Veracity (27 page)

And it seemed that just as quickly as the ordeal began, it was over. I thought I was safe, thought I was lucky. I looked around for a second and noticed that I was alone, and wondered if Mikkel and Onni had caught hold of something on the way, or had simply been washed away. I didn't know, and nor, at that moment, did I really care. The only thing to do was to grab onto the rail and pull myself to my feet as quickly as I could while there was a chance to do so. What I didn't know was that I was choosing the absolute worst moment to do it - because as soon as I got to my feet, the ship thrust upward, and I was flung effortlessly into the air, and over the rail. But I was still holding onto it with one of my hands, and I gripped it as tightly as was humanly possible, falling against the outside of the boat like a broken hinge, where I latched my other hand onto the tubing as soon as I could.

I knew at that moment, in a strange sort of way, that if I let go or was knocked off by the next wave, I would be dead in a minute or two, which is the kind of understanding that makes one tighten one's grip substantially more than one already had. It also made me try to quickly pull myself up, pressing my feet against the side of the ship to get my weight up higher. But they only slipped away. I tried again, and then again, but it was proving impossible; it took everything that I had to just stay clenched to the metal tubing as the ship was being flung around in the waves. My body probably looked like a tattered flag in the wind, flapping pathetic and helpless, almost tempting the elements to mercifully blow it away forever. After swearing at the top of my lungs, I looked down at the dark water again, and resolved to give one last concentrated effort to pull myself over the rail. Which is when I felt Mikkel's fingers wrapping around my forearms.

I looked at him for only a second before starting to heave myself up, both of us pulling as hard as we could. And with one fierce lunge, I was suddenly teetering on salvation, my chest hanging on the highest rail, where we struggled against the heel of the ship to get my weight over the top. I squirmed, tried with everything I had, even bowed my head down as if that would provide the needed load to drop my body onto the safe side of the railing. But in the end, it was the same sea that seemed so bent on taking our lives, which saved me. As the boat dug into the water, another wave crashed into me from behind and pitched me back over the rail. I slammed onto the deck and, again, Mikkel and I were sliding along the painted surface, eventually being washed up against the cabin wall, our heads clunking against it with empty sounds.

I shook the water from my face, my eyes stinging with salt, my throat paradoxically dry. How perfectly frustrating this all was! We were grains of pollen rushing inside a jet stream. We had no control over the boat, over the situation, over our survival. Over anything.

Mikkel was nearby, wiping water from his eyes as well, and as soon as he could see, he turned over and started crawling toward the hatch. Finally, some sense. I followed, and when we were getting close to it, I remember thinking about the crew, hoping that they'd already made it below deck, hoping that we were about to find every one of them there, safe and sound. But unfortunately, they weren't there. No. They were still on the upper deck, where, instead of worrying about saving their own lives, they were busy creating the most effective way to kill us all.

We were almost at the hatch when the air ripped open with the deepest, most terrifying sound I have ever heard. "WHOOMP!" Both Mikkel and I flinched, covering our heads for a second before looking up in the direction of the sound. I'm sure that once we saw it, both of our mouths must have dropped wide open. The crew had raised the main sail.

The small group that I'd seen below the mainmast must have laboured fanatically between the pauses of the waves to hoist it up. And they'd succeeded; because there it was, full, bulging, the cloth trembling at its edges. Anyone, even the most ill-trained sailor that has ever lived, could have seen that the wind was much, much too strong to have such a massive surface area propelling the ship. The mainmast bent and shuddered as the boat picked up ridiculous speed, and all of the flattened bodies lying on the floor began to slide toward the stern with the strength of the acceleration. We looked at the bow to see what the ship was flinging us toward, and could see, in a brief flash of light, that we would be crashing into a mammoth swell in the matter of seconds.

