We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [286]
The Dannevang had once been registered in Marstal. The steamer had been owned by Klara Friis and had been laid up for years before being sold to a shipowner in Nakskov. The captain and the first and second mates were from Marstal, the seafaring town that no longer had its own ships, but whose men had become the aristocracy of the Danish merchant fleet. Marstallers were everywhere, and most commonly on the bridge as first mates or captains: the only ones who sailed as seamen were those still too young to be anything else. Daniel Boye, a distant relative of Farmer Sofus, had been captain of the Dannevang when she still belonged to the family and sailed under her old name, the Energy.
He'd been among Frederik Isaksen's supporters and he'd stood near the wharf when Isaksen caught the ferry to Svendborg after his defeat.
"You won't remember Isaksen," he'd said to Knud Erik, "but he remembers your mother." Knud Erik had shuddered slightly. His mother was a sore point. He'd neither seen nor spoken to her in a decade. However, he knew Isaksen well. Isaksen had retained his affection for the people of Marstal and never closed his door to a Marstaller if a voyage brought him to New York. He'd even married a Marstal girl: Miss Kristina.
Always the gentleman, he'd been waiting for her on the pier in New York when she arrived. Klara Friis had written to him, "I know that you do not owe me anything. But I do believe that you are a man with a strong sense of responsibility."
Isaksen certainly was. He'd not only taken Kristina Bager under his wing but ended up marrying her. Knud Erik had visited them from time to time. Isaksen was a wonderful father to Ivar's child, but he and Kristina never had children of their own, and Knud Erik couldn't work out whether they were happy together: he had his doubts about Isaksen's relationship with women. He was fond of the vivacious Kristina and he had good reason to be, but as far as Knud Erik could see, he wasn't fond of her in quite the way a man should be of a woman. Although Knud Erik and Kristina Isaksen confided in each other, on this matter he never inquired.
"My little knight," she'd call him. She used a sisterly tone, though he'd outstripped her in size a long time ago.
Knud Erik had been in New York when Kristina's daughter was confirmed. It had been a strange experience to sit in a Protestant church in the Upper East Side, watching the fourteen-year-old Klara, a girl named after the mother he hadn't seen since the day she'd declared he might as well be dead. Her kindness to Kristina Bager was a side of his mother he'd never seen himself.
Whenever anyone tried to talk to him about why his mother had renounced him, Knud Erik always turned away in silence.
Captain Boye had received two telegrams on the morning of April 9. One was from the ship's owner, Severinsen in Nakskov, ordering the Dannevang to return to Denmark. The other was from Isaksen.
Boye read it aloud and looked at his first mate. "Isaksen suggests we go to a British port," he said. "It's actually none of his business, as he doesn't own the ship. But I happen to agree with him."
"Isaksen's a man of honor," Knud Erik said.
The majority of Danish shipowners had done what Severinsen had done. Møller, who appeared to be well informed, had stayed up with his son the night before the Germans invaded Denmark, telegraphing his ships with orders to seek a neutral port. The crew of the Jessica Mærsk had mutinied, tying up the first mate and locking him in the chart room: the ship had been bound for Ireland, which was staying out of the war. The crew had forced the captain to sail to Cardiff instead. Rumor had it that the Jessica Mærsk too had received a telegram from Isaksen. From his New York office he'd been just as busy as his former boss. As Boye remarked, Isaksen had stuck his nose into something that was