We, the Drowned

by Carsten Jensen

  Then something seemed to be happening out there. The tiny figures stood up in the boat, waving their arms. They bent forward, as if they were struggling with something. Had they found him?

  Herman called out to Helmer in the rigging. "Do you see anything?"

  "I think they've got him!" Helmer began waving with one hand, as if welcoming Ivar back to the land of the living.

  It was unclear what happened next. The figures bent forward even more, almost disappearing over the side, and the lifeboat rocked perilously from the sudden imbalance. Then they straightened up again. Only one of them remained crouched. Again Herman called out to Helmer. "What's happening now? Have they got him?"

  While he waited for the reply, he felt neither fear nor its opposite. If Ivar made it, he made it. Life went on regardless of what happened out there on the water. Herman was calm and openly indifferent.

  "I think..." Helmer hesitated and narrowed his eyes. "I think they've lost him again ... at any rate, I can't see him." They were still lying against the wind. The sails flapped in the storm.

  The lifeboat started circling again. It did so for a while, before heading back to the ship. Bager was the first to climb on board. He held his hand to his chest and he was pale. Miss Kristina followed him. She buried her face in her father's shoulder. She was shaking all over and sobbing loudly. Bager held her tight. He put his arm around her shoulder and led her down to his cabin, a clenched fist pressed to his chest, his mouth a thin line that cut across his anguished face.

  Herman called Knud Erik over. "What happened?" he asked.

  "We found him. He'd managed to stay afloat, but he was half-drowned and his eyes were strange."

  "Strange?"

  "Well, I don't know what to call it. As though it wasn't him. Like he'd gone mad. When we tried to pull him on board, he just thrashed about. We couldn't get a firm grip under his arms. So we started pulling at him—well, and then it just happened."

  "What happened?"

  "Well, his oilskins must have opened up. He slipped out of them. Suddenly all we were holding were the empty sleeves." Knud Erik's voice grew thick and he struggled to carry on. "He went right down. We never saw him again. But we'd just held him. We'd looked into his face. I was closer to him than I am to you now. He was saved. And then..." He stopped and gave Herman a peculiar look. "But that's what you wanted, wasn't it?" He shook his head and turned away.

  Herman looked long and hard after him. Then his attention was caught by a loud slamming noise. It was the flying jib, still flapping in the storm. He called out across the deck. "We still have a flying jib that needs taking in. Any volunteers?"

  Helmer was hanging in the rigging. Herman ordered him down and told him to get lunch going. There was a ship to be sailed and life had to go on.

  Herman started thinking about what Knud Erik had said, and the peculiar look he'd given him. He had a feeling that the boy had looked straight through him. He remembered Kristian Stork's warning about Anton Hansen Hay, who'd found the skull of his stepfather. The boy might know something. Those blasted kids had stared at him until he was driven half crazy and had to leave town. But nothing had ever come out. Surely that story was long forgotten?

  He took his lunch with the three boys. The mood was edgy and they ate in silence. He made a mental note to put them back on their old rations, since Ivar was no longer around to speak up for them. "Does anyone here have something to say?" he asked.

  Helmer cowered and concentrated on his food. Herman looked at Knud Erik and Vilhjelm. They both shook their heads.

  "We lost a mate today," Herman said. "It's happened before and it'll happen again. That's life at sea. There are good sailors and then there are those who aren't so good..." He let the last sentence hang in the air.

  "Ivar was a good sailor," Knud Erik said.

  Herman felt like lashing out at the boy, but he controlled himself. "It was the sea," he said soothingly. "When the sea's in that mood, there's nothing to be done." Even he could hear the hollowness of his words. "But you'd got hold of Ivar. What happened? Did he panic?" Knud Erik shook his head, unwilling to reply. Herman knew that he'd hit a weak spot. After all, they'd found Ivar. He could have been saved—but he'd sabotaged his own rescue. A good sailor, yes. Was this how a good sailor behaved when his life was at stake? Knud Erik might suspect a murderer in Herman, but the boy had also seen the coward in Ivar, and this made him less certain of his accusation. Herman repeated the question. "Did he panic?" The silence that followed the question was an answer in itself.

