He had a cabin of his own. That had surprised him. In the days when he’d dreamt about becoming a sailor, he thought everybody slept together in a big dormitory. He realised that a lot of what Samuel used to talk about no longer applied in modern times.
His cabin wasn’t very big. It had a bunk fixed to the wall, a washbasin, a wardrobe and a chair. And a porthole.
It seemed to him that he’d never had better living quarters in the whole of his life. The engines throbbing away deep down inside the ship rocked him to sleep.
They stayed in Middlesbrough for a whole week. On Saturday Joel accompanied several of the other crew members to a nearby city called Sunderland, where they watched a football match.
Every day was different.
Something new was happening all the time.
They left Middlesbrough and headed for Narvik. Northwards again. But Joel had decided to be patient. This was his first ship after all. An iron ore trader. He would begin by getting used to life at sea. Then he would apply for work on other types of boat. He had plenty of time.
The second night on the North Sea, Joel was woken up by being tossed around in his bunk. A wind had blown up. He could feel his stomach reacting already. But he forced himself to go back to sleep. It would have blown over by morning.
But in fact it was gale force winds when he woke up. When he staggered out of bed, he had to cling on to the wardrobe door so as not to fall over.
The rest of the day was a nightmare. Joel alternated work with throwing up, had to watch plates of food falling onto the floor and sliding around, and he began to wonder why on earth he’d ever wanted to go to sea. Samuel had talked about being seasick. But this was something far worse than he’d ever imagined. He spoke to the cook, whose name was Axelsson and who was holding on to the stove to remain upright while he was frying the potatoes, and asked how long it was going to go on like this.
‘Oh, it’ll last all the way to Narvik. But it’ll blow over eventually.’
Joel stared at the potatoes sizzling away in the fat — and only just managed to get to the nearest toilet before throwing up again.
That evening he was so tired that he collapsed into bed without even bothering to get undressed. He was dreading the next morning.
Joel was seasick until they were well into the fjord at Narvik. Then, at long last, he could feel it ebbing away.
He was never seasick again.
He was one of the lucky ones who had the ability to get used to it. But Frans had stories about a bosun he knew who’d suffered from seasickness for over forty years.
The weeks passed by.
Joel found himself in Narvik four times. And then Bristol, Middlesbrough again, Ghent, and eventually Holland. A port close to Amsterdam.
Frans had been to Amsterdam before. One evening he told Joel a series of stories that Joel suspected were made up. About women sitting in windows and offering themselves for sale. A whole district full of women sitting in windows. Joel refused to believe that it was true.
‘You go there and see for yourself,’ Frans said.
Joel made up his mind to do just that. When they came to Holland, Pirinen gave Joel a day off. So he went to the telegraphist’s office and cashed in 200 kronor of his wages. This was the first time he’d taken out money. He’d never had so much money in his hand before.
The intention had been that Frans would go with him to Amsterdam. But Frans wasn’t allowed shore leave as there was some essential work to be done that needed his presence. So Joel had to travel alone.
He’d decided that now was when it was going to happen.
He’d written in his logbook:
We’re sailing through the Kiel Canal. It’s high time I took the step from Sonja Mattsson to something more. August 22, 1959. 7.44 p.m.
Joel took the train.
Frans had told him that the women who sat in the windows were in a district close to the Amsterdam central railway station.
When he got there, he consulted a timetable in order to establish when the last train left for the harbour where his ship was berthed.
Then he stepped out into Amsterdam. He was nervous. He didn’t know what was in store. Frans had tried to explain it to him. He ought to walk around, have a good look at all the windows, and choose a woman he fancied. Then they’d let him into a room at the back of the house. He’d have to pay first. Frans had kept stressing how important that was, over and over again. First the money. Otherwise he might find himself confronted by some frightening character who’d been sitting in another back room, listening to the radio.
First the money, Joel thought. He had it in his pocket. The telegraphist had paid him in Dutch guilders.
Joel hadn’t a clue about what would happen next. He was worried that he wouldn’t be able to cope. And he wasn’t at all sure what it was that he’d be expected to cope with. She might throw him out if he did it wrong.
But obviously, he hadn’t mentioned to Frans that this would be his first time. Or that he was worried.
He had a suspicion that it would be easier if he’d had something to drink. Not too much. Just enough to banish his nerves. So he went to a bar next to the station. He had a beer. Only one. His body felt warmer already. When he left the bar, he found his way to the red light district. There were a lot of people in the streets. Lots of sailors, just like him.
And then there were all the women.
Frans hadn’t exaggerated.
They were sitting on chairs in brightly lit windows, with fixed expressions on their faces. Just like tailors’ dummies.
Joel felt both nervous and sexually excited. He hardly dared look at the women. Most of them were half naked and heavily made up. Some were smoking. Joel paused at a window where lots of other men were already standing, and took a good look. He could hide in the background there.
Then he went to a bar and ordered a whisky. Frans drank whisky. Nothing else. Joel forced it down him.
Samuel would have swallowed it in a single gulp, Joel thought. No doubt Samuel has also been to this very same place.
Who would he have chosen?
Joel decided to drink another whisky. That would have to be enough.
He paid and left. Now he felt bold enough to stand in front of a window all by himself.
But how would he be able to choose?
He wished there had been a girl who looked like Sonja Mattsson. But he couldn’t see one. He moved on. The lit-up windows came to an end. He was just going to retrace his steps when somebody spoke to him from out of the shadows. He couldn’t see who it was at first. Then a woman appeared in front of him. She hadn’t come from one of the brightly lit windows, but Joel had no doubt she was one of the same type. For sale. She spoke English. Said how much it cost, and pointed into the shadows. Joel could just make out the outline of a door.
She couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Like Sonja Mattsson. She had brown hair and wasn’t as heavily made up as the women Joel had seen in the windows.
She took hold of his arm.
Joel thought he ought to make a run for it.
But instead he accompanied her into the shadows.
There was a steep staircase behind the door. She ushered him up it, in front of her.
What the hell am I doing in here? Joel thought.
They came to a room where there was a bed with a red cover. A radio could be heard in a neighbouring room.
She sat down on the bed and stretched out her hand.
He gave her the money she’d asked for.
Then she started to unbutton his trousers.
Then she took off her own green trousers. Joel just had time to see that she was wearing nothing underneath before she pulled him down on top of her on the bed. She hadn’t removed the cover.