That same evening she moved into Lundberg’s cabin. The second mate, whose name was Björnsson, moved into the ship’s cramped hospital cabin — Hanna would retain her own cabin, Captain Svartman was reluctant to take it away from her. But if anybody on board fell seriously ill, it would be used to accommodate them.
Captain Svartman was positively inclined towards their marriage. But as they left Algiers that same evening their wedding night was ruined by the fact that the prearranged timetable of duties came into operation, and Lundberg had to take his turn as lookout. There was no question of Captain Svartman giving him the evening off — his benevolence didn’t stretch that far. And it would never have occurred to Lundmark to ask for special treatment.
So Hanna had become a wife, Fru Lundmark. Both bride and bridegroom were shy and insecure. The solidly built third mate had been transformed into a little child, scared stiff of causing injury or offence. They embraced cautiously, as they barely knew each other yet. Their lovemaking was low-key, not yet uninhibited passion.
When they passed through the Suez Canal, they both happened to be off duty at the same time — an infrequent occurrence. They stood by the ship’s rail, contemplating the beaches, the tall palm trees, the camels slowly waddling along, the naked children diving into the waters of the canal.
What Hanna found hardest to get used to was sleeping with him lying by her side. Sleeping alongside a brother or sister or Berta had been one thing: but now she was sharing a bed with a big, heavy man who often tossed and turned and woke her up.
She felt both secure and restless in the situation she now found herself in, together with him; but at the same time she also felt an intense longing to be back in the life she had led in that remote river valley in the mountains.
At night, after making love, they would talk to each other in the dark, always in whispers as the bulkheads were thin and they were surrounded by other people.
In the darkness and the warmth, he now confided in her that he hoped one day to become the captain of his own ship.
‘I’ll achieve that if you help me,’ he said. ‘Now that I have you by my side, I think it’s possible.’
She took his hand. Thought about what he had said. And suddenly felt an overwhelming desire to be able to tell Elin about everything that was happening in her life.
When Elin had said that there was no other option, Hanna had to go to the coast, she had been right. But what would she think now about the voyage Hanna was now embarked upon?
I must write to her, Hanna thought. One day Elin will receive a letter. I’ll enclose a copy of our wedding photo. She must see the man I’ve married.
18
She was aroused from her memories by the question that still remained unanswered, a bridge between the past and where she found herself now: did she know who she was? Two months after she had left Sundsvall, she became Lundmark’s wife, and was now waiting for him to be buried.
She had no answer. Everything was silent around her and inside her. She could not answer the question of who she was or who she had become.
The ship was motionless in the steaming heat. The pressure in the steam boilers was kept low while they waited for the burial at sea to take place. Once that was over, the engine-room telegraph would give the command ‘Full steam ahead!’, and the stokers would once again start shovelling coal into the firebox.
But just now the soot-covered men from the engine room had come up on deck and washed away the worst of the dirt. There was only one man left down below to make sure that nothing caught on fire, or that one of the boilers didn’t go out.
Captain Svartman went in person to collect Hanna. He knocked carefully on the door of the cabin she had shared with her dead husband. Now she will have to live there alone, Svartman thought. What shall I do if she is scared of the loneliness? What shall I do with a widow on board?
He opened the door. She was sitting on the edge of the bunk, staring at her hands. In her thoughts she had just been reminding herself of the long journey that had begun in a remote river valley. She had met a man, they had become a couple, but now he was gone.
They had been together for two months. Then the fever that had suddenly struck him down after he had gone ashore in Sudan had killed him. But she was still there. And now he was going to be buried.
When she got up from the bunk she had the feeling that she was on her way to her own funeral. Or perhaps to her execution? Yet again she found herself alone, but now in a much worse situation than ever before. Why should she travel to the other side of the world when the man who had belonged to her no longer existed? Who was she accompanying now? Apart from Captain Svartman, on the way to the starboard side of the ship, the one facing land, the African coast hidden away in the sunny haze and out of sight even with the aid of a telescope?
There was a lookout on the bridge, an able seaman, one of the younger ones. But everyone else had assembled by the side of the soft coffin made out of sailcloth and standing on two trestles next to the rail. The grey cloth was wrapped up in a Swedish flag. It was stained and frayed. Hanna suspected it was the only flag on board. Captain Svartman was not the kind of person who made plans for what to do if one of his crew were to die. Only somebody who behaved rashly and broke his rules could get into trouble. Like the third mate now lying there on the trestles, and soon to be tipped overboard into the sea.
Hanna looked at the men who were standing in a semicircle. None of them could bring themselves to look her in the eye. Death was embarrassing, it made them self-conscious and insecure.
She looked up at the sky, and the sun that was broiling hot even though it was so early in the morning. In her thoughts she suddenly found herself back in the sleigh, behind Forsman’s broad back.
Then it was the cold, she thought. Now it’s the heat. But in a way they are the same.
And the movement. Then it was a sleigh, now it was a ship slowly, almost imperceptibly, swaying in the swell.
Captain Svartman was dressed in his uniform and with white gloves: in his hand was the book with instructions for how to conduct a burial at sea. He read in a monotonous but loud voice. He had no fears when it came to carrying out his duties as captain.
Hanna suspected that more than anything else Svartman was angry because somebody had ignored his exhortations and gone ashore, even though he must have been aware of the danger he was exposing himself to.
The man who was about to be buried had died completely unnecessarily. A man who had been stupid and not listened to what Captain Svartman had to say to him.
Hanna had the feeling that Svartman was not simply mourning the loss of his third mate. He also felt that he’d been let down.
19
The ceremony was short. Captain Svartman did not deviate from the set text, added nothing personal. He fell silent when he came to the end of the order of service and nodded to his second mate, who had a good singing voice and launched into a hymn. Oddly enough he had chosen a Christmas hymn.
Shine over sea and shore, star in the distance.
The rest of the crew joined in, mumbling, with here and there a jarring false note. Hanna glanced furtively at them. Some were not singing at all.
Which ones were thinking about the man who had died? Some were, no doubt. Others, perhaps most of them, were just grateful that they were still alive.