Last Stories and Other Stories (9780698135482)

by Vollmann, William T.

  Early next morning the helmsman was fixing their position by means of careful sextant angles, as Øistein approvingly perceived. This must be the place where they would turn straight west, out into the Atlantic.

  But why’s that fellow folding in the spinnaker sail? a Hjelmeland man said, as if to himself. Two tall sailors approached him. They inquired: Is it to tell us our business that you’d be wishing?

  Øistein was sorry for the Hjelmeland man, but ours is a hard world, and so he turned away.

  The Hyndla was shortening sail, for a fact. Perhaps her master had determined to take in extra water or supplies.

  Greeting Øistein, the reverend gazed over the side and remarked: I almost became a fisherman like my father.

  Then you escaped a bad destiny.

  So it seems. But where did the herring go?

  We fished them out, that’s all, said the Hjelmeland man. Greed and folly. And if they ever come back, we’ll do it again.

  Without a doubt, said Øistein.

  The rising sun-shield’s three or four reflections skipped across the water like a stone; then there were nine of them, and they merged into a vermilion road between wrinkled dark islets. The topman was yanking in the throat halyards of the foresail, and Øistein went down to see whether Kristina needed anything. She looked nauseous but smiled at him, knitting a sweater.

  Come on up, wife, and see the eider ducks swimming.

  His wife beckoned him closer. When he leaned down toward her, she whispered in his ear: That Dorthe Magnusson from Suldal has been complaining since dawn. When she went topside to take some air, someone stole a pound of tea right out of their trunk.

  A shame, said Øistein, shaking his head. Can we spare her a bit of ours?

  Of course, only—

  Now go take a turn on deck, and I’ll mind our goods.

  Thank you, husband.

  He sat there in the close air, passing the time with a Suldal man named Bendik Hermansson, whose brother had already emigrated to that district called Minnesota. By all accounts, a man had room to breathe over there. The Indians used to make trouble in those parts, but nowadays they were practically finished. Land and cattle were cheap. Øistein listened, embellishing his own dreams for himself and Kristina once the passage should widen out into American infinitude. Like most of the others, he had a gift for patient endurance, so that the hours receded easily, green and grooved like Norwegian islands. When Kristina returned, looking much better, they lunched on hard bread and tinned herring from Mr. Kielland’s store.

  7

  It was best not to be overexacting in one’s expectations as to the duration of the short passage. Captain Gull had said something about three weeks. But of course it might go a week more or less, depending on accidents. Anyone from Stavanger knew about stormy weather, not that any was in the immediate offing, for when Øistein climbed the ladder to the foredeck, the late afternoon sun peeped out to gild a lovely tree-hedgehog of coast, and off the stern lay a pastel island of high yellow and green shadows, the ocean almost reddish-grey against it. Ahead stretched a promontory of some sort. The Hyndla was sailing parallel to a cloud-pleat, aiming for a ridge of blue knuckles (the sea very calm, the glass falling slowly). Two sailors footed in another sail. Bendik Hermansson, who had also sought out good air just now, remarked that he had never seen such peculiar seamanship. Øistein declined to reply, for he had begun to wonder whether this fellow talked too much to no purpose. So they stood smoking their pipes while the glass fell a trifle further, and presently the waves roughened, so that the grey sea was sliming the scuttles belowdecks as the grey coast grew blurry. Preferring to delay his return into the odors of vomit, fish-oil and fouled diapers, Øistein remained on deck for another half-hour, until one of the Suldal men said he could make out some sort of high black shining, about two or three points on the starboard bow.

  8

  Now the sea began to foam in earnest, and waves rained down across the scuttles. The passengers were all good Norwegians, even the landsmen, so however they might have felt, they showed no fear of those glassy, icy sheets of spray in the milky sea. Presently the horizon disclosed mountains like the long black teeth of a wool comb. Øistein, who had never sailed far up the coast, but trusted in his calculations of how far the Hyndla had gone, supposed that this might be Ytre Sula or Sandøyna, not that either place boasted cliffs as grand or dark as this.

  Passengers to their berths, said Captain Gull. The sailors were already unreefing the mainsail, an action which the former herring fishermen among the emigrants thought incomprehensible. Now the foresail had descended, and they were winching down the spar.

  Belowdecks the four-tiered berths ran perpendicular to the ship’s axis, interrupted by a narrow corridor. At the top of each bunk on its corridor-facing end was a knurled knob whose purpose Øistein had not perceived. Two tall sailors now came in and gave each knob seven turns. With each turn the berths contracted a little into the wall. Kristina inquired what they were doing. A sailor said: You’ll see. It’s a narrow passage.

  And so they approached a cliff of hard grey rock, which suddenly gaped open for the Hyndla to enter, then closed behind her. All the passengers could tell was that the scuttles went dark—for the passage was as narrow as the Vågen itself, that long sea-mouth whose jaws are studded with hordes of white wooden house-teeth.