There was no communication, no altruism, and certainly no bravery. None of us thought, for even a split second, about approaching the wildly swinging boom to try and take down the sail, nor did anyone think to go to the helm to try and steer us into a better direction. No. There was only one thing left to do, and only an instant to do it.

Using both hands and feet, everyone scampered as fast as they could toward the hatch, which someone had already managed to fling open and dive into - all of us, like rodents fighting to leap into a burrow, sliding bumpily down the stairs headfirst, our bodies piling on top of themselves inside the water of the lower deck. I was somewhere in the middle of that heap of limbs and torsos, and was busy trying to squirm my way out, so I have no idea who had the presence of mind to close the hatch. It wasn't me.

And we were still in the process of getting off of each other, still trying to breathe, trying to figure out which way was up, when the ship crashed into the first swell. None of us had time to brace ourselves, and least of all Onni, who almost drowned with that first impact. There was a deafening crash, and the mass of water in the gangway, with all of us in it, rushed toward the stairs, where Onni, who was one of the first people to have jumped through the hole, still hadn't even managed to get his head above the surface of the water. I remember first feeling the water sift around me, and then submerged bodies pushing against me on every side, and then I remember being pressed against the stairs for a moment, then jostled free again, back in the direction that we'd just come from as the water subsided, carrying our limp and tired bodies with it, strewing us randomly throughout the gangway.

When I shot my head above the surface, I could hear Onni gasping and coughing, choking out bouts of seawater. Mikkel, who must have been closest, was trying to steady himself enough to pat him on the back, doing nothing for the water in his lungs of course, but showing, at least, that he was concerned.

We could hear a strange thundering, which was probably a wave breaking over the deck again, and we all braced ourselves for the next impact, which didn't seem to come. And in that pause, some of us looked at each other with blank expressions and then looked away, as if we were all waiting for something without knowing what that something was.

It's interesting to think that we might have all drowned in the gangway during the night, had cowardly Niels not opened the door of his quarters to vomit on us. When he flung it open, some of the water from the gangway drained into his room, seeming to lead us there in some bizarre way. He puked, his hands gripping the doorframe, and we all watched him without an inkling of sympathy. When he was finished, Knut was the first to crawl through the disgusting debris that was bobbing on the surface near Niels' legs, and had soon disappeared into the relative safety of the room. We all followed; Niels, recovering quietly, wiping his mouth and blinking at us as we passed.

The next swell that we struck closed the door, the water swishing from one side of the room to the other, and our bodies bounced off of the berths and against the tight walls that seemed to be everywhere. The lantern in the room had gone out, and our world was suddenly completely void of perspective and shape.

We felt our way from wherever we'd landed, and crawled onto the bunks, huddling in heaps of bodies, finding what corners we could. And just as we all seemed to have found a place, there was another impact, which caused one or two people to fumble to the slippery floor again. We could hear them floundering desperately to get back onto the beds, but all of us, being blind, and raking the darkness with our searching hands to try and help them, couldn't.

I heard someone else vomit, though maybe it was only Niels again.

Finally, the last person crawled into place, and we all reached out to hold him there, a collection of limbs netting him in. There was a strange stickiness to his skin, which made me assume that it was Aimil.

Another impact. The ship groaned loudly, crackled. No one fell back onto the ground again, and this meant that we'd all found a stable hold or stance, which seemed to be the most important thing at the time, though I'm not sure why.

From what I could tell, everyone was touching someone else - someone's hand on my arm, someone curled against my back - and I don't think that all of the contact was just for the purpose of collectively bracing ourselves, either; there was something else in it. Maybe we wanted to be reassured, or maybe we just didn't want to die alone. It's hard to say.

Another impact, only this one was more forceful than the last. I heard someone gasping for air, probably because he'd had his back against the wall and had the wind knocked out of him.

Judging by the sounds and sensations, the storm was right above us; the movements of the ship were becoming more sporadic, more violent, and the noises that it was making were louder, sounded more painful, damaging, and below these noises we could hear the water in the gangway rushing from one end to the other faster than it ever had before.

