by Ines Thorn
“The serrated knife! Quick, give it to me!”
She didn’t even have time to rinse her mouth. She just reached for the knife and passed it along.
At night, she lay on her straw pallet in complete exhaustion. Sometimes she found time to stroke her belly, but she just couldn’t believe that a little person was growing inside. Occasionally, when she was half asleep, Maren heard Zelda’s lustful moaning, but she hadn’t been interested in what was going on behind the sailcloth for weeks. She managed to do what was asked of her, and the rest of the time, she lay on her straw pallet, too exhausted even to think about Thies. Her days were defined by work and sleep. She even stopped worrying when the men were given their rations of Branntwein, since she was practically falling asleep on her feet.
Sometimes, when she had a short break, she sat on a coil of rope on deck and closed her eyes, sleeping while the rest of the crew milled around her and cursed loudly. Sometimes she didn’t even hear the bosun’s whistle, which called the crew to evening prayer and otherwise served to draw attention to the officers’ commands.
Zelda helped her when she could. She brought Maren meat and eggs from the wardroom, made sure her clothing was loose enough and let it out when necessary, and helped her to wrap her ever-expanding belly with cloth compresses for support. Zelda kept urging her to tell the captain the truth so she wouldn’t have to keep working as a helper for the blubber cutters. It was a job in which one got injured sooner or later.
Maren knew she had to think about what would happen when she returned to the island with a baby. Would Thies be happy? Even though the child would be illegitimate? It wouldn’t be for long. Only until they married. Maren had optimistically suggested to Zelda that perhaps they would be back before her time came, but the experienced woman had shaken her head. “Imagine the worse possible outcome, and then try to come up with a solution. Then you’ll be all right. And if it turns out better, then you can be happy.”
And then one day, everything changed. A powerful wind mixed with snow and sleet blew over the sea. A blizzard raged, shook the masts, tore at the sails, and threatened to wash everything on deck over the rail. The wood of the hull creaked and groaned. There was no time to think about whaling. It had grown so cold that the drinking water on deck was frozen during the day, and one had to cut out a piece of ice and melt it in order to drink. Some of the sailors got sick. They coughed and glowed with fever. In every protected place, pullovers and vests hung to dry. The men had stuffed their boots with straw and wrapped rags around their feet. Whoever had warm stockings or a sweater made of women’s hair was a king. Maren could hardly remember a day when she hadn’t been freezing. After dark, she could barely get warm at all. The cold had crept through to her bones, and at night she often wrapped herself in every piece of clothing she owned to keep the baby in her belly from freezing. Once, she’d talked about the baby with Zelda.
“Are you happy about it?” the older woman asked.
“I don’t know. It’s wonderful to have a child, especially with the man I love. But the timing is not especially advantageous.”
“Of course you’re right about that. You must prepare yourself for the fact that the child may die. Or that you may die yourself. You know that, don’t you?”
“Why do you say such things?” Maren recoiled in horror from Zelda’s words.
“I say it because I always prepare myself for the worst and then look for a solution. Many women die in childbirth. You’re young and strong, but you should still prepare yourself. You have to write down who the child’s father is, what its name should be, and where it should be taken if something happens to you.”
Maren hated to think about it, but at the same time, she knew that Zelda was right.
“And think about what would happen if your fiancé won’t acknowledge the child.”
Maren made a face. “Why shouldn’t he? I’ve never had anyone but him.”
“Well, you don’t know what’s happening to him now. And you’ve been away a long time. Sometimes things change.”
“Our love will never change!”
Now Maren thought about this while standing at the rail watching the icebergs drift around like fat gray ghosts.
“It’s time for us to head for home,” Jakob said, coming up beside her and tipping a bucketful of galley waste over the rail.
