one had grown strong enough to nurse normally. Her mother’s milk and the fresh sea air made her hardy, and she bloomed despite being born prematurely. But Maren herself had fallen into a kind of melancholy. As much as she wished to be at home on Sylt again, she was also afraid about what might be happening there. Christmas was coming, and she would miss it. She wondered if Thies still thought about her. She didn’t know.

  At last, one day the lookout in the crow’s nest shouted, “Ship ahoy!”

  All at once, the men came back to life. A few of them ran to their berths and packed their sea chests with clothing and blankets. Then they dragged the chests onto the deck, ready to throw them overboard onto the ice and abandon the Rán, seeking refuge on the other ship. Some men were already making their way over the ice to the unknown ship, which had a bow made of iron and was therefore safer among the floes. The others stood on deck, waiting, and then Captain Rune Boyse appeared.