The Ship
Page 37
Antarctica!
‘Shit!’
The distance is overwhelming and unendingly white and its breath is cold …
XXXIV
Tuesday, 11 December 2001
Per se stranded two days ago in the Weddell Sea in east Antarctica, not far from the rocky coast and just under a hundred kilometres north of the double-peaked granite mountains that are part of the massive mountain range that towers over the awe-inspiring landscape. The approximate position of ship and crew, plus or minus two degrees, is:
72°S 16°W
Since east Antarctica is the largest part of the continent, as well as the part that few have explored, the survivors might just has well have been marooned on the planet Pluto. There is virtually no likelihood of running across other sentient beings in this largest ice desert on earth.
A month without a gale or a year without a whirlwind exist only as statistical possibilities in Antarctica. Along the Princess Martha Coast the average temperature is minus 20°C in winter and minus 2°C in the summer.
The atmospheric pressure is always high and there’s a gale wind every third day of the month; it snows two days out of three all year round; there are, on average, thirteen days of fog each month; heavy winds blow across the ice for up to 300 days a year, and life-threatening whirlwinds can hit any time.
Every once in a while, though, a kind of ring of light will form around the sun or moon beyond the clouds, and this is a sign that the storms are about to abate. Then it won’t be long before the spine-tingling calm, the bone-white ice and the awesome mountains interlock to form one vast frozen silence that both paralyses and enchants, terrifying and invincible …
The ship is surrounded by huge icefloes that move on top of the water and scrape against the dented steel day and night. According to the calendar it is the height of summer in Antarctica, but even the summer is winter on this continent of vastness and permafrost.
Above the waterline the rust-brown ship’s hull is covered with a greyish ice, thin to windward and thick on the sheltered side. On the weather deck are snow drifts shaped by the wind, hard as concrete. From the railings and the radar mast hang huge icicles and other ice formations, while in the most sheltered spots delicate ice needles collect, looking like glass crystals or wild vegetation.
The situation on board the ship is bleak. Only one dynamo is working, and only at half speed, because there’s not much left of the 70 000 litres of oil that filled the tanks when they set sail. The water heaters in the boiler room are first in line for what oil is left, since while they have something to burn there is hot water on board the ship. Without hot water they couldn’t heat the cabins, besides which it keeps the oil warm, which would otherwise thicken and be unusable. And it prevents the crew’s limited water supply from freezing. The generator produces electricity for lights and gives off a good deal of heat itself, which is why the doors to the engine room are open. They’ve turned off power to the cold larder, the laundry room and part of the kitchen. The cooker gets power for one hour a day and they make coffee once every twelve hours, but they’ve stopped using any other electrical appliances.
There’s no cleaning going on. It’s cold on board the ship, especially on the upper decks of the wheelhouse. The cabins are cold and damp, and in the corridors the temperature is near freezing. It’s impossible to stay in the bridge for more than an hour at a time, but every two hours one of the crew goes up there to send an SOS over the radio. It seems to be functioning, though they can’t actually hear anything but faint static.
Twice a day Captain Guðmundur holds a prayer meeting in the officers’ mess; these precious moments break up the men’s negativity and build up a sense of community among the survivors. The days are long and monotonous, making it is easy for hopelessness and fear to stifle the will and paralyse the spirit. The officers’ mess is the warmest room in the ship and that’s where the crew hangs out together more or less twenty-four hours a day, sharing coffee, silence and the occasional word. All except Satan, who keeps to himself, either in his cabin or elsewhere …
17 December
The captain is standing by the dynamo that’s still functioning, awaiting the inevitable. According to their measurements, the diesel-fuel tanks ought to have been empty long ago. One would think the dynamo was running on the smell of oil alone. The burners in the boiler room have stopped firing, the hot water is beginning to cool, and it’s cooling fast. The only fuel that’s left is what’s still in the pipes leading to the dynamo. When the dynamo goes off, the lights will go off.
Then the lights will go off.