  Following up his earlier supposition, Øistein decided that they must have turned in to the Sognefjorden, which is the widest introitus hereabouts, but not a single town appeared; moreover, two of the Suldal men had fished the fjord as far up as Balestrand on many an occasion, and they swore that this was no place they had ever seen. Bendik Hermansson, however, was certain of their proximity to Balestrand, for there was nowhere else that they could be. Now it is common knowledge that as it runs upstream at Balestrand, the Sognefjorden jogs sharply north by northeast and narrows into the Færlandsfjorden, presently passing Sogndalseggi to the east before reaching the many-armed spider-lake called Jostedalsbreen. Even if they could have somehow missed Sogndalseggi, which was practically impossible, the Suldal men said, the channel should have widened out. And why they should be carried deep inside Norway was beyond them. Bendik Hermansson persisted in his position that they had not yet reached Balestrand. Once Øistein, who was of a practical disposition, realized that they knew no better than he where the Hyndla had carried them, he returned to his berth to see how his wife was getting along. Reverend Johansen sat on a trunk, reading aloud from his Bible. An old man was groaning and vomiting. The women knitted. Kristina had grown quite fond of the minister, and in truth she might have wondered once or twice how it would have gone with her, had she married so distinguished a man. He had just come to the verse which runs: Carry me, O LORD, that I may cross this circle of guttering fire; and against my enemies lend me Your sword that strikes on its own. Against the trolls deliver me; from the blue flames deliver me, that I may come safe into the Kingdom.

  There was a fisherman named Einar Sigvatsson, who had sailed widely in the days when people still hoped that the herring might be found. His brother had finally persuaded him to go out of the country. So both Sigvatssons were on board, with their wives and children, together with Einar’s mother-in-law. Kristina and Øistein had struck up a liking for that family.

  9

  Coming back on deck once the whistle sounded the all-clear, Øistein discovered that the Hyndla appeared considerably smaller, for not only had all her sails disappeared but even the mast was broken down, its lowest stalk lashed tight against the deck and the remainder unscrewed into lengths of pole. Meanwhile the sailors were already turning certain knurled knobs upon the corners of the forecastle cabin, so that its roof crept down toward the deck. This accomplished, they unstepped the walls to fold them in. Now they turned other screws, and all along either side of the Hyndla uprose a low wall of oarlocks.

  They had entered a very deep an
d narrow gorge, whose river, strange to say, flowed away from the sea. Overhead Øistein saw unfamiliar stars. This river was very dark, so that its ripples resembled silver inlay in a black iron axehead. Øistein stood watching for a long time, while the other passengers murmured around him. Presently there came a sort of dawn, and he began to perceive that the cliffs between which they sailed were white-patterned with petroglyphs of long ships which resembled worms rolling up their necks in agony because they had been pierced with upright rows of little sticks, which must have been either their masts or their passengers. Then the cliffs drew apart, so that he commenced to hope that the short passage might become more quotidian, but soon enough he saw that they had merely passed into a long ovoid lake, with a rocky islet in the middle; and evidently the cliffs closed in again not far ahead.

  He wondered how Kristina might be faring belowdecks. At that moment she was quieting Einar Sigvatsson’s daughter Ingigerd, who was a fine girl, well brought up, but passing fearful of the dark, as it now came out; so Kristina entertained her with tales of the cannery, where she used to stand with the other girls at the gutting tables, her toil lit by candles planted in heaps of herring. Ingigerd inquired whether she had been afraid.— Kristina laughed at her.— Afraid or not, child, we did the work. Now don’t worry. Your father will come down for you soon.

  For whatever reason, some voyagers had grown shy of the captain. Spying him behind the helmsman, Øistein went straight up and asked for an explanation.

  Haven’t you seen a neap tide before? laughed Captain Gull. The sailors were all grinning at Øistein, who knew well enough that this was no neap tide.

  Men commenced to raise their voices. Bendik Hermansson and the reverend essayed to come forward, but the two tall sailors informed them that since it was dangerous to crowd around the helm, they must wait their turn.

  Captain Gull was smiling a little, his strangely refined white fingers stroking his beard, and he said: Øistein, you and your wife are reasonable people. I’m trusting in you to make the other passengers see reason.

  Then kindly do the same for me. Where have you brought us, captain?

  I informed you at the outset that this route is my business. Other masters would love to learn it, not that there’s much danger of that. Are you satisfied?

  Why is your crew contracting the ship?

  Well, well, it’s a very narrow passage, you see. And several of you embarked with too much luggage, against my advice—

  We got no such advice! shouted Bendik Hermansson.

  That’s as may be. We’ll be stopping at that island, where we’ll cache all unnecessary things. One valise per household can be kept, and no more.

  But, captain, that’s not right! You never told us before—

  Øistein, most people aren’t prepared to consider what a voyage of this sort entails. Had I warned you in advance of every conceivable difficulty, you might have backed out and gone to my competitors, who would have told you what you wished to hear. Then you would have been no better off, since everybody goes to the same place.

  That’s not so. Some ships sail to New York and some—

  Believe me, you all would have come to this sooner or later.

  But, captain, how will I manage in America without my tools and seeds? What about the people who laid out every kroner they had on food and extra clothes, or Reverend Johansen, with all his books?

