True, I don't know what intuition is or where it comes from, but I do know that the more mystical and otherworldly we make it, the easier we allow our logic to rule it out, which, I've come to the conclusion, is dumb. Because there are times that I wonder if intuition might just be the sum of all those subtle and subconscious facts that we receive about things beforehand, a tallied list of significant information that we've derived from details that seemed insignificant at the time we took them in. The fluttering of an eye at a certain question, the miniscule pause at a moment when there shouldn't have been one, the flicker of an expression on a person's face before they have time to model something more appropriate, or the odd trailing off of a phrase, a word, or even the intonation of a letter. Maybe, in the end, there is no such thing as intuition. Maybe that 'feeling' that we get is really only cumulative fact that has been collected from sources that are just too obscure to reference. And if that were the case, it would make ignoring those 'feelings' quite stupid, wouldn't it?
But ignore them I did. Finally, albeit half-heartedly, I accepted that Knut would join the expedition as another one of our 'valuable' members. We were away from the island for all of two days before the bullying of Solmund began, and I've silently cursed that I ever let the Elders persuade me since.
Of course, he hadn't been a problem for me directly for a long while - years actually. I had established myself as a confident individual at the beginning of our adolescence, which seemed to be enough to keep him at bay. But in the back of my mind I knew that, if he ever actually wanted to, he had it in him to be a stubborn obstacle for anyone. And after he started bullying Solmund, and I started reproaching him for it, there had been some tense moments between us, usually while he lingered around Solmund for a few worrying seconds before backing down, a knowing little smirk on his face, eyeing me with very carefully weighed hostility. I wasn't sure what was going through his mind, but I certainly was hoping to myself that he wasn't preparing to challenge me in some way, that he wasn't weighing me out, meticulously watching my hesitations, listening for signs that would suggest just how much Mikkel was prepared to back me - or not. Though, now I know that that's exactly what he was doing, but for the time being, it would remain an unfounded concern, a paranoid suspicion; or it would until the incident with the knives at least.
* * *
18
The same perfect weather that we were lucky enough to have the day we embarked stayed with us for quite a few days afterwards, the skies always clear, a light wind at our backs, and the sailcloth taut and bulging, pulling us forward with effortless speed. In fact, our lives were made so easy that I couldn't help but become somewhat lax about how many people we kept on deck, as the vast majority of time the crew just sat around in the sun becoming dehydrated and nitpicking at one another (which was proving a little annoying to listen to, no matter how much I knew I should). So, considering the fact that two, or even one person alone was enough to operate the ship under such conditions, it made sense to send people away when they came up for their shift. But at first, instead of giving them free time, I thought it best to assign them some kind of cleaning job, or the tedious work of maintaining and repairing sections of rope (neither of which was really necessary yet), which, not surprisingly, wasn't met with the greatest of enthusiasm. And when I eventually admitted to myself that there was good reason for their reluctance, that I was forcing people to do things that we all knew were pointless, I decided that maybe I should just leave them alone and let them enjoy the easy seas in whatever way they wanted to; and this usually meant disappearing below deck where they would become surprisingly quiet. Of course, I understood that giving them time to be idle wasn't the greatest idea either, but some amount of boredom was unavoidable, and if I set a precedent of keeping them entertained every waking moment, I would only regret it later on. So, when the skies began to sheet over with high clouds late one afternoon, and it looked as if our bout of good weather was going to be slowly winding down, I found myself nodding at the stratum, welcoming whatever system was moving in, relieved that people would finally be busy again. Unfortunately, the potential damage that might have stemmed from their idleness had already been done - and I would find out all about it that same afternoon.
Mikkel and I were talking near the helm when it happened - or at least I was talking to Mikkel; he seemed a little more absorbed in the wood flute that was being played nearby than in our conversation. "So - yeah, I would definitely take a detour to see them," I was saying, continuing my rambling speech about mountains, "I mean - they're the most striking thing on the maps, and even more impressive in the pictures. (Personally, they've always looked like giant, pointed clouds to me - don't you think they look a bit like clouds?)"
"Uh... yeah, I guess," he said. He looked over at Onni who was sitting near the rail, and had just finished playing one of his melancholic tunes on the flute he brought along. He put the instrument in his lap and turned away from us to look out at the ocean. "Nice," Mikkel praised, speaking to the back of Onni's head.
"Thanks," he replied, without turning around, his voice muffled, "it's new." What he meant by this was that he had just composed the song on the spot, without ever having practiced it before, which was a feat that never ceased to amaze me.