If only he has it wrong! If only the meters are broken! If only the fuel would last a little longer! Even just …
‘No, no! None of that!’ says the captain when the dynamo starts to stutter. He kicks the dynamo and bangs on the fuel pipe, though he knows perfectly well that nothing he can do will prevent the engine from dying.
When the engine finally stops, the captain’s heart seems to stop beating in his chest – the shock is so great despite the long lead-up. Seconds after the engine stops, the lights begin to dim.
After thirty seconds the only light left is the dying glow of the wires in the dirty lightbulbs.
Then everything goes black and the oil-soaked air in the engine room immediately starts to cool. Within a few hours it’s going to be as cold inside the ship as outside it. At that point living aboard the Per se will hardly be an option.
‘Now what do we do?’ mutters the captain in the dark, which swallows his words and turns them into a metallic echo. He’s still standing by the dynamo, holding his hands over it and feeling how the warmth is slowly disappearing.
He’s distracted and automatically ignores a strange sound that his ears receive. It’s a weak sound yet oddly clear, even piercing. Though it doesn’t actually gain the captain’s attention, it does ring some bell deep in his subconscious.
‘Yes, okay,’ says Guðmundur Berndsen with a sigh. ‘All right, all right! Daddy’s coming!’
Daddy’s coming?
The captain is startled out of his deep thoughts about the ship and the fate of its crew and starts listening.
Did he hear some sound? Or …
Waaahaaa …
Yes, he heard a sound – and it’s like a baby crying. A baby crying! Is he going crazy?
‘Go! Get thee behind me, Satan!’ says the captain out loud and he covers his ears with his hands. Then he strides across the metal floor, though he can’t see a thing, and tries to find the door to the storeroom.
18 December
Sæli, wearing a parka and headphones, is sitting in front of the communications console on the port side of the bridge, calling into the radio.
‘Mayday! Mayday! Echo, Lima, Whiskey, Q, 2! Mayday! Mayday! Echo, Lima, Whiskey, Q, 2! Mayday! Mayday!’
But there’s no answer.
Nothing except the hum of static that tickles his ears and irritates him. His fingers are red with cold, his backside is numb and his breath freezes as he exhales.
One more time!
‘Mayday! Mayday! Echo, Lima, Whiskey, Q, 2! Mayday! Mayday! Echo, Lima, Whiskey, Q, 2! Mayday! Mayday!’
Sæli listens intently. At first he hears only static and hum, hum and static, and then detects a fitful tune and broken, stuttered song about words of music and lights. He tears off his headphones and throws them aside.
What was that? The Doors? On the ship’s radio? Is he going crazy or …?
‘That’s enough for today,’ he says, turning off the radio. He’s not going near this contraption again. No way! The others can send out a distress signal if they feel like it. Or just not bother. It doesn’t make any difference! Nobody’s answering anyway!
Sæli leaves the bridge and makes his way down the stairs, which are covered with ice and very dangerous. It’s dark in the ship but outside reddish-pink sunlight penetrates the clouds. He puts his hands on the icy-cold railings and walks carefully from one step to the next.
> His mind turns home, to Lára and young Egill. What might they be doing now? Do they know the ship is lost? Has Lara developed a bulge? Of course she has a bulge! She’s – what? – six months along. Which means she’s only got three …
‘I have to get home,’ says Sæli, stopping on the stairs between E- and D-decks. He stares into the darkness and listens to his own heartbeat.
Home.
If only he –
Waaahaaa …
‘Daddy’s coming!’ says Sæli and he starts back down the stairs. Then he stops suddenly.
Daddy’s coming?
He holds onto the railing and listens intently.
A baby crying? Had he heard a baby crying? Was that possible? But there’s no baby on board the –
Waaahaaa …
‘I’M COMING! I’M COMING!’ Sæli calls out and goes down the slippery stairs as fast as he can.
Is he going crazy? Doesn’t matter! Crazy or not crazy, he can’t listen to a baby crying without doing something about it!