  Overgazing him with angelic eyes, that seraphic oldster replied: Øistein, we all hold onto what we think is precious. We even convince ourselves that we’ll never manage without it. When your father-in-law died—see, I know about that!—your good wife could hardly endure to live, as you well remember, but then she persuaded herself to live, for you—

  Who told you that?

  And now our Kristina’s living for herself again, as she ought to. An admirable woman you have there! And Reverend Johansen only needs one book to practice his calling. As for you, my friend, I don’t mind letting you in on a secret: There’s treasure ahead! In the place where I’m taking you, you’ll find something that will set you up for life. This is for the best, you’ll see. Tell everyone. Now leave me to my business, for the helmsman needs me.

  Finding nothing more practical to do, Øistein did as the master had told him; and on account of his clear and simple manner, not to mention those intimations of treasure, the passengers stayed calm, their pallid faces flowing in the darkness like stained glass figures framed in lead, Reverend Johansen comforting them with the verse which goes: For the gate is narrow and the way is hard, that leads to life, and those who find it are few. Meanwhile Kristina proved yet again that no one on this earth is as hopeful as an emigrant bride.

  10

  But soon the passage became rather narrow even for its own passengers. The Hyndla was now not much more than a keel. Her freeboard had so far diminished that Øistein could have knelt on deck and touched the waterline. The thwarts had already been swung into place and the sailors were sitting down to row, while the purser sat on the harness cask, neatly crossing names out of the ship’s register. Indeed, a number of emigrants had disappeared, Bendik Hermansson for one, and there seemed to be small use in searching for them. Several people had turned against Øistein, whom they considered to be, if not an accomplice, at least a pawn of the captain, but when he asked what else he should have done, they found nothing to say. The women kept weepingly outstretching their hands to the island where their possessions had been offloaded; its rock-darkness was nearly out of sight now. The Suldal men huddled together, evidently meditating the seizure of the ship, and although it pained Øistein that they distrusted him, he could not judge their notions; at any rate, they too soon vanished, together with all their families. Although the orange lanterns still shone on either side of the forecastle, as if the voyage were continuing well, as perhaps indeed it was, the shrinkage of the vessel, and the diminution of the people on it, soon became more rapid. The Hyndla appeared to be increasing speed; foam flashed against her sides. In a single long chest abovedecks remained all possessions that the passengers could not wear or carry; and their quarters had contracted to such an extent that sitting up was out of the question. Kristina thought that they might as well have been herring laid side by side into a rectangular tin.

  Einar Sigvatsson’s mother-in-law Holmfrid now fell sick, and although the other women did everything they could for her, it appeared that she might not recover. In the morning she too was gone, and nobody could say where she had taken herself; that was peculiar enough, and very upsetting to little Ingigerd, of whom Kristina had grown fonder than ever. She told the child all the other stories she knew, good tales like herring shining in the sun; but presently she ran out of anything to tell, and so lay in her bunk, staring up at the bottom of the next berth while the child wailed and fretted. Reverend Johansen continued reading aloud from the Scriptures, and wondrous pretty his verses sometimes proved, especially the verse Glasir stands gold-leaved before Sigtyr’s halls. But where might Øistein be? He had always been known as someone who thought for himself. Couldn’t he save them from any of this? After all, Captain Gull appeared to listen to him. So she tried to be calm and awaited better news.

  Kristina had once imagined that she knew sorrow, when only now, on this narrow passage, had it truly begun. Whatever we are used to, however unpleasant it may be, is better than being deprived of everything. Well, God willing, we won’t lose everything! By now all she wished for was to be restored to the miseries which had troubled her. Lying on her back side by side with the other passengers in the stinging acid stench of vomit, the vinegary smell of sweat and the sour-sweet reek of foul fish, with the ceiling pressing ever more closely in, again she made the time pass, if only to herself, by remembering her old home, since America was but a void to her, and this narrow passage did not seem like anything to be fancied. For a fact she should have comforted little Ingigerd, but instead she lay silent with her eyes
shut, slowly chewing on a bit of flatbread. Yes, she felt homesick for the sweating, crowded blocks of wooden houses of Stavanger; even the slopridden mud-alleys between them were wider than her present situation. Once upon a time she had belonged to the triple line of pretty young women in their dark dresses and white aprons, their hair bobbed tight as they stood over the great salting-kettles, each nearly as large as the one which Thor won from the giant Hymir. Kristina’s frying pan was as large across as three burly men. Although she used to dislike the smoky fishy smell, racked barrels and salt-burned wooden ladles, enduring those years only because she could get no other work, she missed the cannery now; she would have been grateful to wake up unemployed in Stavanger again, quarrelling with her jobless husband, looking forward to hungry years. The patient dread in Øistein’s face, which he ingenuously supposed he concealed from her, sickened her with worry; and that was how she finally learned that her late mother had warned her well: Marry carefully, Kristina! Young people think they can put on a ring and get help and pleasure for nothing. Really the best you can expect is an exchange of burdens.— In any event, she could hardly blame her husband as some of the other women on the Hyndla were doing, since they both knew very well that it was she, Kristina, who had chosen this conveniently short passage.