  When Helmer got up to take coffee to Bager's cabin, Knud Erik looked up, his eyes dangerously defiant. "I'm going to tell the skipper everything," he said.

  "Tell him what? You were asleep in the fo'c'sle." Herman's voice was calm.

  "Vilhjelm knows it too. We'll tell Bager."

  "That old story?" Herman laughed. "All of Marstal has spent the past fifteen years wondering if I killed Holger Jepsen." He flung out his arms and laughed again. "And look! I'm still here!"

  Helmer returned with the plates from the skipper's cabin. Neither Bager nor Miss Kristina had touched their food. "Skipper wants a word with you," he said.

  Herman stood up. Once on deck he breathed in deeply. He had to focus and direct his energy. He had no idea what he was going to say. The survival instinct that he depended on was about to be tested again. He saw Miss Kristina standing by the helm next to Vilhjelm. He'd be alone with Bager. That was probably for the best.

  He opened the door to Bager's cabin and stepped over the high threshold. He'd been there before, but it felt as if he was seeing it for the first time. His eyes scanned the framed family photographs screwed to the bulkhead. Above the leather-covered couch was a bolted-on shelf filled with books. Finally his eyes rested on the skipper. Bager had undergone a dramatic change. He was still clutching his chest with one hand, and with the other he gripped the table as if to keep himself from sliding off the couch. He'd grown even paler, and his eyes had sunk deep into his head. His thin hair was damp, and tiny beads of sweat had formed on his hairline. He blinked nervously.

  Herman remained standing right inside the door. Straightening his back, he made his voice as formal as possible. When it came to willpower, he was stronger than Bager. He had never doubted that, and at this moment it was clearer than ever. But the captain outranked him. He had to impress and intimidate, but he couldn't show disrespect for the hierarchy he was bound to uphold, no matter how much he despised its chief representative. He was no mutineer.

  "You wanted to speak to me," he said.

  Bager looked down at the table as though he'd forgotten what he'd wanted to say and was now looking for it in the grain of the lacquered wood. Then he loosened his grip on the edge of the table and let the palm of his hand glide across the surface. Suddenly he slammed the table hard, as if signaling to himself that now was the time to talk. He looked up and fixed his eyes on Herman, but the nervous blinking continued.

  "A serious accusation has been made against you," he said, and stopped, as though awaiting a reaction from Herman. Herman simply looked at him. It would be funny if he suddenly started quoting from the Book of Sermons, he thought.

  Bager looked away before focusing again on Herman, clearly overcoming his reluctance. "Someone..." He hesitated as he struggled to find the right word. "Someone ... someone whose word I have no reason to doubt claims that you deliberately endangered Ivar's life when he went out on the bowsprit to take in the flying jib."

  He stopped, exhausted, and waited for a reply. Herman didn't react but remained standing, as calm as before. Bager wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, sweeping a few strands of sweat-soaked hair so they stood upright. His lost face took on a comical resemblance to a big question mark.

  Herman said nothing, and Bager had to break the silence again. "You were at the helm, and the moment Ivar was out on the bowsprit, you changed course so the ship fell off and the stem dove under."

  Herman took a step forward. Bager
jumped. "Who says so?"

  "That's none of your concern. Besides, it's not for you to ask the questions. I'm holding this inquiry. Remember your place!" Again Bager wiped his forehead with the handkerchief. For a moment he seemed to be listening to something that was going on elsewhere, and Herman began to wonder if it was this situation that was scaring him or something else altogether. Then Bager spoke again.

  "Not only have you acted irresponsibly and contrary to all good seamanship, but everything suggests that you changed course on purpose."

  "What are you trying to imply?" Herman could no longer control himself. Positioning his hands on the table, he leaned menacingly toward his captain.

  Bager pressed one hand against his chest. He was panting now, and had completely given up on mopping the sweat from his forehead. His hair was still standing up. But his voice was calm. "I'm not implying anything. No, I'm putting it to you directly that you killed Ivar." He stopped to catch his breath, which was coming in long, wheezing gasps. Herman stood frozen, still pressing his weight on the table.