I felt our bodies flex. We held our breath. I think that we were all waiting for some kind of sign that would signify the end, something that would let us know that the structure of the ship had finally reached its limit, that it was finally splitting apart and about to spill us out into the sea. And those of us who were waiting for that moment thought it had finally come, when, suddenly, it felt like the room jumped, then twisted, and we could hear an ear-splitting noise even above the thunder and surf, and the growling of the ship; and it was a very different kind of noise, one of bending metal and cables twisting undone, shrieking, screaming before they snapped. And then, it felt like another ship smashed into our side and was scraping along the gunwales. All of us must have been looking around, waiting for the room to collapse, waiting for the sound of rushing water to break through the darkness. But nothing came.

After a few minutes of waiting, I started to notice that the movements of the boat had become very different, slower, almost sluggish. I breathed a sigh. It occurred to me what had made the horrible sounds; it was the mainmast breaking.

Of course, we weren't safe by any means, but at least we wouldn't be crashing into the swells anymore, damaging the ship more severely with every blow. And this meant that if the storm didn't get any worse - and as luck would have it, it wouldn't - then we just might make it through the night after all. I wasn't relieved; it was just that I allowed myself to become distantly hopeful for the very first time.

I could hear someone whimpering in front of me, and this soon turned into muffled crying. I didn't know who it was, but I could certainly understand them. The person who was touching my arm spoke. "Hey, it's okay... it's okay. The sail's gone. We might make it through now." It was Mikkel, always gracefully filling in the gaps that I left open.

I wanted to thank him; thank him for being everything that I wasn't, or at the very least, thank him for saving my life. And knowing then that it was his hand touching my arm, I reached over to his shoulder and squeezed it tightly, then patted it gently, twice. But Mikkel didn't react. He didn't shift or turn his head, he didn't mutter a word or a sound, nor did he even squeeze my arm in return, which would have been the subtlest reply. Nothing. And I didn't understand this at first, though felt sure that he was trying to communicate something.

I remembered once asking Dana why we didn't have money on the island, as was the case in all of the historical cultures. He said that, mostly, it was part of our collectivism, and then, which was very strange, he smiled this dry smile and told me that, regardless of our not having money, human beings would always find some form of reciprocation, and that the island had simply found other currencies in place of coloured paper and precious metals. Of course, he didn't mention what these currencies were, but that was the least important part. The important part was about reciprocation.

And while we braced ourselves for hours in the jarring blackness that night, I considered Mikkel's reaction - or lack thereof. Until eventually, I came to understand what he was trying to say. This was his way of letting me know that he had absolved his debt, that from that moment on, we were even.

21

I had always imagined that if a person narrowly escaped death, they would be stronger afterwards, more complete; I thought that such an event would empower them in a way that no other experience could. But I was wrong. And maybe this was only due to the fact that we hadn't survived because of anything we did, or as the result of any special skill we had - we were alive because of pure dumb luck. I remember there once being a storm on the island where most of the tallest trees on the northern shore were blown down and only a few straggling survivors were left. Of course, there was no reason for the remaining trees to have been spared; they weren't special in any way, weren't stronger or more robust, and they certainly hadn't been 'picked' by some higher force, they were only fortunate to have grown in the right spot, that as chance would have it, would be sheltered from the squall's random and powerful winds. And standing on the deck the next morning, we must have looked just like those trees; battered, swaying timidly above the wreckage of the night, numbingly blessed.

We didn't say much. In fact, the only sound that I remember hearing was the sea smacking up against the hull, and the water still sloshing around in the dark gangway where we'd come from. We fanned out across the deck, our legs delicately stepping over irreparable debris, as if the tangle of cables and splintered wood might be damaged even more by the sound of our footsteps. And after inspecting everything at our feet and in our periphery, one by one, we raised our heads, some of us mouthing silent curses to ourselves.