We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [272]
"What happened?"
"What do you think?"
"Is he dead?"
"I've looked for his pulse. I couldn't find one, so I suppose he is." Knud Erik's shoulders started to shake. "We need to put him in his berth," Herman said. He took hold of Bager under the arms while Knud Erik slid an arm under his legs: together they pulled him sideways off the couch and carefully laid the skinny body in the berth. The eyes were still wide open. So was the mouth. Herman closed the dead man's eyes and pressed his jaw shut. "This was an accident." Aware that Knud Erik was staring at him, he shot him a challenging look. Knud Erik looked away. "Trouble always comes in twos," he added. He said it to placate him. He could speak only in platitudes now: meaningless phrases, tired expressions. Yet there was something soothing about uttering them, as if he wanted to console not just Knud Erik but himself. Bager's death had scared him: it was as if the captain had suddenly shouted "Boo!" in his face. Not that he'd miss him. He'd instantly realized that Bager's death was nothing but an advantage for him. He'd avoid a lot of unpleasant accusations. "I need to speak to Miss Kristina," he said, and went up the ladder.
Knud Erik followed. Herman opened the door to the galley. She was there, huddled on the little bench. Helmer was standing by the stove with his back to her. She looked up at them. Her face was pale, grimy, and red-eyed. The salt water had flattened her hair, and it stuck to her head in messy clumps.
"Miss Kristina," he said. "I need to speak to you. It's about your father."
"My father?" she asked, uncomprehending.
"Let's go outside." He stepped aside so she could pass through the galley door. She obeyed without asking further questions. There was a somnambular quality to her movements. He led her to the rail on the lee side. Facing each other, they gripped the rail while the ship heaved and dipped on the heavy sea. He didn't know what would happen next, but he was aware of his own tension. Would she break down? Or would she fly into a wild rage and hurl fresh accusations at him? The uncertainty he always felt in her presence was back, but magnified a thousandfold. Could he handle this?
With great effort he made his voice matter-of-fact. "Miss Kristina," he heard himself say. "I'm terribly sorry to be the one to deliver this sad message to you, but your father has just died. He had a heart attack."
He didn't look at her as he spoke but kept his eyes cast downward, hoping she'd interpret it as a sign of sympathy and respect for her grief. But he knew deep down it was uncertainty that stopped him from meeting her eye. He felt that he'd already lost the game and that something terrible was about to blow up in his face, a chain reaction of unstoppable events that would sweep him to his doom.
He'd spoken and then awaited her reaction. But nothing happened. Unable to bear the wait, he looked up. She was still facing him. Her expression remained unchanged, as if she hadn't heard a word he'd said.
What happened next came as a total surprise to him. She took a step forward and bowed her head. Then she rested her forehead on his shoulder and started to cry. For a few seconds he stood stock-still, his arms dangling at his sides. Then he embraced her, swaying steadily to the ship's roll, so they wouldn't lose their balance and fall onto the wet deck. Everything in him opened up all at once, and the uncertainty that had gripped him a minute earlier was transformed into a feeling of triumph that surged like an erupting geyser.
They stood like that for a while. He could have stayed there forever. He felt his own strength, and the light pressure of her forehead. He stroked her wet, tangled hair and muttered a stream of comforting, meaningless sounds. An unexpected bond had been created between them. He had no idea how. But it was there. He felt it so strongly that he responded with an upsurge of tenderness. It was like embracing a child.
"Come," he