  Bager got his breath back. "There will be a maritime inquiry in Copenhagen. The truth will come out there, I can promise you that."

  "It's Miss Kristina, isn't it? She's been telling you a pack of lies! Fucking bitch. He panicked. That's why he drowned. He was a weakling. There's no room for his sort at sea. That's all there is to it. That's all I've got to say on the matter." Herman's face was now dangerously close to the captain's. He had to suppress the urge to grab hold of him and throw the skinny old man's body against the bulkhead.

  Bager was looking at him, but his eyes seemed distant. The sweat was streaming down his pallid forehead. Again he looked as if he was listening to something far, far away, barely aware of Herman's presence.

  "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?" Herman roared. "It was that bitch. She'd got the hots for him!" He didn't care what he said. He'd lost his head but still kept control of his hands, though the effort made his whole body shake. Surely the old fool knew he was playing with fire? How much more would he have to put up with? "Are you saying I'm a murderer?" he thundered, and felt how liberating it was to say the words out loud. A feeling of righteous indignation welled up in him, and he regained his self-control.

  The captain's face remained unchanged. His gaze was still intensively fixed on some distant point: it seemed to preoccupy him. Suddenly he inhaled deeply and something like a hiccup or the beginning of a belch escaped him. His facial muscles tensed, his eyes widened, and his lower lip grew slack. Then he slumped forward, and his head thumped onto the table right between Herman's hands.

  Herman leapt back. He stared down at the captain's hair, which fell in thin strands across a scalp as gray as parched earth. He stuck out his hand and checked Bager's pulse. He felt it fade and stop. Then he ran up the ladder and out onto the deck.

  Vilhjelm was at the helm, with Knud Erik standing next to him. There was no sign of Miss Kristina. She was probably in the galley with Helmer. He went over to the two boys. "Do you have a problem with dead bodies?"

  They stared at him, baffled. He pointed to Knud Erik. "You're coming with me." He led him back to Bager's cabin. Knud Erik froze when he saw the figure slumped across the table.

  "What happened?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Is he dead?"

  "I've looked for his pulse. I couldn't find one, so I suppose he is." Knud Erik's shoulders started to shake. "We need to put him in his berth," Herman said. He took hold of Bager under the arms while Knud Erik slid an arm under his legs: together they pulled him sideways off the couch and carefully laid the skinny body in the berth. The eyes were still wide open. So was the mouth. Herman closed the dead man's eyes and pressed his jaw shut. "This was an accident." Aware that Knud Erik was staring at him, he shot him a challenging look. Knud Erik looked away. "Trouble always comes in twos," he added. He said it to placate him. He could speak only in platitudes now: meaningless phrases, tired expressions. Yet there was something soothing about uttering them, as if he wanted to console not just Knud Erik but himself. Bager's death had scared him: it was as if the captain had suddenly shouted "Boo!" in his face. Not that he'd miss him. He'd instantly realized that Bager's death was nothing but an advantage for him. He'd avoid a lot of unpleasant accusations. "I need to speak to Miss Kristina," he said, and went up the ladder.

  Knud Erik followed. Herman opened the door to the galley. She was there, huddled on the little bench. Helmer was standing by the stove with his back to her. She looked up at them. Her face was pale, grimy, and red-eyed. The salt water had flattened her hair, and it stuck to her head in messy clumps.

  "Miss Kristina," he said. "I need to speak to you. It's about your father."

  "My father?" she asked, uncomprehending.

  "Let's go outside." He stepped aside so she could pass through the galley door. She obeyed without asking further questions. There was a somnambular quality to her movements. He led her to the rail on the lee side. Facing each other, they gripped the rail while the ship heaved and dipped on the heavy sea. He didn't know what would happen next, but he was aware of his own tension. Would she break down? Or would she fly into a wild rage and hurl fresh accusations at him? The uncertainty he always felt in her presence was back, but magnified a thousandfold. Could he handle this?

  With great effort he made his voice matter-of-fact. "Miss Kristina," he heard himself say. "I'm terribly sorry to be the one to deliver this sad message to you, but your father has just died. He had a heart attack."

