by Sjón
The second mate continued with his story of a sailor who gets into fights with a monkey, a story that every mariner seems to have in his repertoire; why, I don’t know. Perhaps it’s an indication of the kind of audience they are used to? The present one was certainly amused – dear me, yes.
Caeneus went on:
‘Perhaps you noticed that I said the monkey belonged to Polydeuces’ third woman. For that is what she was, and only the third in a row of altogether twenty-seven sisters of Lemnos who made use of his manhood during the nine months or so that the Argonauts were guests in their land.
‘Yes, after the revelry in the palace of Queen Hypsipyle had lasted the equivalent of a lunar month, we awoke one morning to find the court ladies armed and ordering us roughly to our feet with a loud clashing of weapons. We thought at first that this was a game, that they intended to incite us to perform morning feats of love by dressing up as battle-thirsty Amazons, but anyone who tried to grab a slim ankle or caress a soft buttock instantly had his blood let with the point of a spear. No, this was no game inspired by the goddess born of the foaming waves on the shores of Cyprus, this was in deadly earnest; our handmaidens had been transformed into shield maidens.
‘To an accompaniment of harsh yells and evil threats from the women, we ordinary seamen of the many-nailed galley were forced to scramble to our feet and driven half-dressed and unwashed through the palace, through colonnades and passageways, right out beyond the encircling walls – and, please excuse my sailor’s language:
‘There we stood like idiots with our dicks in our hands.
‘As we began to find our bearings a low growling rose from the men: how dare they treat heroes in such a manner? Could it be part of a greater and more dastardly plot? And what had become of Jason and those who remained in the palace? Had the perfidious termagants murdered them in their sleep and were they now planning to send us without captain or helmsman out on to the barren sea where our ship would founder like an insignificant louse in the blue beard of mighty Poseidon?
‘Thus the Argonauts grumbled to each other as they girded their loins and rubbed the sleep from their eyes or combed their tangled manes with their fingers. Our displeasure did not last long, however, for Jason now appeared on the balcony of Queen Hypsipyle’s chamber and raised his hand, at which we fell silent.
‘“Comrades, it may appear to you that the hospitality of Lemnos has faltered, but things are not as they seem. Our task here is far from over: behold!”
‘He pointed to the city behind us.
‘The troop turned and at first we could see nothing but the street up which we had marched so boldly only a few weeks before, which ran from the palace down the hill to the wealthier citizens’ quarter where it formed a gully between the houses and continued through the soldiers’ and artists’ quarter to the marketplace, across the marketplace and through the quarter of the artisans and common people, before winding through the paupers’ quarter, after which it narrowed to an alley with hardly room to pass, known in everyday speech as the She-wolf Alley – from where it was but a short walk down to the harbour and our vessel, the Argo. But even as the return route was revealed to us, we noticed a menacing movement in the shadows beside the gully mouth close by.
‘Something huge and protean lurked there, something that seemed not to know whether to pounce or retreat – but was inclined to pounce. One moment its movements resembled a field of corn that sways in unison before the wind, the next it was chaotic, resembling nothing so much as an argument between the Hydra’s seven quarrelling heads. As we groped in vain for our weapons, we were reminded of our defenceless state: we would have to tackle this thing with our bare hands.
‘Captain Jason, standing on the balcony with Queen Hypsipyle at his side, laughed provokingly and tapped his nose. Then, as if a spell had lifted from the crew of the Argo, our senses were unblocked and we smelt again the stench that our lovers in the palace had formerly emitted, only now it emanated from the creature confronting us. The veil was stripped from our eyes and we found ourselves faced with ninety desperate women lurking in the shade of one of the buildings.
‘These were the finer ladies of Lemnos. They awaited us, silent and implacable – like the first steep hill in the path of a marathon runner.’
When Mate Caeneus had finished, he shovelled down his food and went out to attend to his duties, while Captain Alfredson tapped his glass and announced to his fellow diners that now Mr Haraldsson from Iceland was going to deliver an enlightening talk on an important topical issue. At these words the purser’s lady friend made to rise from the table (on the pretext that she had to help her husband with the stocktaking), but the captain made it clear with a sharp glance that this could wait and she was to show me the courtesy of staying put during my edifying lecture. She obeyed, though in a put-upon manner. From looking at ‘her husband’, the purser, moreover, we could tell that this fictional Wednesday evening stock count had taken him as much by surprise as the rest of us.
At coffee time the Norwegians had recommenced loading the ship and the work continued late into the evening, with the result that the machinery that inched the blocks of paper on board – cranes, winches and windlass – now played first, second and third fiddle to my talk, while the dockers’ shouts and calls – ‘Heave ho! Easy now! Right! Left! Oi, you stupid bastard!’ – formed my chorus.
Nevertheless, I began my lecture and immediately sensed that it was well received by those who had the wit to understand its content, although the speaker was rather put off his stride by the racket made by the loading crew. The talk itself was composed with consummate skill and delivered in the impeccable Danish characteristic of its author, though I say so myself. The fish stew, on the other hand, was a disaster. It was bland, contained far too little pepper, and instead of potatoes the cook had given in to his ridiculous whim of serving everything with rice. The resulting mixture was far from appetising and formed a grey gloop on one’s fork like spiky rice pudding.
