We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [202]
One spring day when the wind clipped the crests of the waves beyond the breakwater, Anton sidled up to Knud Erik on his way home from school. Knowing Anton's reputation, Knud Erik braced his shoulders in anticipation of an attack: not being a thug himself, he was unaware that behaving defensively could provoke the very fight he was trying to avoid.
"It was me who found Captain Madsen," Anton announced.
Knud Erik tried to make himself even smaller. Suddenly he wished the other boy would just hit him and get it over with.
"I wanted to tell you that I think he was quite something," the older boy said. "Dying like that with his boots on, standing up. I'd like to die like that." Knud Erik didn't know what to say, but his tension started to dissolve. "You knew him. He was like a granddad to you, wasn't he?" His tone wasn't mocking.
"Yes," Knud Erik said hesitantly. He paused, then asked, "How did he look when you found him?" He wanted to know if Albert had suffered in his final hours. If so, perhaps it had been written on his face. He was afraid the question made him look a sissy.
"He had frost in his beard and his hair. Over his whole head in fact. It looked really good," Anton said.
Knud Erik summoned up his courage. "What else?"
"What do you mean? He looked ordinary, I guess. He was dead, wasn't he?"
They walked in silence for a while. The clouds gathering above their heads began to darken. They walked through Markgade and crossed Market Square. Knud Erik would soon be home and Anton might never seek him out again. He wanted to win the older boy's friendship. He racked his brains for something interesting to say. Then came sudden inspiration.
"Have you ever seen a shrunken head?" he asked.
Knud Erik no longer had an adult male in his life. But now he had Anton, who'd gained experience of the grown-up world through his countless clashes with it. Anton knew it in the same way an army spy knows the enemy's camp: with a view to capturing it.
One day after school Anton walked home to Prinsegade with Knud Erik. Under the guise of a visitor, his secret role was that of an observer, come to get the measure of his opponent. The maid, with her starched apron and pinned-up hair, received them. Anton looked her up and down as if he was contemplating asking her out that evening, while she in turn glared at his clogs and sharply ordered him to remove them before entering the drawing room.
Anton's behavior with Klara Friis was exemplary. He politely answered her questions about his parents and his school grades, though he failed to mention that he always signed his monthly grade report himself: indeed, his mother didn't even know such a thing existed. Klara was impressed by this model schoolboy whose friendship her son had won, and who'd clearly be an excellent mentor to him. She liked everything about Anton, in fact, except the restlessness of his eyes, which scanned the room as if registering every object it contained. And his legs kept swinging back and forth under the table. In the presence of mothers, Anton always found the etiquette of sitting still a monumental effort.
She asked about his plans for the future. Anton was only eleven, but in a couple of years he'd be confirmed and leave school, so it wasn't unlikely that he'd considered the matter. "I'm going to sea." His reply betrayed neither enthusiasm nor reluctance—just mild surprise that anyone would think to pose the question at all.
"Knud Erik isn't going to sea." Klara said this with deliberateness, determined to distinguish her son from his friends. They should know who they had in their midst. Knud Erik was destined for other things.
Anton quickly glanced from mother to son, and then around the room. Again, it was as if he was taking an inventory. This left her with a feeling of unease.
***
"She's tough," Anton said to Knud Erik, the next time they met. He sounded like a boxing coach