We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [146]
"Yes, Mrs. Rasmussen, I see the grief. You and I see it because we visit the homes where death strikes. But the others are pressing their noses against the shop windows. It's human nature to worship the golden calf, and that's the main cause of the current war."
"I know nothing of politics," she said, looking down. "I'm just an old woman who's lived too long."
"You're eight years younger than I am, as far as I know."
"I suppose I am. But as a widow..."
She stopped, too bashful to continue.
"Well?" he encouraged her.
"As a widow you no longer have your own life. You live through others. It's as though old age arrives in one fell swoop. I've felt old ever since Carl died, and that was twenty-four years ago."
"I've noticed that you come here often. I suppose you're thinking about him."
"I'm here for the same reason you are, Captain Madsen. To contemplate the savior." She gave him a quick, critical glance. "You are a believer, I presume."
"I was," he said, "but not in the savior. I believed in other things. I believed in this town and the forces that built it. I believed in fellowship, in a community of people. I believed in being hardworking and diligent. But I've lapsed now, I'm sorry to say. And I too feel I've lived too long. I don't understand this world anymore."
"You sound like an unhappy man, Captain Madsen. I don't understand the world either. I don't think I ever did. Yet I have faith."
"Perhaps that's precisely why you believe."
"How do you mean?"
"You say yourself that you don't understand the world. Surely that's why you have to believe. Faith's a mystery. It's not a mystery I share. Whether or not that's a limitation, I can't say." He gave her a questioning look, as if he expected an answer. He sensed that he was about to unmask himself to this woman, yet it didn't frighten him. There was an accepting gentleness in her and he felt that he no longer had anything to lose. "I have these dreams," he heard himself say. The urge to confide in her was overwhelming.
"What dreams?"
For a moment he hesitated. Then he made the leap.
"The drowned sailors," he said. "I see them drown. I see them almost every night. It's as though I'm there. I see it long before it happens. If you don't believe me, you can ask me the names of the people from Marstal who are going to die. I can give you their names, every single one of them." She was staring at him as though she didn't understand what he was saying, but he could no longer hold back. "For years I've been walking around this town like a stranger. I feel like a messenger from the land of the dead. The klabautermann—that's me."
He halted and gave her a pleading look. Did his words mean anything to her at all?
She was silent for a long time. Then she took his hand.
"It must be dreadful for you," she said. "It's more than a person can bear."
For one moment he feared that she would start talking about the savior. But she didn't.
"So you believe me? You believe I have this special ability?"
"If you say it's so, Captain Madsen, then I do indeed believe it. You've never struck me as a man prone to fantasies, or one who needed to make himself appear interesting."
"I've seen the war, Mrs. Rasmussen." He spread out his arms. "All these deaths. I see the pleading in the widows' eyes. How did my Erik or my Peter die? And I know. I could give her the answer. And yet I can't. There's a terrible helplessness in that. Helpless, yes, that's how I feel. I'm a spectator both asleep and awake. Day and night I witness suffering and grief, and I'm stuck. There's nothing I can do."
Her hand was still resting on his. For a while they sat that way, without speaking. Then she withdrew her hand and stood up.
"Come, Captain Madsen, it's time for us to pay our visits."
On their way out of the church she turned to him.
"I believe in your dreams. But I don't wish to hear about them. I prefer to live in ignorance of God's plans for us."
THEY BOTH CONTINUED to visit the church, but