“I’d be glad to,” Maren replied, pointing at the icebergs. “It’s getting colder. And we haven’t seen a whale in weeks.” That morning, she had been woken before dawn as the ship groaned terribly. Maren had believed that it might even break. She got up and went on deck. It was still pitch-dark, broken by the light from a single lantern. She leaned over the rail and saw that big pieces of drift ice were beginning to obstruct the progress of the Rán. Again and again, the brig creaked and strained against the press of the ice.
“Isn’t the ice dangerous?” she asked Jakob. “It sounds like the whole ship is breaking apart.”
Jakob shook his head. “There’s still enough space for us between the floes, and it wouldn’t be bad to catch one or two more whales. There are still a few empty barrels. Most of the other ships have already turned for home, but I believe the captain won’t turn around until the last barrel is filled to the brim. He’s never been satisfied with anything less.”
Maren didn’t answer. What could she say? She’d been on the whaling ship for months, but she still didn’t know if the trip would be worth her while. She only knew that it was in her interest to catch as many whales as possible. That’s why she partly didn’t mind that they were still out on the icy sea, but on the other hand, she wanted nothing more than to go home and have her baby there.
The wind grew stronger overnight. Icy gusts howled over the sea. The men couldn’t stand to be on deck for more than a few moments because their beards froze almost immediately. The clouds hung so low that Maren believed that she could almost touch them, and the icebergs seemed to be larger and closer together. Maren saw that the ship’s boy in the crow’s nest had brought up a brazier with a few glowing coals to warm his icy fingers. When his cry rang out, she’d seen what he had at the same moment. “Thar she blows! She blows!”
The men always appeared on deck within a few seconds of hearing the call and lowered the whaleboats immediately. But this time it took a little longer. Their excitement was diminished too. The men seemed exhausted and listless. They got in the boats, the oarsmen took the oars, and the harpooners stood ready with their harpoons as they always had, but Maren could see that their eagerness, their bloodlust, and their passion had become frozen too. Boyse shouted to his men from the deck, but the storm tore the words from his mouth.
The whaleboats slowly approached the whale. It was an especially large animal, and it thrashed in the water and threw spray into the air on all sides, soaking the men. The first harpoon flew wide and missed its target. The second one hit, but the whale twisted so wildly in the roiling, foaming water that the line broke.
“Ho! Are you all blind?” Boyse shouted angrily from the deck. “Go catch that creature!”
More harpoons flew, and blood ran down the gigantic animal and turned the sea red. But the whale didn’t surrender. It twisted and pounded with its tail, capsizing one of the boats. Two others came about to rescue the men in the water, leaving no opening for the harpooners. Then the whale, still bleeding from its wounds, splintered the capsized boat and sent the planks flying. The other boats turned back, but Boyse blustered. “Have you all lost your minds? Get that whale! Hurry! Don’t come back without it!”
Despite his rage, the boats continued back toward the ship. The whale, which was badly injured and obviously reaching the end of its strength, drifted in the bloody sea. Then the first boatful of soaked, exhausted men arrived at the ship, but Boyse wouldn’t let them aboard.
“Go!” he cried. “We’re going to catch that damned creature! Go, men!” He pushed the strongest man back into the boat and tore the spear out of the harpooner’s hand. “You’re a
ll lily-livered cowards!”
Boyse had been transformed by the fervor of the hunt. He shouted wildly at his men.
Finally, the whaleboat was occupied by five men and the captain. He drove the oarsmen mercilessly, and the men gave all the strength they had left.
“It’s madness,” one of the men who’d just returned to the ship said. He was soaking wet and had a bleeding wound. “One whaleboat alone! How are they going to catch the whale? They’ll all perish.”
The whale had gathered its strength, and it floundered in the foaming sea again, rearing up and crashing back into the water, making huge waves that rocked the whaleboat dangerously. But Boyse stood solid as a rock, threw his harpoon, and let the line run through his hands. He drove the oarsmen on and threw a second harpoon, but the creature was still twisting in pain and batted at the boat with its massive flukes, hitting it on the pointed stern. Even though no one on the brig heard the wood crack, everyone flinched. One of the oarsmen went overboard. Two others reached for him and pulled him back into the boat, but Boyse seemed not to notice his men’s distress. Tirelessly, he cast one harpoon after another at the dying animal, which was writhing in agony.
