We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [15]
Several vehicles overtook us, carrying officers from the Christian the Eighth and the Gefion. They too were heading for prison in Rendsburg. We exchanged salutes, and they were gone in a cloud of dust. Then came the rumbling of yet another cart and the sound of laughter. Some Holstein officers drove past us. Among them towered a man. He was bareheaded.
Little Clausen and Ejnar looked at each other.
"The devil take me," Little Clausen said. "That was Laurids!"
"I told you so. He went shooting up into the sky and came back down again."
Little Clausen's face split into a grin.
"Well, I don't care how he did it! The most important thing is he's alive."
The cart stopped a short distance ahead, and the officers got out and shook hands with Laurids. One of them shoved a bottle of schnapps into his coat pocket, and another thrust a wad of bank notes at him. Then they raised their arms to salute him, and left. For a while Laurids just stood there, dithering. Little Clausen called out his name. He looked in our direction and lifted his hand hesitantly. A soldier took hold of his arm and nudged him into the ranks next to the two men from Marstal.
"Laurids!" exclaimed Little Clausen. "I thought you were dead."
"And so I was," Laurids said. "I saw Saint Peter's bare butt."
"Saint Peter's bare butt?"
"Yes, he pulled up his tunic and flashed his ass at me."
Laurids fished the schnapps bottle out of his coat pocket and took a swig of the clear liquid. He handed the bottle to Little Clausen, who drank deeply before passing it on to Ejnar, who still hadn't said a word.
"Didn't you know," Laurids said, "that when Saint Peter shows you his ass, it means your time's not up yet?"
"And so you decided to return to earth."
The explanation illuminated Ejnar's face, and he spoke with the relief of someone who has just been let off a criminal charge.
"I saw it," he said. "You were standing on the deck when the Christian the Eighth blew up. You were flung high into the air, ten meters at least, and then you came back down and landed on your feet. Little Clausen said I must have lost my mind. But I saw it. You did it. Isn't that right?"
"It was hot as hell," Laurids said. "But cooler higher up. I saw Saint Peter's ass and I knew I wasn't going to die."
"But how did you get back ashore?" Little Clausen asked.
"I walked," Laurids said.
"You walked? You're not telling me you walked on water?"
"No. I'm telling you I walked on the seabed."
Laurids stopped and pointed at his boots. Somebody in the column behind him bumped into his broad back, and the ranks became muddled. A soldier rushed over and shoved Laurids with the butt of his gun.
Laurids turned around.
"Gently, gently," he said with the tolerance of a drunk. He made a calming gesture, then fell back into the ranks and picked up the rhythm of the march.
The soldier kept pace alongside him.
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said in Danish. He had a South Jutland accent.
"No harm done," Laurids replied.
"I've heard about you," the soldier continued. "You're the man who was blown up with the Christian the Eighth and landed right back on his feet, aren't you?"
"Yes, that's me," Laurids replied with considerable dignity, straightening up. "I landed on my feet, thanks be to God and my sea boots."
"Your sea boots?"
Now it was Ejnar's turn to be mystified.
"Yes," said Laurids in a tone of voice you'd use to explain something to a child. "It's because of my sea boots that I landed on my feet. Have you ever tried wearing my sea boots? Damn heavy. No one wearing them could stay in Heaven for long."