Between Two Seas (12 page)

I hear myself scream, as if from miles away. The sound is echoed all around me as others cry out too.

‘Peter!’ I shout. I want to run down to the sea and plunge into the waves to find him. Hannah stops me, putting both her arms around me, holding me tight. For a moment I struggle, and then I give up. It would be madness. I can’t even swim.

One by one, the men swim ashore.

‘I can’t see Peter,’ I say desperately to Hannah.

‘No, he’s not in yet,’ she agrees, still holding me.

It’s hard to count the men as they come ashore: there are others wading out in the waves, helping the swimmers. They are still looking, waiting. They grab the empty boat as she’s swept towards the beach.

There’s a sudden bang and a flash of gunpowder that makes us both jump. I can just make out a rope snaking into the waves. ‘They’re firing the lines,’ Hannah explains. ‘Ropes for the men in the water to catch hold of.’ Another bang, and another rope shoots out into the water.

My heart is hammering in my chest and my mouth is dry with fear.

One man is pulled out of the water, limp and lifeless. Two men carry him ashore and quickly a group forms around him working to revive him. It’s not Peter. I still can’t see him.

I watch as they try to help the drowned man breathe again. They are pumping the water from his lungs, blowing air into him, but it doesn’t seem to be helping. His family is gathered round. As he remains motionless on the beach, despite everyone’s best efforts, the women begin to cry, quietly at first and then louder. A despairing wail that lifts above the sound of the wind. The men stand at a distance, their faces set and sombre.

‘Is he dead?’ I ask Hannah.

She just nods.

I stare at the body horrified. How would I feel if Peter’s lifeless body were brought to the beach? As though a part of me had died. What a moment to realize that I love him, when he’s lost out there in that monstrous sea. I scan the waves distractedly for some sign of him.

Despite the tragedy, the rescue continues.

Mikkel’s father seems to be everywhere, Lars Kruse too, shouting orders and instructions, their energy driving the other men.

A shout goes up from the water’s edge, and several men snatch one more person from the waves. As they heave him out of the water, we all see the rope around his waist.

‘The line!’ I hear people shout. ‘He has the line to the ship!’

It’s Peter’s waist the ropes are secured to.

‘He’s safe, Marianne, he’s safe,’ Hannah cries.

I feel myself go limp with relief. I’m shaking so that I can hardly stand. My face is wet and I realize I’m crying. At last Hannah lets me go. I stumble towards Peter, pushing past others to reach him. He’s standing supported by another man, coughing and gasping for breath.

‘You’re safe,’ I say stupidly, putting a hand on the wet oilskin of his sleeve. ‘I’m so glad you’re safe.’ He turns to me, looking surprised. He’s still breathing heavily, sea water streaming down his face and clothes. Then he smiles and covers my hand with his. It’s wet and cold. He’s about to speak when an older woman rushes up, scolding and fussing. She wraps a blanket around Peter and hurries him away. We are parted, but as he is led away, Peter pauses and looks back at me once more.

‘That’s his mother,’ Hannah tells me. I hadn’t noticed her appear beside me. I watch them walk away until the darkness swallows them.

The men on the beach have driven posts into the sand while the lifeboats did their work. Now they secure the line from the ship to them, creating a kind of pulley, which they use to drag people over the sea from the ship. One by one they arrive, swinging in a sort of basket suspended from the rope, soaking wet from the waves that have drenched them, and shivering with cold.

‘At last we have work to do,’ Hannah tells me. ‘Come and help get them out of their wet clothes.’

We both help, handing out the blankets we have brought, tying the discarded clothes in bundles to be dried. The crew is Norwegian, and they have passengers on board, including women and children. They are offered food, hot ale, and
snaps
and in pairs and small groups they are led back to people’s houses in Skagen, to whoever has room to take them in.

A mother and her daughter are hauled to the beach together along the line. They are clinging to each other. As soon as they reach the beach, the mother collapses. Several women help revive her, wrapping her in a blanket, and chafing her hands.

