‘It’s not as if I could get to a bank!’
‘You could phone,’ says Jón Karl, opening the biscuits. ‘You could get them to transfer the money.’
‘First I’m going to have to sell my house. You can’t cash that cheque until we get back to Iceland.’
‘For your sake,’ says Jón Karl, breaking a biscuit before dunking one half in his sweet, milky coffee, ‘…it’d better not bounce!’
‘That’s my problem,’ mutters Jónas, his eyes going dark.
‘Did you kill him?’
‘Who?’ asks Jónas, stiffening.
‘That brother-in-law of yours,’ says Jón Karl, smacking his lips on the biscuit.
‘No… I…’ Jónas goes white and then purple around his nose and mouth, as if he’s about to suffocate.
‘Relax, man. As if I give a shit!’
‘I’m just a weak man,’ says Jónas, drawing a deep breath like a sheep with lung disease. ‘But you are a devil in human form.’
‘Whatever. At least I don’t have to sell the roof over my head in order to silence people who don’t even know what they’re being silent about, do I?’
‘You…’ Jónas gives up.
‘Did you say we’re on our way to Sumeria?’ asks Jón Karl, breaking another biscuit in two.
‘Suriname.’ Jónas rubs his swollen eyelids with the palms of his hands.
‘Right,’ says Jón Karl and looks distractedly out the window at the darkness outside. ‘But it doesn’t look as if we’re going anywhere at all, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Listen. I’m going to the toilet. You just take it easy meanwhile.’
‘Real easy,’ says Jón Karl, noisily chewing the coffee-soaked biscuit.
‘Just remember to clock in on the dead man’s bell,’ says Jónas, who is putting on an old parka marked Polar Ships back and front. ‘That’s all you have to do.’
‘Right.’
‘It’s this instrument here.’ Jónas points to the dead man’s bell. ‘When the lights flash and you hear a peep, you have to push the button within fifteen seconds. Otherwise you’ll wake the captain.’
‘Right,’ says Jón Karl, standing up to refill his coffee mug.
‘This instrument here,’ says Jónas, still pointing at the little grey transceiver.
‘Are you going outside for that crap, man?’ asks Jón Karl, finally looking at the mate.
‘Ha?’
‘The parka.’
‘Yeah. Might check on the weather while I’m at it.’
‘So why don’t you just go?’ Jón Karl again takes his seat by the window. ‘A guy could go grey listening to your bleating. You’re worse than the engineer with the hash.’
‘Just remember the dead man’s bell.’ Jónas zips up his parka. ‘It’ll peep in ten minutes.’
‘Right.’
‘I’ll be off, then,’ says Jónas. There’s a click as he closes the bridge door behind him, then it rattles as he opens the door to the platform behind the wheelhouse, letting the wind into the stairwell.
Jón Karl sits at the window of the bridge, drinks coffee, eats biscuits, looks out and watches the ship rise and fall on its journey through the turbulent blackness that never changes yet is never the same.
The darkness of night, the ocean and the blowing clouds, the whole hellish spectacle, run together into a dark, seething whole which looks, from the bridge, like a vertical whirlpool turning counterclockwise, round and round, growing neither larger nor smaller, shallower nor deeper.
It’s somehow relaxing, this movement of the ship, the interplay of natural forces, the roar of the engine and the many thousands of tonnes of steel. There’s something hypnotic about the heavy, measured rhythm that keeps the slow dance going forever, with ever-new variations on this classic theme.
The blows that pulse back along the ship when the bow kisses the waves no longer echo in his head but, rather, pump salty blood in time to the lifeless heart of the engine.
Boom, boom, boom…
And before the voyage ends they will probably disappear from the surface of consciousness and merge with the low ticks of the clock of life itself.
Jón Karl sits completely still and silent, staring out the window like an eagle on a high mountain or, simply, the mountain itself. It must be at least twenty years since he has sat so still and let his mind wander. He’s the man who can’t sit still to watch a movie without making a few calls, fixing a meal, going to the toilet, eating, drinking and fast forwarding over all conversations.
There’s something quite magical about sitting there in the dimly lit bridge and looking down on this gigantic ship as it sails into the night, as if one were an explorer, an astronaut or God almighty travelling through a spiritual sea of oblivion beyond space and time.
Jón Karl allows the ship to rock him in the exhilaration of the moment; it’s almost as if his soul awakens and floats higher and higher while his sleepy body sinks deeper and deeper. This sleeping while waking and waking while dreaming is utter bliss, and Jón Karl feels as if he could sit there all night, all his life, forever and ever.
But after four minutes he starts to get bored.
Captain Guðmundur lies sleepless under the doona in his cabin, blowing like a whale and turning over at regular intervals.
He keeps the light on in the bathroom and the door open, to thin out the darkness that would otherwise engulf him and fill his head with heavy thoughts. Besides, he has to pee every half-hour whether he sleeps or not, so he may as well simply keep the light on.
04:27
The digital clock stares at him with its red numbers that look like broken letters and which will remain meaningless until 06:59 becomes 07:00. Then Guðmundur will get out of bed, take a hot shower and shave, whether he has had a wink of sleep or not.
04:28
Every time Guðmundur closes his eyes he sees the face of his wife, Hrafnhildur. She looks at him as if she were waiting for him to say something. Say what? Or is she implying that he forgot something? Forgot what?
Did he kiss her goodbye? He can’t remember. It had all been so strange and awkward. But did he leave the envelope?
Yes, he left the envelope.
Did she say anything? She said nothing. Or did she?
Would she come? Probably not. Would she be at home when he returned from this tour? Or would she have left him? Would the house be lit up or dark? He hopes it will be lit up. But he fears it will be dark.
04:29
The silence is unbearable. It’s more than unbearable – it’s driving him crazy.
What he wouldn’t give to have her here with him. What he wouldn’t give to be able to kiss her now. Or just touch her hand. Feel her breathing. Her heat.
If only he could hear her voice. Even if she were just scolding him. Oh, how wonderful it would be if she could just scold him now.
‘I must phone home tomorrow,’ Guðmundur says to himself with a sigh as he turns to his other side.
First thing in the morning!
04:30
A red light blinks by his cabin door, then a loud bell starts ringing at three-second intervals, which means there is no-one on watch in the bridge. If they forget what they’re doing in the engine room, or lose consciousness there, or if the main engine stops, then the bell rings at one second intervals. But if a fire starts, all the bells on the ship ring without stopping.
‘What the hell!’ says Guðmundur. He sits up in bed and looks searchingly at the expressionless face of the digital clock.
04:30
‘What’s Jónas up to?’ Guðmundur throws off his doona and leaps out of bed in his pants and undershirt. He still hasn’t felt up to unpacking his bags, but has at least arranged his toiletries and bathrobe in the bathroom.