We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [270]
Helmer cowered and concentrated on his food. Herman looked at Knud Erik and Vilhjelm. They both shook their heads.
"We lost a mate today," Herman said. "It's happened before and it'll happen again. That's life at sea. There are good sailors and then there are those who aren't so good..." He let the last sentence hang in the air.
"Ivar was a good sailor," Knud Erik said.
Herman felt like lashing out at the boy, but he controlled himself. "It was the sea," he said soothingly. "When the sea's in that mood, there's nothing to be done." Even he could hear the hollowness of his words. "But you'd got hold of Ivar. What happened? Did he panic?" Knud Erik shook his head, unwilling to reply. Herman knew that he'd hit a weak spot. After all, they'd found Ivar. He could have been saved—but he'd sabotaged his own rescue. A good sailor, yes. Was this how a good sailor behaved when his life was at stake? Knud Erik might suspect a murderer in Herman, but the boy had also seen the coward in Ivar, and this made him less certain of his accusation. Herman repeated the question. "Did he panic?" The silence that followed the question was an answer in itself.
When Helmer got up to take coffee to Bager's cabin, Knud Erik looked up, his eyes dangerously defiant. "I'm going to tell the skipper everything," he said.
"Tell him what? You were asleep in the fo'c'sle." Herman's voice was calm.
"Vilhjelm knows it too. We'll tell Bager."
"That old story?" Herman laughed. "All of Marstal has spent the past fifteen years wondering if I killed Holger Jepsen." He flung out his arms and laughed again. "And look! I'm still here!"
Helmer returned with the plates from the skipper's cabin. Neither Bager nor Miss Kristina had touched their food. "Skipper wants a word with you," he said.
Herman stood up. Once on deck he breathed in deeply. He had to focus and direct his energy. He had no idea what he was going to say. The survival instinct that he depended on was about to be tested again. He saw Miss Kristina standing by the helm next to Vilhjelm. He'd be alone with Bager. That was probably for the best.
He opened the door to Bager's cabin and stepped over the high threshold. He'd been there before, but it felt as if he was seeing it for the first time. His eyes scanned the framed family photographs screwed to the bulkhead. Above the leather-covered couch was a bolted-on shelf filled with books. Finally his eyes rested on the skipper. Bager had undergone a dramatic change. He was still clutching his chest with one hand, and with the other he gripped the table as if to keep himself from sliding off the couch. He'd grown even paler, and his eyes had sunk deep into his head. His thin hair was damp, and tiny beads of sweat had formed on his hairline. He blinked nervously.
Herman remained standing right inside the door. Straightening his back, he made his voice as formal as possible. When it came to willpower, he was stronger than Bager. He had never doubted that, and at this moment it was clearer than ever. But the captain outranked him. He had to impress and intimidate, but he couldn't show disrespect for the hierarchy he was bound to uphold, no matter how much he despised its chief representative. He was no mutineer.
"You wanted to speak to me," he said.
Bager looked down at the table as though he'd forgotten what he'd wanted to say and was now looking for it in the grain of the lacquered wood. Then he loosened his grip on the edge of the table and let the palm of his hand glide across the surface. Suddenly he slammed the table hard, as if signaling to himself that now was the time to talk. He looked up and fixed his eyes on Herman, but the nervous blinking continued.
"A serious accusation has been made against you," he said, and stopped, as though awaiting a reaction from Herman. Herman simply looked at him. It would be funny if he suddenly started quoting from the Book of Sermons, he thought.
Bager looked away before focusing again on Herman, clearly