We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [126]
"The thing is," he said, "I've been having these strange dreams."
His sense of relief was palpable. It was the first time he'd mentioned the dreams to anyone, and he could feel the pressure diminishing already.
"I keep dreaming about death. I see ships go down and men being shot or drowned. People from this town, people I know."
There was no reaction. What had he been expecting? This was no confession, unless you regarded unburdening yourself to empty space or a blank wall a confession. How could he have hoped for a reaction from this half-wit? He already knew the answer: because he felt that he too was entering the dark land of fools, an unknown territory where the mad moved with familiar ease, but where he was a new arrival. In a way, he was asking for help.
Albert was overcome by the other man's silence and had no idea how to go on. Yet he sensed that something had happened. Anders Nørre's hands were still lying quietly in his lap and his stare was blank as ever, but now something loomed behind it, something other than endless mechanical calculations.
"Do you have dreams like that?"
Albert made his voice as gentle as he could, as if trying to reach the hidden soul of Anders Nørre. But he knew that he was fumbling to find his own.
For a moment Anders Nørre sat frozen. Then he leapt up with a roar, a thick, inarticulate bellowing. He ran to the door and flung it open. He turned and gave Albert one wild look, then disappeared into the twilight.
Albert stayed on the bed. Going after Nørre was pointless, he knew. Anders would be off on one of his long trips across the fields, and he wouldn't reappear for a couple of days. As for Albert, he couldn't even rise from the bed. Nørre's reaction had paralyzed him. He really was in a bad way, he thought, if the village idiot ran away from him in horror. Even in the dark country where Anders Nørre moved with familiarity, he was seen as a monster.
Does he dream the way I do, Albert wondered, or is he like the animals that sense an earthquake long before humans do and howl in fear the night before the earth splits open?
WHEN THE WAR started, Albert was relieved.
That's how it is, he told himself. If you dread something enough, even your worst fears coming true brings comfort.
He didn't know how he'd react once the town's sailors began dying. But for the moment he felt less lonely. Now he could discuss the war with others.
Denmark had declared herself neutral, but nonetheless, the war had serious consequences for our town. All freight traffic was canceled immediately, and Marstal's fleet went into winter harbor as early as August. It was strange to see the schooners filling the harbor with their forest of masts while the sun was still high in the sky and the children still splashed around in the water, playing among the laid-up ships. In recent years, prosperity had risen to ever greater heights, so the seamen had plenty of money. You could see evidence of that in the bars. The restlessness caused by sudden unemployment and the uncertain future led to a rise in drunkenness.
Toward October, offers came in for grain freights to north German ports, but no one dared sail. Marine insurance didn't cover losses caused by war, and the Germans had peppered the Baltic Sea with floating mines. The smaller investors couldn't afford to risk their money.
"At least that's one good thing about this town," Albert wrote. "There are no ruthless shipping magnates who will risk the lives of their crew for a quick profit."
His own ships were far from Europe when the war broke out, and he kept them there for its duration.
Everyone feared the mines because everyone had shares in the ships. The North Sea too was filled with them.
Albert immediately began keeping accounts of ships blown up by mines. For a while the people of Marstal were safe, thanks to their caution, but just three weeks after Germany had declared war on France, two Danish steamers, the