We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [261]
Bager clutched his chest, like a man suffering some deep inner turmoil. "As you wish," he said finally, in a weak voice.
"Father, are you feeling unwell?" Miss Kristina asked anxiously.
Back in the fo'c'sle Ivar told the story to the crew. Then he looked at Knud Erik.
"You've sailed with him the longest. Is he normally like this?"
"Stingy, yes," Knud Erik said. "But speaking like Pastor Abildgaard?" He shook his head.
"What did he say again?" Vilhjelm asked.
"It was that bit from the Bible about the five loaves and the two fishes." Ivar thought a moment. "Then he asked me how we could doubt the Lord who'd clothed and kept us."
"It's from the Book of Sermons," Vilhjelm said. "Seventh Sunday after Trinity. A sermon for the poor and for the rich. By Jonas Dahl, a seamen's priest in Bergen. Bager seems to have memorized it. He must be in a really bad way."
From time to time Miss Kristina invited the whole crew for pancakes or went around the deck with the coffeepot. In the galley Helmer was constantly beaming. She came in often to help with the cooking. It was so narrow there that they had to stand close to each other, and the rustling of her dress and her female presence intoxicated him. She praised his skills, and he made an extra effort. They all did. It was good to have a woman on board.
Miss Kristina would often sit down next to the helmsman and chat while he kept one eye on the rigging and the other on her.
One evening as they approached the coast of Portugal, she strolled the deck in the moonlight with Ivar. Herman stood by the rail, trying without success to eavesdrop on their muted conversation. She'd turned her back on him after he'd told the story about Ravn in Nyborg and kept him at a distance, though she wasn't generally reserved. Since the confrontation about the food, his stock had been lower than ever.
He felt Miss Kristina's presence like something poisonous and something infinitely sweet mixing together in his blood. Inside him, a lack of willpower and a colossal tension battled it out. He felt both weak and furious at the same time. He went around with his fists clenched, ready to fight, yet what he wanted most of all was to hold and be held.
The Kristina cut up against the south wind that always blew along the Portuguese coast. When Ivar was on duty, Miss Kristina would sit at the helm next to him. Herman went over to them, stiff and haughty, relishing his role as the first mate. "The helmsman is not to be distracted," he said curtly, and remained there, with his hands folded behind his back until she got up and left.
Yes, she had to yield to him there. However, he was uncertain whether her yielding had been a victory or a defeat. He got no closer to her and was beginning to think of her and Ivar as "the couple." After all, that was what they were becoming.
One afternoon a shoal of dolphins broke the monotony. "Springers!" the helmsman cried out, and the crew bustled to arm themselves. Ivar led the way. He jumped out on the bowsprit and hurled the harpoon into the water just as the ship dived, shortening the distance to the nearest leaping creature. The dolphin struggled powerfully as Ivar pulled in the line. Then Knud Erik came over and managed to get a hawser around its tail.
Herman disappeared down to his cabin and reappeared on deck with a revolver in his hand. The crew formed a circle around the dolphin, which arched its smooth, elegant body in dying spasms while its strong tail beat the deck rhythmically, its blood pouring out and flowing in a greasy stream across the planks. Miss Kristina watched from a distance, with her hands over her mouth. Someone had to deliver the deathblow to the convulsing animal.
"Move!" Herman shouted.
They turned to look at him. He waved the revolver at the circle of men as if he'd not yet decided on his target. They stepped back. He walked up close to the dolphin, aimed carefully, then fired twice. The dolphin's eye exploded in blood. Its tail slammed