How thirsty she was! Her throat burned, in her mouth she chewed embers and ashes. But she was unable to reach out her hand for the water jar which stood near the bunk. She had no power to move her hands, to move her feet or her head. She would never be able to move again.
“Seasickness is harder on married women. . and when a pregnant woman goes to sea, inexperienced with sea and sailing. .”
But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered any more, nothing could happen to her any more. And whatever happened, she would never attempt to raise her head, or her hand even. She had only one wish: to lie here, still, still, still. Never to move any more, never move in all her life, just lie here, until it was all over at last.
Wives who were with child suffered doubly because they were with child. He shall travel free of charge, the little tyke, Karl Oskar had said; he will cheat the skipper. But she paid the fare in her suffering. Three children around her, one inside her — that unborn one — what sort might he be?
But it didn’t matter. Now she only wanted to reach the bottom. She must stop the swing, she wanted to sit on solid ground, she wanted to rest on something soft. But there was no bottom.
Except the bottom of the sea.
The sea was deep, the water was soft, the bottom of the sea was soft. Oh, how she would rest there!
The one who was afraid when the swing went too high could jump off. Other girls jumped off. But she had always liked to ride high. She never used to be afraid.
Kristina of Korpamoen rode on a swing. She was thrown into the clouds, she traveled through space without end or beginning, she sank into depths without bottom.
And from this swing she could not jump off.
Inga-Lena:
It had happened when she stood in the galley and fried pork. She had cut up a side piece, and laid the slices in the frying pan. Then the devil came to her and whispered: You mustn’t rely on that, don’t think for a moment it is true. You mustn’t think that you more than anyone else. . And suddenly she had become dizzy and exhausted and weak. She had rushed to the corner where the buckets were, and thrown up.
Perhaps it was the smell of the pork, sizzling there in the pan. The fat was yellow and had a rancid odor when it was placed over the fire.
She had been forced to go below and rest her head for a moment. All around her people were sick. Men and women vomited like cats. But they were children of the world — the believers were saved from seasickness. Yet now she had been seized by the same illness as the unbelievers. She prayed God for help in her bodily weakness, then she put some more camphor in the pouch she carried against her stomach — a remedy for seasickness — and took a spoonful of medicine — The Four Kinds of Drops.
At supper she was unable to eat a single bite. The rancid fried pork grew and became larger in her mouth. The ship’s pork had never tasted good, today it was inedible. But she dared not tell her husband how things stood with her, he must not notice her bodily ailments, she must keep her seasickness a secret.
Danjel asked why she put her food aside. She answered that she had eaten some in the afternoon when she prepared a bite for the children.
She thought that it must soon pass. She must be well for the sake of her husband and children. And her littlest one so ill — no one knew how it might go with her.
But when she wanted to rise from her bunk, to take the utensils back to the galley, her legs refused to carry her. She lay down on her bunk again.
Ulrika of Västergöhl came up to her and looked at her questioningly.
“You are green in the face! Are you ailing, Inga-Lena?”
The wife from Kärragärde kept her silence. How could she tell the truth?
Ulrika felt perfectly well; she enjoyed the sea as much as solid land. Now she was practically the only woman in the hold feeling completely well. There lay Kristina of Korpamoen and suffered sorely, there she lay and grunted in her bunk like a farrowing sow. All who lived in the flesh became sick, the Lord had no mercy on sinners. But she, Ulrika, went free. One who lived in the true faith could stand the sea in any weather. One with Christ’s body in him could never feel sick.
Only how was it with Inga-Lena? Was not she one of the Lord’s chosen?
“Have you fallen seasick?”
“I’m afraid so,” whispered Inga-Lena.
“Can this be true?”
“Yes — and what will Danjel say if I cannot get up? What shall I do?”
Ulrika was well and full of health and happiness. She could comfort an unhappy one, and now she told Inga-Lena to keep up her spirits. Perhaps there were some remnants of the old body left within her, and these she must give up. They were sinful parts anyway, good to get rid of; it would be well for her to vomit a little. She would feel cleaner and lighter and happier afterwards. When not the slightest piece of the old body was left in her, then Christ would feel much more at home inside her.
Ulrika left Inga-Lena to view the devastation of the seasickness among the children of the world. Inga-Lena remained in her bunk and cried — cried from sorrow that she had been unable to withstand the seasickness and thereby please her husband.
Soon Danjel could see with his own eyes what had happened to her. As he approached their bunk a few moments later, the illness overpowered her and she had to make quick use of the bucket.
“My dear wife!” he exclaimed in consternation.
“Yes, dear Danjel—”
“Was that why you put your food aside?”
“Yes, that’s why, dear Danjel.”
“You have gone to bed? Is your faith weak?”
“Dear, sweet husband, forgive me.”
“Have you listened to the Enemy? Have you doubted. .?”
But the reproach in Danjel Andreasson’s voice was only a mild, kind reproach.
Inga-Lena lay on her bunk and groped for her husband’s hand, crying in despair. She sobbed out: yes, it was true, she had doubted.
Danjel bent his head as after a hard blow: in every unguarded moment the devil was near, trying to entice and tempt and cheat a poor sinner, making him doubt that God could help in trouble and tribulation.
His wife now admitted the whole truth: in her simple mind she had sometimes wondered if it were really true that those who adhered to Åke Svensson’s teachings would escape seasickness on the America voyage. She had thought it sounded a little strange, and she had not believed it a sin to wonder. And today when she stood in the ship’s cookhouse, and saw the tremendous waves, and heard the storm carry on so that their vessel jumped like a cork on the water, then she had become afraid. She had felt sick at her stomach. She was standing at the stove, turning the slices of pork, when doubt at its worst assailed her. Again she had wondered if it could be true — that about the seasickness. She didn’t know what to believe any longer, she couldn’t rely on not getting sick, for she felt in her body that she was about to vomit. That was why she had started to doubt.
Now Danjel understood that it was the devil who had come to her when she was frying pork. But she had not at first recognized him.
“He is always difficult to recognize,” said Danjel. “But don’t you rely on our God, Inga-Lena? Don’t you think He has power to save you from the seasickness, if He wishes?”
Yes, that she believed fully. She had only wondered a little, in her simple mind, only a very little. She had not thought that this could make any difference — if she wondered and questioned, just a little. .
“But you must know that man should not wonder and question! Why didn’t you close your ears to the soul-fiend?”
Danjel’s voice grew more severe; but his sorrow was still deeper, and he gave his wife devout admonitions: she must never never let go of her hold to faith, she must always cling to it. A little carelessness, and she might fall and be lost; and she had been careless while she prepared the meal in the storm. But he could understand this.