We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [254]
"Knud Erik," the face said.
"You've grown a beard."
Tears rushed to Knud Erik's eyes, and he began to sob at a volume that surprised him. Vilhjelm's smile was careful: his lips were badly cracked. Then he rolled his eyes, and his penguin-like shape collapsed on the ice. Behind him Knud Erik could hear Rikard and Algot approaching. They'd finally caught up.
They were sitting in Bager's cabin, staring at the small figure wrapped in blankets and eiderdown, and lying in the berth. Vilhjelm slept peacefully, his sunken face resting on the white pillowcase. They were waiting for him to wake up.
Rikard and Algot had gone on to the Ane Marie, where they'd discovered the skipper, Ejvind Hansen, and the first mate, Peter Eriksen, both from Marstal, lying dead in their separate cabins, both looking as if they'd died in their sleep. There was no sign of the crew, and they assumed the men must have been washed overboard in the storm before the ice trapped the ship. The waves had cleared the deck and taken both foremast and mainmast. The crew had tried to rig an emergency mast, lashing the ship's derrick to the stump of the foremast. Through the layer of clear ice that covered the deck of the Ane Marie, they could make out a tangle of rigging, spars, and sails. More wreckage was frozen to the side of the ship.
When Rikard and Algot had delivered this account, they both fell silent. They kept shivering as though they were cold, though the narrow cabin was well heated.
When they undressed the unconscious Vilhjelm they'd counted four layers of clothing. He'd probably been the smallest person on board the Ane Marie: he must have taken outfits of different sizes from the sea chests of the lost men and put one on top of the other.
"How did he manage to take a shit?" Algot asked.
"I don't think shitting was his biggest problem. It was more getting something down the other way." Dreymann lifted the covers gently and pointed to the boy's emaciated ribs. "Taking his clothes off was like opening a can of sardines and finding nothing but fish bones."
They'd rubbed his naked body with rum, then dressed him in clean clothes, wrapped a blanket around him, and settled him in the berth. Over the thirty-six hours he slept, they took turns watching over him. Knud Erik sat with him the whole time, and Bager let him. Rikard and Algot went to the front to turn in, and Bager and Dreymann swapped shifts sleeping in the first mate's cabin. All rules were ignored. The frost had brought them together, and the Ane Marie's broken silhouette against the gray sky was a fixed reminder of the fate they'd all share unless luck was on their side.
It was in the middle of the second night that Vilhjelm opened his eyes. The only light in the cabin came from the petroleum lamp that was bolted to the bulkhead.
"I'm hungry" was all he said. He sounded like a small child.
Bager, who'd been snoozing next to Knud Erik, bolted up from his sofa. "Damn it," he said drowsily. "The sand digger's boy is awake."
He stumbled toward the berth with a bottle of rum in his hand. Supporting Vilhjelm's head with his other hand, he lifted the bottle to his lips. "That's it, boy, have a swig. It'll do you good." Vilhjelm drank but began to splutter when the acrid taste of undiluted rum filled his mouth.
Bager straightened up. "Dreymann!" he roared, so his voice could be heard across the whole of the rear of the ship. "The boy's awake. Let's have roast beef." The first mate came stumbling into the cabin.
"Aye, aye, Captain." He stood at attention and made a mock salute.
"Dreymann will cook you a Sunday roast you'll never forget." He winked at Vilhjelm, who gave him a pale smile in return.
"But I think the boy needs a few biscuits to start with, Captain."
Bager found the biscuit tin and handed a couple of biscuits to Vilhjelm. He munched them with stiff jaws, as though the movement of chewing had become unfamiliar. Bager, Dreymann, and Knud Erik all watched him as if they'd never seen anyone eat before. "What did you eat before