We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [152]
"Come," he said to the boy, who looked lost in thought at the sight of the frozen water. They walked on along the wharf, past the coal depot, and down toward Prinsebroen.
"What's it like to drown?" the boy asked.
"Your mouth fills up with water and then you can't breathe anymore."
"Have you tried drowning?"
"No," Albert said. "If you drown, you die. And I'm here."
"Does everyone drown at the end?"
"Most people don't drown."
"My dad drowned," the boy said in a tone that implied that this kind of death gave him a sense of pride, and elevated his father. Then his voice grew more hesitant. "If we drown, do we ever come back?"
"No, we never come back."
"My mama says my dad's an angel now."
"You must listen to what your mother says."
Albert was feeling more and more uncomfortable. He dreaded that the boy might suddenly burst into tears. What would he do then? Take him back home? He couldn't return with a sobbing child. That would be like losing your cargo and letting the sea take your ship. He tried to distract the boy. The harbor was full of moored vessels, some kept back by their owners because of the war and others simply home for the winter. There was nothing to indicate that Marstal's days as a seafaring town were coming to an end. Albert pointed to the ships.
"Are you going to sea when you grow up?" he asked, and instantly regretted it.
"Will I drown then, like my dad?"
"Most sailors come home again. Then they grow old like me and die in their bed one day."
"I want to be a sailor like my dad," the boy said. "But I don't want to drown and get eaten by a fish, and I don't want to die in my bed, either, because my bed is for sleeping in. Is there any way not to die?"
"No," Albert said. "There isn't. But you're very young. You have plenty of years left to live. That's almost the same as not dying."
"Would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't mind now. I'm very old. So it doesn't matter if I do."
"So you're not sad?"
"No, I'm not sad."
"My mama's sad. She is always crying. Then I comfort her."
"You're a good boy," Albert said. He pointed across the water. "Look, there's a steamer. When you go to sea, it'll probably be on a steamer."
"Can steamers sink?" the boy asked.
Albert looked at the black-painted steel hull. THE MEMORY was written on the bow in white lettering.
"Yes," he said. "Yes, they can."
He'd seen the Memory go down in a dream.
"A fire always burns at the bottom of a steamer and it's as hot as a washhouse when the kettle's heating up. Men feed the fire. They feed it day and night, and only come out to sleep or eat. They never see the sun or the moon. But high up in the wheelhouse the first mate stands with his hands on the wheel, steering the steamer safely across the sea."
"That's who I want to be," the boy said.
"Yes, that's who you want to be. But then you need to pay attention at school. Otherwise you won't get a place at the Navigation College."
They had passed the boat harbor and walked down to the shipyards. Rhythmic hammer strokes rang out through the red-painted plank walls of the buildings. The only quiet place was Marstal Steel Shipyard's newly constructed building near Buegade. Whenever Mr. Henckel visited, he would boast about all the orders he'd secured in Norway. But so far, nothing had been built.
The boy seemed lost in thought. He peered up at Albert.
"What does it look like when a steamer goes down?"
Albert scanned his memory. He had never seen it happen in his waking life, but his dreams had shown him every detail of the Memory being tossed about before vanishing into the depths.
"You can hear explosions from the core of the hull," he said to the boy. "That's the cold seawater seeping into the glowing heart of the huge boilers. Then boiling hot steam bursts out through every opening of the ship. Big lumps of coal fly up through the funnel and the skylight.