We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [212]
Resuming his speech, his words now came fast and sharp as whiplashes.
"It means that Marstal schooners will never again carry freight to Casablanca. The only reason that steamers have kept away from one of the most important ports in North Africa is the lack of a suitable harbor. Now the steamers will come, with their bigger cargo capacity and greater speed. You can time their arrival down to the minute. The compass plots a course, and the steamer follows it, without any deviations or delays. And I'm not just talking about Casablanca."
Isaksen's voice, which had grown more and more forceful, now took on a doom-laden significance.
"I'm also talking about the freight to the French Channel ports, where the tide used to let in only sailing ships. The railways are taking over. I'm also talking about Rio Grande in Brazil and the Maracaibo Lagoon in Venezuela. In both those places, the shallow water over the sandbanks allowed only small vessels through. Now, with the railways, that obstacle to the steamers will be removed as well."
At the mention of each port, the skippers and the first mates started visibly, as though he'd threatened them with his fist and they had no idea how to defend themselves.
"The sea was your America. But now America is closing her borders to you. There will be less and less demand for your services. The freight contracts will vanish into thin air. And that means that your ships will too. You might decide to sell them. But think about it. Who's going to buy them? All that awaits them is the demolition crew. A funeral pyre to an era, your era, turned to wood smoke. But not all hope is lost..."
Isaksen's voice assumed a comforting tone, like the minister who has just described Hell and now offers Heaven as an alternative open to anyone who sees the light.
"There are still places where nobody else sails. Harbors that can't be dredged or where dredging doesn't pay. Or where currents, rocks, and frequent storms conspire to ban the steamer forever." The comforting tone disappeared abruptly from his voice. "Newfoundland. The most inhospitable coast in the world, the most dangerous waters on earth. The Marstal schooner will still be able to load stinking dried cod there. You'll still be welcomed by places and cargoes nobody else will touch. You'll be reduced to living off the leftovers of the world markets. You'll be the pariahs of the seven seas, the rubbish collectors. You'll be those left behind."
We'd thought he was going to give us encouragement. Instead, he had delivered our funeral oration. A deathly silence descended upon the table. Ellen Boye looked down. Her cheeks were burning bright red. Emma and Johanne looked to her for support, but her agonized face pained them so deeply, they nearly burst into tears.
Then Isaksen started speaking again. He'd only paused for effect, but his pause had sounded like a full stop to us. What could possibly follow this annihilating verdict?
"Marstal has a great future," he said, and again we raised our chins attentively, conscious now that we were nothing but puppets dangling from the strings of his artful words. "Marstal has a great future because it has a great past. It's not always the case that one guarantees the other. Traditions can be a burden. If we believe a method will work forever because it worked once, we get stuck in the past and miss out on the future. But it's different here in Marstal. You came up with your own design of ship—the hull with the heart-shaped stern and the rounded bow—and you named it after your town. You kept experimenting until you discovered what best suited your purpose. Your tradition is one of catching the wind. You may think that's an odd expression, and so it is in the mouth of a farmer, who thinks someone who blows with the wind has no roots and lacks stability because he doesn't do what his father did before him. But think as the sailors you are. Catching the wind: that's about seizing the moment, when the wind and the currents are on your side, and then hoisting the anchor and setting your sails. I'm sure you've