Onni was my idea. He was the last of our crew to be picked, and I remember that when I brought up his name to the Elders, they were a bit puzzled. He certainly wasn't a hard worker, nor was he a great sailor, and as we rotated the chore of cooking, we soon found out that he wasn't exactly gifted in the culinary arts, either. In fact, there wasn't much at all that Onni could contribute, except his music and who he was, which, as far as I was concerned, was already a lot more than others had to offer. He had always been the most musical person on the island, and throughout the span of our lives, was constantly there in the background, tapping at his legs, humming, pattering his fingernails on a shell he'd picked up, or plucking at a string that he was stepping on with a sandal and pulling tight with the other hand, his head cocked to the side to listen to the flexing twangs. Sometimes, on the ship, he would stand at the rail and drum at it in a way that would stop the entire crew, all of us, pausing to turn our heads and listen as if we were - to use Kara's words of how she'd once described the way people twisted around to hear him, forgetting what was in their hands, suddenly still and captive - 'like the faces of flowers to the sun'.
In order to get him on the crew, I made up stories about his sailing heroism that Mitra certainly couldn't back, but for some reason did; probably because she liked him as much as me. And though I'm sure the Elders saw through this little fabrication of ours, they let him come anyway - most likely for the same reason.
He was one of those people that everyone, no matter who they were, was drawn to. His hair was long, straight and black, his body delicate, his features sharp; but it was his mannerisms that set him apart. I would describe them as dreamy or distant, but that would insinuate a kind of absentmindedness, and this wasn't the case. He was definitely there - because when he spoke, which wasn't very often, he would say the most insightful things, muttering his take on the situation with a matter-of-factness that sometimes stunned, but never really injured. His world, I think, was an unvarnished one, and he seemed to look at people in that same light, eyeing you from the periphery, giving you the feeling that he was seeing you for exactly what you were - though not in a judgmental way - it was more with a kind of graceful forgiveness than anything else. Which, in the end, was probably exactly why people were drawn to him.
But getting back to the knives. That afternoon, while Onni paused between songs and was busy looking out at the sea, and Mikkel, sick of hearing about mountains, had walked over to lean on the rail beside him, there was a window of time when all three of us fell into silence. And it was in that pause that I started to become aware of a faint knocking sound, which was coming from the lower deck every half minute or so. The sound was just above the swish and clatter of the sailing, but th
e more I listened, the more it became apparent; until it dawned on me that it had been in the background for quite some time. What was more, I was pretty sure that I'd heard it other times I was standing at the helm as well, thudding just beneath the din of the ship. But what had probably brought it to my conscious attention for the first time was that the sounds were now accompanied by muted jeers and hollers. And the moment I recognized them for what they were, I straightened up to listen even more intently, memories of a not-too-distant mischief flooding my mind.
"Hey guys? What are they doing down there? I mean - that thumping sound - what is it?" I asked.
Onni turned around and wrapped both his hands over the flute on his lap, as if it were a bar that he would have to hold onto before he spoke. He waited until our eyes met, and even then, paused for a few seconds. "Knives," he finally said, deadpan.
I squinted at him, then at Mikkel, who'd also turned around, waiting for one of them to offer some kind of elaboration. They blinked. So I looked down at the deck, trying to work it out myself: There were two kinds of knives on the ship, the filleting knives in the kitchen, and the diving knives, which were intended to help us in scavenging for food along the coast once we'd arrived on land. The Elders had foreseen that it might take some time to either locate food, or cultivate it, so it seemed logical to have the tools to get them from the sea, where we already had plenty of experience providing for ourselves. But as far as I knew, the diving knives were still secured in one of the storage compartments, and I couldn't really think of any way that the delicate blade of a filleting knives could be responsible for making a sharp thudding sound followed by taunts and laughter, which, incidentally, seemed to be getting louder with every second. I looked up at Onni again, "Sorry - could you... could you expand a bit on what exactly you meant by 'knives'?"
"Sure," he mumbled, using the same tone, almost managing to sound bored, "They're throwing them."
I leaned forward, "They're what?" But I could see that neither of them was going to give me any more information. Instead, they just slowly nodded their heads up and down, their expressions caught somewhere between amusement and sympathy. I shook my head and began following the sounds to their source.
I descended into the lower deck and passed through the gangway, ducking my head at all the appropriate places. As I got closer, I saw Solmund standing with his arms crossed, slouching over as usual, succeeding in making himself look even smaller than he was; he was busy watching the spectacle in the room from the safety of the open door. When he saw me, he froze, and as I approached, he shuffled back, making room for me to enter. I stepped into the doorway.
Everyone, besides the three of us who'd been on the upper deck, was crammed inside. They were backed up against the walls or sitting on the berths, making a space in the centre of the room for the person who was throwing the knives, which, at that moment, happened to be Toivo.
I soon had the entire room's uneasy attention and spoke as slowly as I could, hoping to emphasize just how furious I was, "What in the hell are you guys doing?"