  He didn't look at her as he spoke but kept his eyes cast downward, hoping she'd interpret it as a sign of sympathy and respect for her grief. But he knew deep down it was uncertainty that stopped him from meeting her eye. He felt that he'd already lost the game and that something terrible was about to blow up in his face, a chain reaction of unstoppable events that would sweep him to his doom.

  He'd spoken and then awaited her reaction. But nothing happened. Unable to bear the wait, he looked up. She was still facing him. Her expression remained unchanged, as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said.

  What happened next came as a total surprise to him. She took a step forward and bowed her head. Then she rested her forehead on his shoulder and started to cry. For a few seconds he stood stock-still, his arms dangling at his sides. Then he embraced her, swaying steadily to the ship's roll, so they wouldn't lose their balance and fall onto the wet deck. Everything in him opened up all at once, and the uncertainty that had gripped him a minute earlier was transformed into a feeling of triumph that surged like an erupting geyser.

  They stood like that for a while. He could have stayed there forever. He felt his own strength, and the light pressure of her forehead. He stroked her wet, tangled hair and muttered a stream of comforting, meaningless sounds. An unexpected bond had been created between them. He had no idea how. But it was there. He felt it so strongly that he responded with an upsurge of tenderness. It was like embracing a child.

  "Come," he said. "It's time for you to see your father." He escorted her to the door of the cabin before opening it for her. "I think it's best if you have some time alone with him," he said gently.

  Then he relieved Vilhjelm at the helm.

  ***

  He ordered more sails to be set. He sailed hard. The ship tilted from the pressure of the wind till the rail was nearly level with the sea. He could see the boys' unease, but nobody said anything. He called them over. "Bager's dead. I'm the captain now."

  Then he was alone at the helm again. He felt the power of the sea travel through the wheel into his hands. The tenderness he'd felt settled and became a certainty. She was his. It was irrevocable.

  He thought about the dead man in the cabin. Most of all he wanted to wrap the body in canvas and ease it overboard without too much ceremony, but he knew he wouldn't get away with that. St.-Malo wasn't the nearest port, but if the wind lasted and he continued to sail hard, they could get there in two days. Obviously Bager couldn't stay in h
is cabin. And Miss Kristina couldn't sleep in the room with her dead father. The fo'c'sle was an option. After all, there was a spare berth there. He chortled. That would serve them right, the little brats. They could sleep with a corpse.

  Herman stayed at the helm for the rest of the day. He had no desire to be anywhere else. The ship was his. He shot across the sea with a dead captain and a woman waiting in the cabin. He hummed the old chantey about the drunken sailor: "Put him in the bed with the cap'n's daughter." A dream. And now it was coming true.

  That evening he took Miss Kristina a plate of soup. The cabin was dark: he struck a match and lit the petroleum lamp that was screwed onto the bulkhead.

  "You need to eat," he said, handing her the bowl.

  She raised the spoon to her lips obediently. He stayed there and waited silently for her to finish. Then he took the bowl back to the galley.

  At midnight he was still at the helm. He'd done three shifts in a row. Now the middle watch started. He secured the wheel and crossed the deck to the fo'c'sle entrance, then climbed down the ladder and woke Vilhjelm. The boy tumbled out of his berth. He'd been sleeping with his clothes on. In his hand he held a jackknife that he'd probably been given as a confirmation present. Knud Erik leapt down from the other berth. He too was armed.

  The Kristina was still sailing hard against the wind, and the fo'c'sle boomed every time the stem hit a wave. Herman glanced at the knives and shook his head. "That's some pretty impressive manicure equipment you've got there," he said jovially. "You'd better stick those in your belt. Or I might start thinking you're mutineers."

  Every word he spoke made them flinch. They were so scared, they were on the verge of tears. He told Vilhjelm the course and climbed back up the ladder. He crossed the deck and tried the handle of the door to the captain's cabin. It was unlocked, and a moment later he was in the darkness on the tilting floor. He listened. He couldn't hear Miss Kristina breathing, but he knew he had to act now. The certainty of it had been growing in him up there in the stormy darkness.