Her daughter stands, shivering and alone, watching her mother fearfully. Her eyes are wide with shock. She can’t be more than nine or ten years old. I wrap my last blanket around her, shivering myself now in the storm. I touch the girl’s hand and it’s like ice. Instinctively I put my arms around her, holding the blanket close, shielding her from the worst of the wind with my body. She’s rigid at first, then she suddenly goes limp. Putting her head on my shoulder she begins to cry. Great sobs shake her whole body, making her gasp for breath.

‘It’s all right now, you’re both safe,’ I say, stroking her wet hair.

She understands neither English nor Danish, but gradually her sobs quieten, until only her shuddering breathing betrays her distress.

We stand together as her mother recovers, watching other people being brought safely from the boat. When a woman I know by sight comes to take the girl and her mother to her house, it is hard to let her go.

‘You’re going to go with this lady now,’ I try to explain. ‘To get warm, and have some food.’

But the girl clings to me, her chilled hands clutching mine, until her mother herself comes to draw her away.

I look for Hannah in the crowd, and feel comforted when, as soon as she sees me, she takes my hand. Dawn is breaking slowly behind us, lighting up the shape of the ship, lying at a crazy angle out in the swell.

Without warning we hear a great crack, and a long-drawn-out sound of splintering wood. We watch, horrified, as the mast to which the line is secured slowly topples into the sea. The rope goes slack at once, plunging the person who was halfway along it down into the waves.

We can hear terrified screams from the ship. It is not only the mast that has snapped. Strained beyond endurance by the pounding of the waves, the whole ship is breaking up. I can see waves crashing right over her now. People are being swept off the decks into the sea. I feel sick with horror.

‘After all that hard work, people are still going to drown out there, aren’t they?’ I cry. ‘I can’t bear it.’ I can feel tears running down my face.

‘Yes,’ says Hannah sadly. I realize that for her, this scene isn’t new. She’s seen it before. Perhaps many times.

Fresh crews are running to man the lifeboats again, ready to try and pick up survivors. I see Christensen himself climbing into the boat to go out again. His voice is hoarse now as he calls for others to go with him.

A third, much smaller boat is being launched. I see it is Søren and his fishing crew.

‘Look, Søren is helping at last,’ I say, pleased about that at least. ‘His boat looks rather small to pick up survivors, though.’

The light is growing, despite the storm clouds, and we can see the lifeboats pause from time to time to pull people out of the water.

I hear an angry exclamation from Hannah. I follow the direction she is looking in and see a shameful sight. A survivor is clinging to the side of the third boat, trying to climb in. Instead of helping him, we both see clearly how Søren uses his oar to push the man away from the boat and back into the sea.

‘What are they doing?’ I yell, looking at Hannah. ‘Why are they going out there if not to save the people?’ My stomach twists at the sight of the desperate man.

‘It’s not people they want to save,’ Hannah tells me bitterly. ‘It’s clothes, food, wine, and any valuables they can steal.’ She looks around us. ‘I wish the commissioner for wrecks had seen that,’ she says. ‘They’d be in such trouble.’ Most people’s eyes seem to be on the lifeboats. One or two others have seen what we saw though. I can hear some angry mutters around us. I wonder how Søren and his friends will dare come back.

‘What a family I live with.’ Little better than wreckers, I want to say, but I don’t know the words for it in Danish. They may be poor, but there will surely be time to loot the ship once its crew and passengers are safe.

One lifeboat returns. They have a survivor, a young man who shivers and shakes as they help him out of the boat. They also have three bodies, which they lay respectfully out on the sand. They are limp, their hair bedraggled and their faces drained of colour.

‘Poor things,’ says Hannah pityingly. ‘They were healthy young men a few hours ago.’

I shudder and turn away.

‘The bodies that are washed up after a few days are much worse,’ Hannah tells me grimly.

I’m exhausted and cold. My legs and back are aching from so many hours standing. I’m just wondering about going home, when we notice a movement out to sea. The ship is shifting, and slowly, slowly, she sinks beneath the waves until only her stern and her unbroken masts are showing.

I scan the sea for a glimpse of Søren’s boat.

‘Look!’ I say, grasping Hannah’s shoulder and pointing.

The small boat vanishes for a few seconds and then reappears. Capsized. Others have noticed it now too. But this time no one hurries to push the lifeboat out.