In consequence my little cultural contribution to life on board did not have quite the impact I had anticipated. It did not rise to the intended heights of Gesamtkunstwerk – to resort to a concept that had been familiar to me during my years on the Berlin radio.
fish and culture
VI
‘IN ITS EARLY STAGES the human heart resembles nothing so much as the heart of a fish. And there are numerous other factors that indicate our relationship to water-dwelling animals, were it no more than the fact that the human embryo has a gill arch, which alone would provide sufficient evidence that we can trace our ancestry back to aquatic organisms. The bone tissue of humans and animals consists of an organic solution, which when boiled produces a glue containing inorganic salts, principally calcium carbonate, but also composites of fluorine and magnesium. All these chemicals are found in solution in the sea, which is a further indication that land animals originally descended from sea creatures. The composition of blood also points the same way, for, as is well known, serious loss of blood can to a large extent be compensated for by using a 0.9 per cent saline solution, while pure diluted seawater has been successfully employed for the same purpose. Finally, it seems highly probable that far from being descended from the same species of mammal as the other animals that share dry land with him, man has from the beginning represented a unique branch of the mammal family. Our teeth bear witness to this. They resemble neither the teeth of carnivores nor those of herbivores but are, on the contrary, designed to chew the sustenance provided by the sea. It may be concluded that some unknown entity in the warm prehistoric oceans developed into a fish, and that this fish evolved into a higher life form that resembled man, which subsequently continued its development to become human (Homo sapiens). Let us therefore put forward the proposition that life colonised first the seas, then the land.
‘It has been claimed that primitive man had his breeding grounds in the forests, a notion that has its basis in the ape theory, but as far as Europe is concerne
d, and particularly Scandinavia, one must disregard this hypothesis. The oldest human remains on the continent, found on the north coast of Spain and in France, are 20,000 years old. There is every indication that these areas were home to a race of robust primitive men who shunned the forests and followed the coastline northwards, while those who headed inland chose to dwell by rivers and lakes where there was a prospect of fishing. The same was true of the aboriginal settlers of Scandinavia, who followed the edge of the ice sheet when the great glacier began to retreat at the waning of the Ice Age. Instead of following in the footsteps of the herbivores and the predators that preyed on them, they kept to the seashore, benefiting from the easy access to food.
‘It would be superfluous to describe in detail the Nordic race’s astonishing prowess in every field. People have observed with admiration the extraordinary vigour, stamina and courage with which these relatively few dwellers of island and shore are endowed. There is a vast corpus of heroic tales devoted to their feats, from ancient days down to our own. They number in their thousands. We need only quote Claudius, who declared: “They were proud of their height and looked down on the Romans for being so short.”
‘The Nordic type is generally taller and more powerfully built than the German; the German from north Germany is more developed than the German from south Germany; the German from south Germany is taller than the Italian, and the northern Italians are more physically robust than their southern counterparts. Thus men’s physical development diminishes the further one moves from the northern coastal settlements and the more interbreeding there has been between coast- and mountain-dwellers. Right up until the beginning of the modern era, that is the eighteenth century, communications between the upland and coastal districts all over Europe were fraught with difficulty. Coast dwellers could travel by sea but otherwise were thrown back on their own resources, consuming what they caught for themselves. Likewise, the inhabitants of the inland districts had to subsist on what they could produce wherever they settled, hemmed in as they were by valley or moorland. The consumption of such different diets later resulted in the considerable disparity that now exists between the development and temperament of these two groups.
‘As for miscegenation, suffice to mention here what the well-known Icelandic scholar, Dr Loftur Frodason, writes of the inhabitants of Iceland’s Trollaskagi peninsula: “They are a race who dwell in isolation and have lived a peaceful life almost untouched by the outside world for centuries, without interbreeding with other people. They are a robust, naturally intelligent and tall race. The men are handsome physical specimens, reminiscent of Bertel Thorvaldsen Gottskalkson’s sculpture of Jason, with powerful barrel chests and slender hips. The women are no less exceptional in terms of dignity, carriage and grace of movement.’
‘That A. Cargill, Mayor of Hull, had a similar view of these matters can be inferred from a talk he delivered to the Women’s Luncheon Club in 1934, in which he pronounced the following opinion:
‘“Medical science is on the brink of proving once and for all that seafood is the healthiest diet available to man.”
‘When men are prepared to declare so uncompromisingly that nutrients derived from the sea are essential to our health and boost both physical and mental development, one can hardly demur.
‘The “yellow peril” from the Far East lies in the innate energy and industriousness of the fish-eating nation of Japan. We can assume that the Japanese will swiftly overcome the problems resulting from the war, for they are endowed with the same qualities as the ancient Teutons who lived on the shores of Scandinavia yet conquered their way south to Rome and east to Constantinople. So we must ask ourselves: “Would it not make sense for them to combine forces, these great fishing nations that dwell on opposite sides of the earth?”
