We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [141]
He shook Henckel's hand, then turned to Herman.
"You've sold the Two Sisters, I hear. What a shame; she was a good ship, a joy to behold, and she did the town proud." He heard the pomposity in his own voice and felt annoyed with himself.
"Possibly," Herman replied, "but I made a good profit. That's the important thing."
"To a businessman, yes, but not to a sailor. Surely other things bind us to our ships besides the prospect of short-term gain."
"Now you listen..." A note of impatience entered the young man's voice, as though he was talking to someone hard of hearing. "I could sail the Two Sisters to hell and back again, and even with the recent rise in the freight—tenfold—I'd never earn the same amount by sailing as I did by selling."
"You're only thinking short-term," Albert repeated.
They were clearly the principal players now, and their audience encircled them as if they were two duelists. Henckel clasped his restless hands behind his back, an expectant smile playing on his lips.
"Who says I even want another ship? Oh, shipowner sounds grand as hell. But perhaps it'll soon be an empty title."
The lack of respect wasn't lost on Albert. How dare this upstart tell him his time was over and his experience worthless? He felt a brief surge of anger as he eyed the young man who stood in front of him, his legs planted apart and a contemptuous look on his face. His shirtsleeves were casually rolled up in the warm summer evening, so you could see the lion getting ready to attack, and the words SMART AND POVERFULL.
"There are two spelling mistakes on your tattoo."
Albert instantly regretted his words. He'd allowed himself to get carried away. It was pointless, rising to the bait. Herman was hard, callous. But his brutality was that of the era they lived in. And Albert? His time was over. But so was the town's. That was what no one seemed to realize.
Herman took a step forward. His huge fists were clenched, but Henckel placed a hand on his shoulder. He immediately froze, as if obeying a secret order. Albert was preparing to take his leave when the engineer spoke.
"There's a great deal of truth in what you said earlier. Am I right in thinking that these are the words of an old sailor? I grew up in Nyboder myself and my first apprenticeship was at the naval shipyard. I recognize a sailor when I see one, and I know what it means to love the sea."
Herman stiffened. A dangerous scowl appeared in his eyes, as if he'd been ambushed. Ignoring him, Henckel continued. "It's true that Danish shipping is experiencing a renaissance. The war has brought us prosperity, and we need to maintain that growth." He nodded toward Herman. "More ships! Shipyards! That's what this country needs. Marstal is to have its own yard for building steel ships. You've heard of the Kalundborg Steel Shipyard, and the Vulcan yard in Korsør? Well, allow me to inform you that I'm the man behind them. Now it's Marstal's turn. And it was Herman here who gave me the idea. He's already agreed to be the yard's joint owner. Of course, he's far too modest to mention that himself. But he's put in the considerable sum he raised from the sale of the Two Sisters. Which makes him our first investor. We're building Marstal's future, and the future of Danish shipping." His large freckled hand, with its dense cover of reddish blond hair, gave Herman's shoulder a comforting squeeze. "Indeed, Herman, Marstal has reason to be proud of you. You're a true son of the town."
Albert looked at Herman, who placidly allowed Henckel's hand to rest on his shoulder, and he understood that the engineer from Copenhagen had succeeded where everyone else had failed: he'd tamed Herman Frandsen. How had he done it? Perhaps, when the young dreamer had bragged about his grandiose schemes, he'd simply nodded his head instead of shaking it. But there was more to it than that, Albert reflected. Henckel