‘I’M COMING! I’M COMING!’
Down on C-deck he runs right into the arms of the captain.
‘Christ, you startled me!’ says Sæli, blinking at Guðmundur, who is studying the crewman’s face, as if to assure himself that Sæli is a man of flesh and blood and not something else.
‘What’s going on here?’ asks the captain, letting go of the breathless crewman. ‘Have you lost your mind, boy?’
‘Didn’t you hear? Didn’t you hear? says Sæli, catching his breath as he thinks back and tries to remember what he thought he had heard. ‘Didn’t you hear … a noise?’
‘I heard you shouting!’ says the captain, clearing his throat. ‘I thought something … that something had happened!’
‘I’m going crazy!’ says Sæli, staring desperately into the captain’s eyes. ‘That’s what’s happened – I’ve lost my mind!’
‘No,’ says the captain with a sigh. ‘You’ve not gone crazy. Not yet, at least.’
‘But I heard …’
‘Don’t listen with your mind, Sæli, lad, because your mind is tired and confused and can’t tell the difference between right and wrong,’ says Guðmundur, clapping the seaman on the back in the dark corridor. ‘Listen with your heart, rather, because it knows the difference between truth and a lie!’
19 December
Jónas is lying under his doona and three woollen blankets in the bed in his E-deck cabin, mumbling something incomprehensible in his troubled sleep. The cabin is dark and frozen, and the second mate’s breath sticks to the air and turns into ice needles that, little by little, become small icicles.
Waaahaaa …
Jónas twitches, blinks his eyes and lifts his deathly pale head off the ice cold pillow.
Waaahaaa …
‘Yes, okay,’ he murmurs, crawling out from under his doona and blankets. ‘Daddy’s coming.’
He gets up and stands unsteadily in his long underwear, jumper and woollen socks. Then he sets off like a robot: four steps forwards then five to the left, straight into the wall by the door. He hits it hard, which wakes him from his half sleep. He puts his right hand to his face and feels around in the dark with his left.
Waaahaaa …
‘María love! María!’ Jónas calls as he feels around the cheekbone and jawbone on the right side of his face. ‘Our daughter’s awake! Can you …’
María?
But María’s dead. I’m not at home …
The ship!
Waaahaaa …
‘Hello! What? Where?’ says Jónas and crosses like a drunk man to the door, where he turns the light switch up and down to no avail.
No electricity!
What’s that noise? Who’s crying? Is there a baby on board? Of course there’s no baby on board. Is he going crazy?
Waaahaaa …
‘Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!’ says Jónas, walking in circles in the dark and scratching at his ears until the blood runs down into the neck of his sweater. ‘Leave me alone! Do you hear me? Leave me alone!’
20 December
It’s ten to six in the afternoon and a prayer meeting is about to start in the officers’ mess. Captain Guðmundur is sitting at the end of the table away from the door, Sæli to his right and Jónas to his left.
‘Dear friends, let us pray,’ says the captain. He folds his hands and lowers his head. ‘Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from —’
Waaahaaa …
The captain stops in the middle of the prayer when the bloody crying starts to sound deep in his head.
Not now! Not now!
‘And lead us not into temptation,’ he says with a cough, ‘but deliver us from —’
Waaahaaa …
The captain opens his eyes and looks at his companions, who look back at him above their folded hands.
‘Do you hear?’ asks Sæli hesitantly, attempting to still his trembling lips.
‘I hear,’ says Jónas hoarsely, looking at Sæli with eyes heavy with sleeplessness and despair.
‘What is it?’ asks Sæli, with a terrified look at the captain.
‘I don’t know,’ murmurs the captain, closing the Bible on the table in front of him. ‘I’ve searched everywhere.’
‘Down in the engine room too?’ asks Jónas.
‘Down in the engine room too.’
‘And?’ says Sæli hopefully.
‘Nothing,’ says the captain. ‘Actually, Skuggi wouldn’t go down there with me, but I didn’t find anything. It’s as if the sounds were coming from somewhere outside.’
