We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [267]
"The canvas is taking a beating," she said, still laughing and wiping her wet face.
She had put on her father's wooden clogs and an oilskin jacket that was far too big for her. She had tied a scarf around her hair, and now it was soaked. She wrung it out and stuffed it in her pocket, leaving her thick brown curls exposed to the gale.
We passed two small fishing boats heading south. Miss Kristina positioned herself next to Ivar and watched them as they dipped violently and vanished into the trough of one wave, only to reappear a moment later riding on the next. Her eyes followed them as if searching for a fixed point. Then a strained look came over her, and she suddenly clapped a hand over her mouth and ran to the rail. Ivar looked away discreetly.
She returned to him. "I think I'll go to the cabin," she said.
He nodded.
At noon the wind turned. Wind and current were now working in opposite directions, and the Kristina plunged hard in the waves, her bow repeatedly disappearing into the swell.
Herman was at the helm.
"We need to take in the flying jib," he said to Ivar.
Ivar stared at him. "Are you telling me to climb out on the bowsprit?"
"Are you thick in the head or something?"
"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Ivar was openly defying him now.
"I can see that the flying jib needs to be taken in."
"I can see that the bowsprit's underwater half the time."
"Scared of getting wet?" Herman made no effort to hide his contempt.
"Unless you run her into the wind and slow her down, I'm not's going out there."
They glared at each other.
"Are you giving me orders?"
"You're the first mate, and I'm an able seaman. I'm simply urging you to do what anyone with the faintest knowledge of sailing would do. Or the flying jib can stay where it is."
Herman looked away. He knew that Ivar was right. It would be irresponsible to send a man out on the bowsprit with the bow plunging so deep. He eased his grip on the wheel, and the ship ran into the wind. At that moment Miss Kristina came up from the cabin. She was clasping her mouth again, as if preparing another sacrifice to the sea. But the two men facing off caught her attention. She looked from one to the other, her hand still covering her mouth.
Ivar crossed the deck. The ship had stopped plunging, and the flying jib was flapping in the wind. The dripping bowsprit pointed up at the slate-colored sky. Ivar climbed out on the bowsprit and started rolling up the sail.
Herman watched his tall straight figure, which held itself so confidently out there on the smooth bowsprit, poised over the raging deep below.
Time contracted and stood still.
It wasn't just a man's strength that made him strong. It was also his knowledge of others' weaknesses. Herman had despised Ivar from the moment he met him, but with a strange unfocused contempt that had had nothing firm to fix on. Did Ivar have an Achilles' heel? Could he perform under pressure?
Gripping the wheel, Herman felt the pull and strain of the eternal arm wrestle between helmsman and sea: he had to shift it continually to keep up the steering speed. He slackened, just for a moment—and with an explosive boom, the wind instantly refilled the sails. The bow shot skyward on the rolling crest of a wave, and the whole ship plunged and kept plunging, plummeting through the air before hitting the surface of the water and sending fountains of spray flying to both sides. The Kristina cut through the spume like a knife, and her entire stem dove down, as if heading for the seabed.
Time slowed, as though the sun had shifted to an invisible point