Karl Oskar now told her: the girl with the abscess had died this morning. But it was not from seasickness; she had been ill when they sailed from Karlshamn, she had lain abed ever since she came on board.
Kristina lay silent and listened to the hymn from on deck. It could be heard only faintly down here. Presently she said: “I wonder—”
“What?”
“The dead. Are the dead ones sunk into the sea?”
“Yes. They can’t have corpses lying about on the ship.”
“I suppose not.”
“They lower them. They have to.”
“I suppose so. Then the dead sink to the bottom of the sea.”
Kristina was lying and staring at the ship’s timbers above her, but she saw nothing.
“On the bottom of the sea — one can rest in comfort. Don’t you think so, Karl Oskar?”
“Don’t think of that! You must only think about getting well.”
Karl Oskar wet a rag and tried to remove a few spots from the bedcover. Kristina had always been cleanly and particular, and she must be far gone when she didn’t mind her bridal quilt’s being soiled with vomit. But she had hardly been interested in anything these last days.
In the bunks around them lay the sick ones, listening to the singing which came down to them through the open hatch. It seemed clearer now, they could distinguish the words — the hymn went slowly and somberly:
“You wicked world, farewell!
To heaven fares my soul,
To reach her harbor goal. . ”
There was one word Karl Oskar particularly noticed, and it seemed as if his wife had marked it too. She turned her face toward him. “I must tell you something: I’ll never reach the harbor.”
“Kristina!”
“No, Karl Oskar. I’ll never put foot on American soil.”
“Don’t talk such nonsense! Seasickness is not fatal!”
“I have known it the whole time.”
“Crazy notions!”
“Ever since I stepped on board the ship I’ve felt it: I’ll never get away from here alive.”
“You only imagine it!”
“No. My forebodings never fail.”
“Forget it! Get it out of your mind! Kristina, dear—”
He took hold of her hand and patted it. Her hand lay limp and unresponsive in his.
She must know that the seasick always become depressed and downhearted and afraid they won’t survive; but as soon as they near land they are perfectly well and full of life again.
“Do you remember, Karl Oskar? I was afraid before we—”
Yes, he remembered. He was sorry to say he did remember: she had been afraid and dubious — he had persuaded her to come. He remembered that he was responsible.
No more singing was heard from on deck. The funeral hymn had been sung to its end. The funeral up there was over, the Charlotta’s captain had once more fulfilled his duty as clergyman. There was one human body less on board. And from the bushel of earth which the ship brought from her homeland there were now three shovels less.
“Oh, yes, Kristina,” Karl Oskar broke the silence. “We will reach land, you and I — we will reach the harbor in America.”
She did not answer. She lay there as before, and looked upward with still eyes; every fiber of her body was still.
And Karl Oskar thought, perhaps he had been too persuasive; perhaps he shouldn’t have tried so forcibly to convince her — perhaps he had assumed too great a responsibility.
— 3—
A few days later, in the morning, the second death occurred in the family compartment: Måns Jakob, the old Öland peasant, was found dead in his bunk-pen.
The discovery was made by his wife, who would not believe that he was dead. When she awakened in the morning she shook her husband by the shoulder, as she always used to do. She shook him harder when he didn’t respond — the old one wouldn’t open his eyes. Finally Fina-Kajsa called Danjel Andreasson, who came to her help. He said that her husband was lying there dead, but Fina-Kajsa refused to believe it. She said he had lain like that many times before in the mornings, and she had had to shake him thoroughly before he awakened; it was caused by his heart, which stopped at times and didn’t start as quickly as it ought. Moreover, Måns Jakob had during his whole life been a heavy sleeper — she knew, she had been married to him for more than forty years. Now she was convinced he would awaken if, together, they shook him sufficiently.
But all who looked at Måns Jakob agreed with Danjeclass="underline" no one could shake life into that body again. Måns Jakob was not to be awakened until Doomsday.
No one could tell what had caused his death, but his fellow passengers guessed it must have been his heart which had missed some of its regular beats and stopped so long that it couldn’t get started again. Karl Oskar thought he might have choked to death from his vomit; he had been found lying on his stomach with his face downward, and in this position it must have been difficult for him to get rid of his slime. Perhaps he hadn’t got the attention he needed during the night, even though his wife was lying close to him. No one had heard him call for help, but a dying man might be too weak.
The second mate came down again. When the Finn appeared in the hold at unexpected times they now knew his errand. Something was wrong again. The piece of canvas he brought now was not too large; this time it must cover the body of a grown man.
The mate began to remove the dead man from his bunk, but Måns Jakob’s wife attempted to stop him: “Wait a little! My man might still awaken!”
The Finn lifted the eyelids of Måns Jakob, and looked carefully into his eyes. “Your man is as dead as he can be. I know what dead people look like.”
“Wait a little, be kind! Only an hour.”
“You want him to lie here till he begins to stink?”
“Only a little while!”
But he did not heed the entreating old woman; he pulled the corpse from the bunk. Then she let out loud cries, at the same time grabbing hold of one leg of her dead husband, trying to keep the body by her in the bunk. Only after much trouble could the mate break her hold.
Danjel and Inga-Lena attended to Måns Jakob’s widow while Karl Oskar helped the Finn with the corpse. After death the old peasant seemed even more black and dirty than he had been in life. The snuff runnels over his cheeks and chin seemed wider than ever. This was not attractive on a living person — it was still more disgusting on a dead one. Karl Oskar felt they should wash the corpse’s face before placing the body in the canvas.
“He’ll get clean in the sea,” said the Finn.
“But that won’t be till after the funeral,” said Karl Oskar.
He had heard from old people that one ought not to read the funeral service over an unwashed corpse. And Danjel was talking about people’s responsibilities when they awoke on the Day of Resurrection; he agreed with Karl Oskar: as Christians, they owed the dead one this last service. His dirty old body had, after all, been the shell for a human soul, created by God. So, as there were no women to give them a hand, the two men helped each other, soaking old scrub rags in sea water, with which they washed the face of Måns Jakob. It was not a thorough cleaning, but at least they were able to remove the black streaks from the face before the corpse was enclosed in its shroud.
Then the mate laid a weight in the canvas, as was his custom. Karl Oskar thought they should have used Måns Jakob’s grindstone, which was in the storeroom. This fine grindstone, which he had talked about constantly, which he was so much worried about, which he must get to America — what would happen to it now? Who in America would take care of this grindstone without an owner? Perhaps Måns Jakob would have liked to have the stone with him at the bottom of the sea; there he need not worry over its fate, there it could lie at his side, in safekeeping until the Day of Doom.