One of the officers put his hands around his mouth to project his voice and cried, “Turn back! Turn back. You won’t be able to do it!” But the storm blew his words away, and Captain Boyse threw his last harpoon. And the whale, fighting for its life, reared up once more and created huge swells as it fell back in the water. Blood ran down its powerful body and stained the sea red.
The whale fought to the last, swimming toward the tiny whaleboat. When it had almost passed them, it raised its tail and slapped the water so the boat simply tipped over. Maren screamed, and then she saw the men’s heads bob to the surface in the distance like tiny pins, while the dying whale distilled all the pain of its torture into its final twitches.
“Lower the last whaleboat. Hurry! All men to the boat!”
But there were no more men. The exhausted oarsmen had dragged themselves below deck. The only ones left on deck were Maren, old Jakob, and two or three sailors.
“Hurry! Get in the boat or they’ll all drown!”
Drown! The word shook Maren awake. The captain! No, he mustn’t drown! No, never! Pain and a nameless fear tightened around Maren’s chest. She didn’t think about the child in her womb; she only thought of Boyse. How could she live without him?
Faster than she could think, and faster than her thoughts would have allowed, she sprang into the whaleboat. She didn’t realize what she was doing. She reacted instinctively, the way animals do.
The officer wanted to send her back, but there wasn’t time. It was terribly cold, and the sea was an icy grave. Time was pressing. There was no one else there to help. So the officer, the sailors, and old Jakob sprang into the whaleboat after her. The mate ordered Maren to take the rudder. She had never done it herself before, but she had watched. Her heart and mind were filled with terror. But without thinking, she did what was necessary.
The oarsmen leaned into their work, breathing heavily under the strain. They gave all they had, but to Maren, everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. It felt to her as though heavy weights were hanging on the back of the whaleboat, dragging against their progress. The roiling sea sent the boat hopping from wave to wave like a leaf. Water slopped over the sides again and again, and Maren gasped every time the cold spray hit her. She kept her eyes focused straight ahead on the men bobbing in the blood-red sea. Clumps of ice rammed the boat with loud crunching and cracking sounds. One of the oarsmen lost an oar from sheer exhaustion.
“We have to turn back. There’s no point,” the officer cried.
“No!” Maren cried. “We’ve almost made it. We can’t let them drown!”
With their last strength, the men strained at the oars, pale with exhaustion, cold sweat running down their foreheads.
They finally got close enough. One sailor was pulled aboard, and then another only half-conscious. One sank before her eyes in the tossing sea, and another was floating facedown in the waves, drifting farther and farther away from them.
“Where’s Boyse?” Maren cried. She searched on all sides, her heart racing painfully. She was dizzy with cold, but still she searched the waves. And finally, finally she saw him. He was floating and sometimes sinking, reappearing, and sinking again. “There! There!” Maren shouted, directing the oarsmen.
They couldn’t do it. They couldn’t get close enough to Boyse. Every time it seemed like they would reach him, he sank again and reappeared a little farther away. Blood flowed from a wound on Boyse’s forehead, and the officer tried to pull his almost-lifeless body closer to the boat with a harpoon, but he couldn’t reach.
“Someone has to get in the water!” Maren shouted.
“That would be certain death,” the officer replied.
But then Maren jumped. She didn’t think about not being able to swim. She didn’t think at all, at least not of herself. But she had to try. Her past disappeared instantly, and she lived only in the present moment, lived only to rescue the captain.