‘Let them take their chance,’ growls one man nearby and I hear others agreeing. Everyone is turning away now, packing up. There is little hope of finding anyone else alive.

Hannah and I are just leaving the beach some time later, when another body is washed up, limp and lifeless.

It’s Søren. We approach fearfully. His lips are blue, his hair like wet seaweed. Worst of all are his eyes, open and sightless.

‘Ugh!’ I recoil.

I feel no sympathy for this man I have shared a house with for nearly three months. He did no one any good while he was alive. He drank not only the money he earned, but most of what his two sons earned too. But the sight of him dead on the sand is shocking all the same.

Two men are preparing to carry the body back to his widow. I notice they are less respectful of him than of the drowned Norwegians. I don’t blame them. We walk beside them all the way back to the house.

‘I wonder what Lene’s reaction will be?’ I say. She’s had nothing but harsh words and heavy knocks from him while I’ve been here, but they must have loved one another once.

I part with Hannah near the Jakobsens’ house, and follow the body in.

To my surprise, Lene is distraught. She sobs, apparently heartbroken, holding her dead husband’s lifeless hand in both of hers.

Lise comes to me for comfort, climbing into my lap and twining her arms about me.

‘Why is he dead, Marianne?’ she whispers.

I don’t know how to answer.

The other girls stand shocked and silent, watching their mother grieve.

Jakob returns safely, but we all wait anxiously for news of Morten who was in the boat with his father. He doesn’t return until much later. He comes creeping in under cover of darkness, hugging a sack of wheat guiltily in his arms. He and his brother quickly prise up a loose floorboard in the living room. There’s a fair-sized hole dug in the sand underneath. They drop the sack into it. I imagine the hiding place has been put to use before.

Morten has tales to tell of his part in the looting of the ship. I listen, half interested, half disgusted. He’s lost a father and gained a sack of wheat. I wonder to see him so unmoved by the exchange.

I
t’s completely still on the beach.

I stand awed before the vast expanse of sea, which is frozen into silence. There’s not even a breath of wind this morning. The sun is rising over the ice, streaking the sky with blues and oranges.

The boats lie idle on the sand, upside down. Snow has drifted about them; their ropes are thick with frost. Ice crystals in the sand catch the first rays of sun and sparkle like diamonds all around me.

This beauty has brought great hardship with it. The frozen sea yields no food. The poorer townsfolk are surviving solely on dried and salted fish, and in our house, even that is running low. There’s no fresh fish to trade for grain or fuel, and the Jakobsens had nothing stored ready for the winter. I’m so hungry my stomach hurts.

The sack of wheat that Lene’s son Morten stole from the wreck last month has been the saving of us. The bread has kept the worst of the hunger at bay so far.

It’s Christmas Eve today. I’ve escaped the house for an hour to be alone and to think about my mother. It will be my first Christmas without her. I miss her quiet cheerfulness, and the exchange of small gifts that we always made for each other. I usually push my sadness away, but today it overwhelms me with its intensity. Despite my friends, there are days when I’m so lonely.

But this afternoon I’m invited to Hannah’s. In Denmark they celebrate Christmas today. It will be a spell of joy and relief away from my life in the Jakobsens’ house.

Reluctantly, I turn away from the splendour of the sunrise and drag my feet back to a house which is empty of Christmas spirit. I have chores to do.

‘
Hvor var du
?’ Where’ve you been? demands Lene as soon as I re-enter the house. ‘You’re always disappearing when you’re wanted.’

She has come out of her apathy since her husband died, and revealed a temper nearly as foul as his. I find her intolerable.

I don’t answer her question, but take off my shawl, put on my apron and begin to cook one of our two meals of the day. There’s no longer enough food for three meals.

I slice the dried plaice, which I’ve soaked, and throw the pieces into the pan, pushing them around angrily. I don’t mind working hard, but I’m not their slave to work tirelessly for no thanks. I call to the children to set the table. I had felt guilty about leaving them on Christmas Eve, but I don’t care any more.

I scrape the fish onto plates, and try to stop myself from banging them onto the table as I would like to do. They wolf their meagre portions before I’ve even had a chance to take off my apron and join them.