We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [66]
"I obey only my conscience."
"And what does your conscience bid you do?" he asked mockingly.
"My conscience doesn't care about the course we take, or wages, or time off. I'm not afraid of hard work. But there are some things it forbids me."
"We'll see," Jack Lewis said. "It's your choice. Your father or your conscience."
"Where is he?"
"I'm not going to tell you. The Pacific's a big place, and he's far away. The trade winds blow as they will, but I promise not to travel there the long way round. So, what shall it be? Yes or no?"
And I replied, "Yes."
WE SAILED a fortnight later. The hold was full—but what with, I didn't know. Captain Jack Lewis had deliberately kept me away from the loading.
"The usual," he replied, in answer to my question.
I knew it was pointless to ask again: I could see his urge to mock me resurfacing.
"Remember your conscience. What you don't know won't hurt you."
Our course was southwesterly, but that told me nothing. Hawaii was in the eastern Pacific, and the course merely confirmed what I already suspected: that my papa tru was somewhere across that vast expanse of water, on one of the thousands of islands.
I was at the helm and we were being carried along by a light breeze. Jack Lewis was standing next to me. He was a man of his word and he must have been serious when he told me how lonely it was with nothing but Kanaks for company, because now he rarely left my side.
"You may not be aware of this," he said, "but you're crossing the Pacific for the wrong reason."
"How do you mean?"
He could always arouse my curiosity, though I rarely enjoyed his philosophy.
"If I ask someone like you where he's headed, do you know what you're meant to say if you're a young man with a zest for life? I'm headed for the whole world, you should say. For the oceans and all their islands. A young man goes to sea to escape from his father. But you're looking for him. That's the wrong way around. Is it because of your mother?"
"It would be better for her if he were dead, and she had a grave to visit. It would do her no good to know that he's still alive."
"So you're not doing her a favor. Are you sure you're doing yourself one?"
"I need to know the truth."
"What do you want from your father?"
"A man needs a yardstick."
"A yardstick? Find another one. A ship, your own actions. Let the Pacific be your yardstick. Look at the swell. You'll not find a bigger swell anywhere. It has half the globe for its run-up. You're young. You have the whole world. Don't bother yourself with the past."
I made no reply. What I wanted from my father was none of Jack Lewis's business, so why was he interfering? Besides, we'd struck a deal, and I wasn't questioning him about our course.
I thought about my papa tru. Once upon a time I missed him so much that my heart ached every day. Then I grew up and a feeling of bitterness crept in. I never doubted that he was alive—and I assumed he'd gone missing because he wanted to. I had to know why. That was all. What kind of life was he living? What would I say when I met him? I didn't know. I hadn't prepared a speech. I just had to see him. And then what?
I couldn't answer that either. I only knew that while I was searching for him, he'd changed into a different man. And that was the truth about him. He'd become a stranger. Perhaps that was what I wanted confirmed. I needed to find him so I could say goodbye.
It was a year since I'd left Hobart Town. I had been back and forth across the Pacific, but I hadn't seen it, because Jack Lewis was right: I'd been traveling with my back to it. But now I saw it for the first time. I saw its long