Looking back, I actually think that Knut had encouraged everyone to be louder that afternoon, that he'd intended to be heard, because he was prepared for me in every possible way, as if he'd rehearsed exactly what he was going to say and do before I'd ever stepped foot into the room. Very, very coolly, he sauntered over to Toivo, who was looking as confused as ever, and lifted the knife from his open hand. Toivo quickly scuttled to the side and placed his back against the wall like the others, happy to be away from the focal point of the action. "Well, Joshua, as you can see..." Knut said, pausing in front of me without the least bit of intimidation, and manipulating the knife until the blade was held with the tips of his fingers. He suddenly spun around and flung the knife across the room. The handle of the blade was brightly coloured, moulded out of the unnatural material called plastic, which made for an interesting sight as it twirled end over end through the air. It stuck into the wood with a thud, very close to a red circle that had somehow been drawn there - though with what, I don't know (maybe some of the dried berries from the kitchen). To be dead honest, I was actually impressed by this demonstration, though obviously couldn't show it. Knut turned to face me again, resting his weight on one of his hips and crossing his arms in a relaxed, almost playful stance. "We're throwing knives."
I heard Mikkel and Onni crowd into the doorway behind me. They must have followed me when I left them; and understandably so.
I looked around the room, sizing things up as quickly as I could. The crew had sharpened two of the diving knives, probably using the whetstone from the kitchen, and had filed the dull ends until they were pointy enough to stick into the walls. And it was obvious that they'd spent a lot of time on this project, as they had to have first found the knives, then stolen the whetstone to sharpen them, figured out a way to make the red mark, and then, as was evident from Knut's performance, spent many an hour getting better at throwing them. From what I could tell, this might even have been some kind of organized competition.
I shook my head before speaking, "What's amazing to me is that you've all deliberately done this behind my back - which only shows me that you understood I would disapprove of it."
Knut didn't flinch. He was quite ready for that sentence to come out of my mouth. "You would? Why? I mean - what is there to disapprove of?" he asked, turning his back on me and walking to retrieve the knife from the pitted wall. After he had pulled it free, he held it again by its tip, ready to throw, and walked toward me until he was standing uncomfortably close, his body leaning forward, but with a warm grin on his face. "I honestly can't see much of a problem. It's just a bit of fun."
"Fun? No. Let's be clear about this Knut: it's violence. Period." My words were quick, the pronunciation abrupt. "And what every one of us has been taught - all our lives - is that violence only breeds more violence. Which is why I will not have it on the ship. Is that understood?"
Knut shook his head slowly, pityingly, "Man, Joshua - you've gotta lighten up. I mean - we're not on the island anymore, so why pretend we are?" He looked down at the fluorescent green handle, which was wobbling in the air between us, "We're just throwing knives against a wall, which, if you think about it, is as violent as cleaning a trail, or chopping some fruit from a tree, and much less violent than, say, fishing, which we did all the time on the island, and do all the time here." He paused for a moment, then chuckled to himself, "I mean - it's not like we're throwing them at Solmund or something." The room broke into nervous laughter, and Knut took the opportunity to eye a few members of his supportive audience before continuing. "Besides, we'll probably have to hunt when we get to land, or at least until we can figure out how and what to grow, which means that honing a little hand-eye coordination now will come in pretty handy later on, no?" He nodded condescendingly, as if to answer for me, and then threw a hand in the air, "But hey - if you're really dead set on keeping things the same on this boat as they were on the island, then fine - but keep in mind that friendly competition was never forbidden there, so it shouldn't be here, either. Right?" He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head a bit, "Come on - what do you say?", and then paused for a second before sticking out his lower lip and speaking in a shrunken, mocking voice, "Please...?" The room erupted into stifled giggles.
Maybe that was the moment that Dana had warned me about. Maybe this was one of those decisive points that come up in every one of our individual histories, which, provided we act in the right way, have the power to change our future for the better. Yet, even looking back at it now, I still don't know what that 'right way' would have looked like. How could I have taken control of the situation? Seize their shiny toys and hide them, right after hearing a plea that had sounded both reasonable and unanimous? Punch Knut in the face after asserting my decree of non-violence, and then shove him into a room and lock him there until he agreed that throwing knives was a bad idea? Or maybe I should have just snatched the blade from his hand, hurtled it against the
wall, and won the competition. Every option that came to mind was either absurd or senseless. And the more I turned it over in my head, looking for the best way out, the more I came back to the easiest and most appealing option: to simply walk away. Let them have their little game and hope that this was as far as it would go. It wasn't the best move, or the smartest, but it was the only thing I could come up with at the time; or to be more honest with myself, it was probably the only thing I was brave enough to do.
I edged past Knut, who didn't really move out of my way, and stood between him and the target, and then slowly panned through the room, pausing to look each one of them in the eye, just like an Elder would have done in the same situation.
There was Toivo, still looking as confused as ever. I imagined that he was one of the people who was most easily swayed by Knut, and could picture him sneaking around and gathering material when no one was looking, hiding in his quarters to grind one of the knives across the whetstone, stopping every time someone walked down the gangway to look over his shoulder at the closed door, hoping that if it opened, it wasn't me who poked my head in.
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