Cold air, a stiff breeze. Aron can hear the sound of the steam engine out here, but he stays away from the machinery. He is happier with the wind and the sun, which reminds him of the shore by the croft.
He waits, and longs for the journey to end.
After a while, he hears someone limping up behind him; Sven has made it. He inhales the sea air and positions himself in front of the short mast, his legs firmly planted on the deck and his gaze fixed on some distant point. On the unknown.
Aron looks at him. ‘Are we nearly there?’
Sven sighs. ‘The same question, over and over again...’ He swallows, belches quietly and keeps his eyes fixed on that distant point. ‘Can you see any sign of land?’
Aron screws up his eyes and peers into the wind. He shakes his head.
‘You will, before too long,’ Sven goes on. ‘We’ll soon arrive in the new country.’
Aron has a question. ‘Then can we write to Mum?’
‘Of course. When we get there. If you can find what you need... a pen and paper and a stamp.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
‘And if it’s not too expensive.’
Aron decides that he will find pens and paper and stamps when they go ashore, whatever they cost.
‘How long are we going to be there?’
‘Be there?’ Sven says. ‘We’re not just going to “be there”. We’re going to work, make a decent living. We’re staying for at least a year.’
‘And then we can come home?’
Sven sighs again. ‘We’ll come home when we come home,’ he says. ‘Don’t ask so many questions.’
Then he turns and heads back to the cabin and the chamber pot.
Aron stays where he is. He stares out to sea, waiting for the coastline to appear, the beginning of the new country, another world.
Gerlof
The sun rose over the island at half past four, but Gerlof didn’t wake until after seven. He blinked in the grey light of the boathouse and glanced over at the old nets hanging on the far wall. He remembered the hammering on the door and a frightened, soaking-wet boy tumbling in from the darkness. Was it all a dream?
No, there were some items of clothing hanging up to dry below the ceiling, and he was not alone. A small figure was fast asleep under several blankets on the other camp bed. The boy — Jonas Kloss.
When Gerlof blew out the candles, his breathing had slowly calmed down and, at last, all was quiet.
Gerlof had been too agitated and taken aback to settle down properly. He had nodded off after a while, in a half-sitting position on his bed, the ridiculous stone cudgel by his side, determined to keep a vigil in case of unknown dangers. Dead seamen and hungry monsters. But they had failed to materialize.
Now he placed his feet on the cold floor and opened the blind to look at the world outside.
The shore was just as grey as the water; the sun had yet to reach its summer strength. There wasn’t a soul in sight along the coastline, and no sign of a shipwreck out in the Sound. The sea was as calm as a mirror — but, suddenly, he saw something moving down there, a little coal-black head swimming along by the shore.
Behind him, Jonas stirred.
‘Good morning,’ Gerlof said.
‘Is he there?’ The boy’s voice was full of anxiety.
‘No, there’s no one out there at all,’ Gerlof said quietly. ‘All I can see is a mink; he’s probably searching for birds’ eggs.’
A few gulls were circling above the shore, uttering shrill warning cries. They had also spotted the mink, and soon the first bird came swooping down towards the water, using its sharp beak as a weapon. The mink quickly disappeared beneath the waves as the gull attacked, but popped up again a short distance away and headed towards the shore, where the rocks provided some protection. It emerged from the water, shook itself with a certain elegance, then slunk away like a wriggling black eel.
Gerlof smiled at the boy. ‘How are you feeling this morning? Better?’
Jonas nodded, but his expression was strained and frightened. ‘Can you see anybody?’
‘No,’ Gerlof said again. ‘And there’s no ship either.’
He noticed an old drawing pad on the little bookcase. One of the grandchildren must have left their paper and crayons. The pad gave him an idea.
‘Shall we try to work out what the boat looked like?’ he said. ‘You can describe it to me, and I’ll draw it.’
‘OK,’ Jonas said.
Gerlof picked up a black crayon and drew the outline of an Öland fishing boat. He added a small wheelhouse and a short mast in the prow. ‘Was it a fishing boat? One like this?’
‘No. I could smell fish on the deck, but it was longer.’
Gerlof drew a tugboat, with a reinforced prow and stern. ‘Like this?’
‘No... even longer than that,’ the boy said.
Gerlof screwed up the piece of paper and made a third attempt. This time he drew a bigger ship, with several cargo hatches. ‘How about this?’
Jonas nodded silently, and Gerlof felt quite pleased with himself.
‘And what was it made of? Wood or metal? Did you notice any rivets in the hull when you climbed aboard?’
Jonas thought for a moment, then nodded again.
‘Good, so it was metal... What could you see on deck? Any kind of structure?’
Jonas pointed. ‘There was a little kind of hut here at the front... and a bigger one at the back.’
Gerlof started drawing and asked another question. ‘Did you notice any Plimsoll lines on the freeboard?’
The boy looked at him blankly, so Gerlof went on: ‘It doesn’t matter... Were there any masts on the ship?’
Jonas closed his eyes. ‘I can’t remember. There might have been a little one right at the front. And there was a big hatch in the middle.’
Gerlof drew a thick line to mark the position of the hatch, then asked, ‘And where were these men who were dying?’
‘They were lying there. And there. And there.’
‘And the others?’
‘The man with the axe was standing here.’ Jonas pointed. ‘And there was an old man with white hair up in the wheelhouse... there.’
Gerlof marked each spot with a black cross.
‘Did the ship have a name? Did you notice a name on the bow?’
Jonas nodded. ‘It said “Elia”.’
‘Elia? As in the man who raised the dead in Zarephath?’
The boy stared at him, and Gerlof realized that Jonas had yet to be confirmed. Then again, children probably didn’t read the Bible when they were preparing for their confirmation these days; they probably gave each other massages and sang happy songs.
He wrote the name Elia on the bow of the ship. Good. Then he rolled up the drawing and nodded. ‘Well done, Jonas. Shall we go and have some breakfast? It’s on me.’
He didn’t get a smile in return, but the boy nodded and got to his feet.
Lisa
The day after her second stint as a DJ, Lisa was woken by a noise outside the caravan. Someone was hammering metal. She sat up in bed and looked at the clock. Ten past ten. Her grandmother had always slept until at least ten o’clock in her old age. If I get up any earlier, the day is much too long, she used to say, making it clear how tedious she found life after the death of Lisa’s grandfather.
Lisa’s life was far from tedious.
The night before, Lady Summertime had almost got caught. Almost. A rich kid who had had far too much to drink and had been throwing his money around all night had placed his sweaty hand on hers just as she was about to remove his wallet from his jacket pocket.