We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [158]
Farmers on the small islands would come down to the beach and wave as we passed them. They stood there, tiny, rapidly dwindling specks on the white sand, tied to their own limited plots of earth, surrounded on all sides by the endless sea that beckoned them daily and whose invitation they daily declined, happy just to wave instead.
Was this how Klara Friis had found her sailor? Had she wanted to escape her little island, and so had fallen in love with someone who wanted out even more than she did? Had she seen promises in those white sails, but failed to understand that these promises were for the men, not the women?
As they drank coffee, he asked her about Birkholm. She hadn't been born on the island and it was unclear when her family had arrived there. He asked about her parents. Anna Egidia had told him they'd died, but she'd not said when.
She bit her lower lip. "Our teacher was a real monster," she said, sounding as if she'd felt pressed to tell him something about Birkholm and had found a way to stop him from getting too close. "My ears were always aching. He loved to twist them."
Albert nodded. He knew a bit about educational provisions on the island, which had to share a teacher with the neighboring island of Hjortø. There'd be two weeks of school, then two weeks off. Precious little knowledge was imparted to Birkholm's young minds.
She studied her hands for a while, brooding. She looked up and he saw darkness in her eyes: not her earlier grief, but something deeper, like the terror in an animal that fears for its life but doesn't know the nature of its enemy.
"Have you ever been to Birkholm?" she asked.
He shook his head. "I've sailed past it. There's not much to see. I believe the island's very flat."
"Yes, its highest point is just two meters above sea level."
She smiled briefly, as if to apologize for this. Then her eyes darkened again.
"There was a storm surge," she said, and shuddered. "I'll never forget it. I was eight. The water kept on rising and rising. The land disappeared completely. We couldn't see it at all. Only the sea. Sea everywhere. I hid in the loft. But I got scared—it was so dark there. So I climbed onto the roof. The waves were crashing against the house. The spray soaked me right through. I got so wet. I felt so cold."
She shivered as if she was still chilled to the bone.
As she spoke, she curled up and her voice faltered: she was a helpless, terrified child, confiding in him. And although he was unaware of his own change of tone, it was that helpless child he addressed. In his mind, he didn't so much ask about her parents as summon them: where on earth were they in this story? Surely someone had been looking after her? He wanted a rescuing hand to appear, a father to clasp her in his strong arms, a mother to hold her tight and warm her with her body. But she spoke as if she'd been up there on a roof in the midst of a flood all alone.
"Wasn't there anyone else on the roof?"
"Yes, Karla was there."
"Was Karla your sister, Mrs. Friis?"
He still addressed her as Mrs. Friis. Anything else would have been patronizing. But at this moment it was like being formal with a child.
"No, Karla was my rag doll."
"But what about your parents?" he finally asked.
"I sat on the ridge of the roof, clinging to the chimney. And it grew dark. I couldn't see anything at all. It was like someone had pulled an empty coal sack over my head. In the whole world there was just me and Karla. The wind was howling in the chimney something awful. The waves crashed against the house like it was a ship. I thought the walls would come down. But still, I must have fallen asleep. It could only have been for a minute. But when I woke up, Karla had gone. I must have let go of her, and she must have slipped