We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [217]
He left on an autumn day of pouring rain. He was clutching an umbrella, but there was a fierce wind blowing from the west and the shoulders of his cotton raincoat had already darkened. A deputation of skippers and first mates had assembled on the wharf to see him off. They'd all been there that night at Hotel Ærø when he gave his grand speech.
Their spokesman, Captain Ludvigsen, stepped forward. He'd been Isaksen's keenest supporter. Personally, he'd never dreamt of setting foot on a steamship. But he regarded himself as a man of vision.
"A damn shame that it had to end like this," the Commander said.
"Don't feel sorry for me," Isaksen said with an encouraging smile, as though it wasn't he but the Commander who needed consoling. "It was my own fault that it turned out like this. I should have been a better listener."
The Commander wasn't sure he understood what Isaksen meant. "Damn women" was all he said.
"You mustn't blame them," Isaksen said. "It's an unusual position for women to be in. They're just doing what they think best."
The ferry gave a warning hoot. It was time to go.
"Where are you off to?" the Commander asked. He'd prepared a short speech, but he'd forgotten the words.
"New York. Møller's opening a new office. Drop by if you're ever in town. There'll always be work for a man from Marstal."
Isaksen shook the Commander's hand. Then he went around and said goodbye individually to each of them. The ferry gave a last warning blast. He raised his umbrella and lifted his hat. Then he disappeared up the gangway.
There was no longer anyone around to prevent us from becoming what Isaksen had predicted we would become: those left behind.
THE SEAGULL KILLER
"WHERE DID ALBERT bury James Cook?"
Anton was making big plans. He'd become the leader of North, but that wasn't enough for him. As far back as he could remember, there'd been just the two gangs, North and South, and they'd divided the town between them. But now boys from Niels Juelsgade and Tordenskjoldsgade had started forming their own gangs. These had yet to split from South, but Kristian Stærk in Lærkegade had already made the break. His surname, which means "strong," had proved apt, and he named the gang after himself: the Strong Gang.
This trend worried Anton. He liked being at the forefront of everything, and now he feared being "left astern," as he put it. He talked Knud Erik into stealing Albert's sea boots, which were waiting in the attic in Prinsegade for someone to build the museum they'd been be-quested to. His idea was that his new gang would be named after Albert and it would accept only those of us who were willing to swear that they were prepared to die, like Albert, with their boots on. He laid claim to the first tryout of the historic, rather battered Madsen footwear, but the boots were far too big for him. Still, he planned to don them whenever a new gang member swore his oath of allegiance, before ordering the initiate to kneel down and kiss them on the toe.
Knud Erik and Vilhjelm protested that he'd never get a self-respecting kid to do that, and if the gang was to be worth joining, he'd need decent kids. Personally, they'd both refuse. They surprised even themselves by this sudden defiance. Finally Anton gave in, and together they agreed that instead of the boot kissing, new gang members would just wear them for the swearing-in. It was more dignified; even Anton could see that. The shrunken head of James Cook would be the group's mascot. Knowledge of its secret existence would cement them all as a gang.
There was just the one problem: James Cook's head lay at the bottom of the sea.
Helmer, who lived in Skovgaden and belonged to North, got permission to borrow his grandfather's smack. Seven boys piled on board, but