Her heavy boots pulled her downward, and the ice-cold water robbed her of her breath, but she fought for her life. The icy wetness numbed her limbs, and her clothing became waterlogged, making her heavier and heavier. She gasped for air and saw dark stars burst behind her eyes. But then finally Boyse reappeared in front of her, and she reached for him. She grabbed him by the sleeve, and then the mate’s whale iron was there for her to hold on to, helping her pull the weight of the unconscious man to the whaleboat. And the oarsmen, who had grown almost apathetic with exhaustion, now sprang up and heaved the unwieldy body of the captain on board, and then they reached out to Maren and pulled her out of the icy water too.
CHAPTER 20
It felt as though she were floating up out of the depths of the water, as soft as mist.
For a blink of an eye, she saw a woman’s face hovering over her. She knew the woman, but she couldn’t remember her name. And then she sank back below the surface. She rose again, the face was suddenly clearer, and she recognized Zelda.
“What . . . what happened? Where am I?”
“Hush! You mustn’t get excited. You have a dreadful fever.”
“Fever?” Maren looked around her in confusion and then recognized the captain’s cabin.
“Yes, you have a fever. Do you remember what happened?”
Maren tried to remember, but it was hard. It had been cold. Unbelievably cold. And there had been a whale. The whale was bleeding from countless wounds and was pounding its tail flukes as though it were possessed by demons. But how did she get here? Why was she so sick? She automatically put a hand to her belly. She was with child. Yes, she remembered.
“Is the baby all right?” she asked worriedly.
Zelda shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s moving; I can feel it. But you had cramps that seemed like birth pangs to me. The child may come too soon.”
Maren stroked her belly protectively and smiled as she felt the baby move. Not powerfully. It was more like a gentle caress from the inside. Now that she’d felt her child move, she wanted to know about everything else.
“What happened exactly?”
“The whale, do you remember? We were standing on deck when the men lost a whaleboat.”
Maren’s brow creased. She was hot and cold at the same time. As sweat collected on her upper lip, her teeth chattered. “Yes, I remember the whale,” she said. “And then the men returned. The captain went back to get the whale with a single boat.”
Zelda nodded sadly. “We lost ten men altogether.”
“What happened?”
Zelda’s face twisted into a painful smile. “Then the captain’s boat capsized, and an officer put the last whaleboat in the water. There was hardly anyone here to crew it, so you got in the boat.” She sniffed and dried her eyes with her hand. “You saved his life.”
“His life? Whose?” Try as she might, Maren couldn’t remember anything els
e about what had happened.
“You saved the captain’s life. He went overboard. You jumped in after him and kept him from drowning in the waves.”
“Oh.” That was all Maren could say. “How is he now?”
Zelda laughed softly. “Like you. He has a fever, but yesterday evening he was able to eat something. He’ll survive. See for yourself.”
Zelda pointed to the other side of the cabin. Maren pulled herself up onto her elbows. It was true: there lay the captain. He was unshaven and his hair was matted, but his chest rose and fell evenly as he breathed. Maren felt an incredible wave of relief wash over her. She didn’t like Boyse. She had never liked him. But she still thanked God that he was alive.
“The entire crew thinks you’re a hero,” Zelda continued. “They send you greetings and good wishes for your recovery.”
Good wishes, Maren thought. She was simultaneously hot and cold, but nonetheless, she felt strong enough to get up.
Zelda pushed her back by the shoulder. “You must rest. And above all, you have to eat. Don’t move. I’ll get you some hot soup.”
Zelda smiled at her again, pushed a strand of hair off her forehead, and disappeared. Maren lay back, hands folded over her curved middle. She felt a powerful tightening that faded away and then returned even more strongly.
All at once, she heard a voice. “Thank you.” She turned her head and saw that Boyse was awake and looking over at her.
“You’re welcome,” she answered and smiled. Yes, it really made her happy that she had saved the captain’s life. But she also knew he probably would have preferred it if he had been rescued by one of his men instead of a delicate girl.
“Your debts are settled now. They would have been settled if I had drowned. But now you will be paid for the voyage like the other ship’s boys.” Boyse practically growled the words, and Maren couldn’t repress a smile.
“Thank you,” she said.