‘When Rome declined, the emperors tried to resist the trend, thus Caesar Augustus summoned the Senate to compose a bill on the treatment of fish, while Nero equipped extravagant fishing fleets with nets of silk and lines of gold wire. Is this not a case of cause and effect? Where is Rome now?
‘In conclusion, let us remember this:
‘Life originates in the ocean and the ocean is the source from which life must seek its nourishment. The Nordic countries with their fish-rich coastal waters will continue to foster and rear vigorous generations, to the benefit of mankind; the Nordic countries have made a huge contribution to world culture (both with regard to their racial qualities and their inventions – everything from the steam engine and electricity to the aeroplane and wireless); the Nordic countries are mighty – the might of the sea is boundless.
‘The sea is the mainspring of the Nordic nations!’
Lecture delivered to the crew of the
MS Elizabet Jung-Olsen, 13 April 1949
more life on the ocean wave
VII
NOTHING STIRS; there is not a soul to be seen above deck, on ship or wharf. Even the wagons, hanging at regular intervals as far as the eye can see, to the very top of the mountain, rock noiselessly on their cable. Today is a day of no work for today marks the beginning of the Easter holiday and the locals’ rules on holidays are non-negotiable. A Norwegian who works on an important religious festival will go straight to parboil in hell. So much was to be gathered from the words of Raguel Bastesen’s deputy, who this morning made radio contact from Stavanger with the news that the loading would not be completed until the evening of the Tuesday after Easter. Unfortunately, in all the commotion following the accident they had neglected to inform Captain Alfredson of this fact. It was to be understood from the man’s words that we should not be taking it for granted that he should even pass on this bad news to us on a Shrove Tuesday, since, strictly speaking, all such radio communications counted as work and his future place in heaven was now in grave jeopardy.
We had to resign ourselves to this state of affairs, though some felt it put rather a damper on things to be forced to twiddle their fingers in this dreary spot for another five whole days. The Norwegian tried to console us by pointing out the beauty of the scenery just over the mountains. He suggested we do some sightseeing, go on a few excursions, join the cargo steamer that went at regular intervals to the small towns further up the fjord, from where one could take scheduled buses up the valleys and there go skiing and amuse ourselves in the evenings with dancing and singing; there was really no excuse to be bored. Although it was some comfort for the crew to hear this from such a well-informed local, it was little consolation for me, as I had planned to spend my vacation in the Mediterranean and Black Sea, not Norway’s Vest-Agder.
It was reported that Director Bastesen had arrived in Oslo accompanied by a nurse, and that from there he had booked a cruise to the West Indies to recuperate from the blow to his head – all at the expense of the paper mill.
The cruise ship was due to leave that evening.
And the man called himself a social democrat!
After lunch I ran into Captain Alfredson on deck and remarked in a jocular tone:
‘So the Great Cham is exiled from Fedafjord ...’
He asked me in return if I would like to accompany him, the first mate, the purser and his lady friend to the nearest town. It was an approximately two-hour journey, partly by motor boat, partly by automobile. I thanked him kindly for the invitation but said I would wait to hear how they got on.
When the party returned at dinnertime the purser told me that the landscape they travelled through had been very picturesque but the ‘town’ itself was small and everything had been closed, so it wasn’t really much of an outing. However, they had taken part in a Norwegian holiday luncheon at a ski hut. Apparently it had been first-rate fare, mostly meat but they had also been offered the princess of the seas: herring, no less.
The purser’s lady friend on the other hand had found their trip a hair-raising experience and had apparently been scared out of her wits for most of the way. I overheard her complaining to the cook, describing how the first mate had driven at breakneck s
peed along precipitous mountain roads with the sea a thousand feet below, and claiming that she never wanted to set foot on Norwegian soil again. After this the woman sighed, rested her hand on the cook’s shoulder and laid her head on his breast.
Oho, I thought as I watched them unobserved from the galley door that stood open into the saloon. But the cook laid his hand between the woman’s shoulder blades, simultaneously moving backwards, while she took what looked like a clumsy dance step past him to the kitchen sink where she proceeded to throw up into the potato pan, which was sitting there waiting to be washed up by the galley hand.
From the ship one can glimpse a road clinging to the mountain on the other side of the fjord. It runs diagonally up the slope and for a long stretch appears to be little more than a ledge on the sheer rock wall, so it seemed only natural to me that the woman should have been car sick after being driven along it at break-neck speed.
But still I thought:
‘Oho ...’
‘Looks like it’s only the two of you this evening.’
With a deft swivel of the wrist the steward placed the dish containing the entrée on the table and began to serve up on to our plates.
‘The first mate is on watch. The others are fagged out after their trip and say they’re still stuffed with Norwegian food. You two could stay here till the early hours and enjoy the same meal three times over ...’
He laughed at his own joke, as young men will. Although I did not join in, I indicated by my response that I found his cheeriness far from unwelcome. It was the first sign of life in the saloon that Shrove Tuesday evening in Mold Bay. We two – Mate Caeneus and I – had been sitting there waiting for the others without saying a single word beyond the conventional greetings. He was, in fact, as taciturn as the day we met on deck (though I have to admit that his clean, pressed uniform lent the occasion a silent dignity).