‘From outside?’ asks Sæli, his bloodshot eyes widening.
‘Yes,’ says Guðmundur, rubbing his temples. ‘Or from inside. What do I know?’
‘From inside?’ Jónas says and tries to swallow, but his mouth is utterly dry.
Waaahaaa …
‘I can’t stand it!’ says the captain, standing up. ‘Let’s go outside for a bit.’
18:05
They stand close together in the stern of the ship, turn their backs to the wind and say the Lord’s Prayer together, the captain in the middle with the crewman and the second mate one on each side.
‘… the power and the glory for ever and ever, Amen!’ says Guðmundur, making the sign of the cross before lifting his head and opening his eyes.
Silence.
‘But what about that crying?’ asks Sæli, sticking his hands in the pockets of his parka.
‘Could it maybe be an evil spirit?’ Jónas asks and pulls his woollen cap down over his ears.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ says the captain, holding his Bible tightly with both hands and pressing it to his abdomen, ‘maybe it’s God’s way of answering our prayers?’
‘How’s that?’ says Sæli doubtfully.
‘We need a miracle if we’re going to get away from here,’ says the captain. ‘But miracles don’t happen every day. It may be God can’t save us.’
‘God is all powerful!’ says Jónas, giving Guðmundur a dirty look.
‘Of course!’ says the captain with a faint smile. ‘But isn’t it asking too much to expect him to stretch down here and steer us clear of this —’
‘Hell?’ Sæli completes the thought and chews his frostbitten lips.
‘The crying we hear may be the crying of the saviour,’ says the captain, straightening up. ‘The Christ child himself whom God gave to mankind. All we need to do is make the child welcome. “Suffer the little children to come unto me for of such is the kingdom of God”, said Jesus. I say: receive Christ in the form of a little child and we are saved!’
‘But there is no child,’ says Jónas, irritated.
‘The child is here,’ says the captain, pointing at the second mate’s chest. ‘Receive the Christ child and you are saved! Yo
ur body will die but it is dust alone! God says: “Receive my son and I will receive your soul”.’
Silence.
‘I’d say you’re losing it,’ mutters Jónas, giving the captain a sideways look.
‘No, Jónas. If anything, I’ve never been healthier than I am right now –’
‘Look! There’s a man there!’ shouts Sæli, pointing over the gunwale on the port side and along the ship, where a dark shape comes walking out of the fog.
‘Who?’ says the captain, shading his eyes.
‘The gangplank is down!’ says Jónas, pointing to port, where the top of the gangplank is sticking in through the gate in the railing. ‘It must be Satan.’
‘Yep,’ says Sæli as the being becomes more clearly defined. ‘That’s Satan.’
18:31
‘Where have you been?’ asks Guðmundur when Satan steps off the gangplank onto the stern of the ship.
‘I made it to land,’ says Satan, scratching his beard, which is covered in ice up to his nose and out to his ears. ‘You can walk over the icefloes. When the fog lifts, we set off.’
‘Off to where?’ asks the captain.
‘I’ll show you after. There’s a map up in the bridge,’ says Satan, unwinding a white cloth from his neck; it’s a sheet he cut a strip off to use as a scarf. ‘What are you girls doing outside, anyway?’
Silence.
‘There’s crying,’ says Sæli, sniffing. ‘A baby crying.’
‘A baby crying?’ repeats Satan, brushing snow and ice off his parka.
‘It’s the Christ child,’ says the captain, smiling the smile of one who has blind faith in one thing while refusing to face everything else.
‘Or some devil,’ says Jónas with a shudder. ‘Let’s not forget that there are two powers competing for the souls of men!’
‘Anyway. It seems to come from below, this crying,’ says Sæli. ‘From the engine room.’
‘There’s nothing down in the engine room,’ says Guðmundur, still smiling, though his smile is now a bit tired. ‘I’ve looked high and low and found nothing. The only place we still haven’t looked is in the hearts of us men!’