We, the Drowned - Carsten Jensen [99]
It was so ludicrous that I started laughing. If I hadn't, I'd have howled like a wounded animal.
My father gawked at me, paralyzed with fear. Then he started to crawl backward in the dust like a crab. He thought my laughter was triumphant, that I was about to get my own back. He shook with fright, the poor shadowy creature.
In the hot midday sun the sight of him had stirred up all sorts of feelings in me: anxiety and panic, bafflement and rage. For a brief moment I was even prepared to feel sorry for him. Now any compassion I might have felt turned into contempt. I got up and went over to my sea chest. A fiendish impulse made me grab Jim by his hair and dangle the shrunken head in the air. I took one menacing step toward the man who'd once been my father.
Papa tru was still crouched in the dust. A wet patch appeared on the sand between his legs. In his petrified state he'd lost control of his bladder. His children pressed themselves against him. Had I known their language, I'd have yelled at them that they shouldn't seek comfort in a father as miserable as this. The boys' mother, big and heavy, appeared in the doorway. Her eyes were wide with fear like her children's.
I put Jim back in my sea chest, tucked it under my arm, raised a finger to my cap in farewell, and went on my way. The first few steps I took were measured. Then I started to run. As I ran, I felt the tears cascading down my face. The natives watched me cautiously. I'd interrupted their midday rest.
Laurids must have got his courage back at the sight of my retreat, because behind me I heard the sound of his voice one more time.
"My boots!" he shouted.
But I didn't turn back.
I never saw my father again.
I WENT BACK to Hobart Town, where this cursed voyage had begun. It was no happy return, for there was nothing in this wretched place that could inspire joy in anyone. But this was where it had all started, and so this was where it must end.
I went to the Hope and Anchor to say hello to Anthony Fox. When I left, he was black-and-blue. That was my conclusion to the story.
Fox hadn't been pleased to see me: he had no reason to rejoice at our reunion. But he did his best to conceal it. To him, I must have looked like someone back from the dead.
I told him that I was like him: I never forgot a debt. That wiped the fake welcoming smile from his face. He reached for his revolver, which he kept under the brass bar counter, the smartest in Hobart, but I'd anticipated that, and I was quicker than he was. We ended up in the backroom. He fought well. He was an experienced fighter who knew plenty of dirty tricks from his prison days. But I was younger and bigger and I finally floored him. He stayed down for a long time. I kept pounding him even after he'd given up. My rage demanded it.
When I'd kicked and broken his last rib, I said, "And Jack Lewis says hello."
Not because I owed Jack Lewis anything, but to finally balance the books. We'd both been victims of the same fraudster. It was Anthony Fox who'd sold the guns to the natives on Jack Lewis's island, and when he told me his name, he must have calculated that I wouldn't be coming back alive.
I don't know what had happened between him and Jack Lewis. Nor do I give a damn. Each was as bad as the other. If anything, Lewis was probably worse, and no doubt Fox had had much to avenge.
He played with my life. The idea of my death only added a touch of spice to his game. So there was an outstanding debt between us. In fact, there were two. I owed him for the gin from our previous meeting, when he sent me on the voyage he expected would be my last. Before I left the Hope and Anchor, I tossed a coin at his pulped face.
There was once a time when I thought that I'd learn something if I found my papa tru. But I hadn't. I hadn't grown wiser.
I'd just grown harder.
THE DISASTER
IT WAS MANY YEARS before we heard further news of Laurids Madsen. Albert never told his mother anything, and we all agreed that was the kindest thing to do. She'd died by the time Peter