We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [93]
"I'm a sailor," I replied.
"Indeed. But why did you become a sailor? Surely God didn't point His finger at you and command you to go to sea? It was your choice, I presume?"
I shook my head.
"My father was a sailor. My two brothers are sailors. My sister's married to a sailor. All my friends from school sail."
"The Baltic wasn't big enough for you? It would suffice most men. Why the Pacific? What are you hoping to find here?"
I resented Krebs's curiosity, if that's what it was. Perhaps he just enjoyed the sound of his own voice. But he'd got too close, and I had no intention of confiding in anyone. I looked down at my plate again and concentrated on eating.
"This really is delicious," I said.
"I'll pass your compliments on to the chef."
I could tell from his tone that he was insulted. I'd rejected his invitation to confide in him, and a chasm had opened between us.
"This Madsen," he said eventually. "Is he a relative?"
I was already regretting having mentioned my father's name. But this was a big island, and I had to find him one way or another.
"No." I lied. "We're not related. We just happen to come from the same town."
"And share the same surname?"
"A lot of Marstallers do. I promised his family I'd find out how he's doing. Since I'm here anyway."
"Since you're here anyway. Since you happened to pass by Samoa."
His voice was thick with contempt. He didn't believe me, but rather than say so directly, he mocked my reply.
I didn't care. I'd had my bath and my hot meal. He could kick me out now if he wanted to, and I'd manage without his help. I wiped my mouth with my damask napkin.
"That was lovely, thank you," I said, feigning politeness.
I could see that Krebs was reconsidering his position.
"There's dessert too," he said. "Don't get up, please."
Venetian blinds, made from thin bamboo, were swaying in the light breeze on the veranda. It was just as pleasant here as indoors, though the tropical sun blazed from its zenith. The natives were still busy clearing up after last night's destruction. The surf pounded the beach. In the distance I could see the foaming barrier of the reef where I'd nearly lost my life the day before.
Krebs questioned me about the circumstances of the shipwreck. I mentioned the raft and Captain Hansen, who'd gone down to his cabin to rescue the ship's papers and failed to reappear when the Johanne Karoline gave a last lurch and a wave washed us overboard. He asked about the Kanaks, and when I told him that they'd reached the shore alive with me but then disappeared, and that apart from that I knew nothing about them, he shrugged as though it was an insignificant detail.
He looked at me again and smiled the ambiguous smile that I'd quickly come to recognize.
"It's amazing what a good meal can achieve. Wouldn't you agree?"
I nodded.
"Take me, for example," he continued. "My memory has returned. Madsen: yes, I recall him now. If you feel sufficiently rested, I can provide you with a native to show you the way. Then you can see him as early as this afternoon."
"I really can't turn up looking like this," I said. Even I could hear the panic in my voice.
"Of course not." Krebs continued to smile. "You're a stickler for etiquette, I see that now. Which attire would you prefer to wear when you meet this Madsen?"
"My own," I said.
I could hear the falseness in my voice, and it seemed to me that we were play-acting for each other. But truth be told, I could see nothing remotely funny about this comedy. In fact, I was afraid. I was afraid to meet my papa tru after all these years, and I was afraid of Heinrich Krebs because he seemed to know something about my father that he didn't care to reveal. He'd sensed how eager I was to meet him—and he'd sensed my fear. He was toying with me, but I didn't know why. What was he after?
Krebs excused himself and left the veranda, and I spent the rest of the day wandering around the beach, looking out at the ocean and reflecting on my situation and all I'd been