Depths. Part 2

CHAPTER 38.

He woke up with a start. It was dark in the cabin. The lead was next to his left arm. Water was lapping gently against the hull as the s.h.i.+p slowly rolled. He could hear the night.w.a.tchman coughing on deck. It did not sound good, it had a rattling quality. The man's footsteps faded away as he moved aft.He had been dreaming. There had been horses, and men whipping them. He had tried to intervene, but they ignored him. Then he understood that he was about to be whipped himself. At that point he woke up.He checked his watch, hanging by the side of his bunk. A quarter past five. Not yet dawn.He thought about the flash he thought he had seen on two occasions now. But surely Halsskar was just a barren rock? There could not be any kind of light there.He lit the paraffin lamp, dressed, took a deep breath and examined his face in the mirror. It was still his own.When he was a child all the time he was growing up, in fact he had looked like his mother. Now, as he grew older, his face had begun to change and he thought he could see more of his father every time he looked in a mirror.Was there yet another face within him?Would he ever be able to feel that he looked like himself and n.o.body else?

CHAPTER 39.

It was hazy over the sea when he came out on deck.The watchman with the hacking cough was sitting on the capstan, smoking. He jumped up when he heard footsteps. Hid his f.a.g behind his back. Then he succ.u.mbed to a violent coughing fit. Sc.r.a.ping and rasping noises seemed to be tearing his chest.Tobia.s.son-Svartman clambered into one of the tenders and untied the painter. The watchman, who had recovered from his coughing fit, asked breathlessly if the officer required an oarsman. Tobia.s.son-Svartman declined the offer.The sun had not risen over the horizon as he rowed towards Halsskar. The rowlocks squeaked forlornly. In order to get to the skerry as directly as possible he lined his tender up with the starboard wing of the bridge, and did not need to change course at all. He rowed with powerful strokes and beached the boat at the same place as last time.Halsskar gave the impression of having been crushed by a giant's hand. There were deep ravines and hollows, muddy soil had acc.u.mulated in depressions and provided a footing for moss campion and occasional clumps of wormwood. Lichens were creeping over the rocks, and spa.r.s.e red heather.He followed the sh.o.r.e northwards. Here and there he had to move inland when the cliffs became too steep. The terrain was in constant conflict with him, cliffs turned into precipices, rocks were slippery, every obstacle he overcame gave way to a new one.After ten minutes he was covered in sweat. He was deep down in a crevice with steep rock walls on either side, and he could no longer see the sea. He was surrounded by stone. A snake had shed its skin at the bottom of the fissure. He continued clambering over the rocks, saw the sea once more and came to the edge of an inlet that seemed to have been carved out of the cliffs.He stopped dead.As far in as you could go was a rickety jetty. Moored there was a dinghy. A sail was furled around the mast, situated towards the bows. On the sh.o.r.e were some fis.h.i.+ng nets hanging from hooks attached to poles that had been driven down among the stones. There was also a big washtub made of tarred oak, a heap of stones for weighing down the nets, and some floats made of bark and cork.He stood motionless, taking in what he saw. He was surprised to find that a skerry so far out in the archipelago, next to the open sea, was being used by fishermen and bird-hunters. They could not very well be seal-hunters as there were no rocks or skerries in the vicinity of the Sandsankan lighthouse where grey seals were known to bask. You would have to go further into the archipelago for that, to the shallows east of Harstena.He continued walking along the sh.o.r.e towards the sheltered inlet, and noted that the dinghy was well looked after. The sail furled round the mast was not patched and the sheets were whole rather than being knotted together from odds and ends of line. The nets, hanging neatly from the hooks, were small-meshed and evidently intended for catching herring. Furthest in was a well-worn path leading towards dense thickets of dog rose and sea buckthorn. The path meandered on beyond the thickets and between two large outcrops. Beside it, to his surprised delight, he observed a freshwater spring.Then he came upon a patch of level ground and a little cabin squatting in the shadow of a cliff wall. It had a brick chimney, and a thin wisp of smoke was rising skywards. The foundation was of rough stones, and the walls were made of grey planks, varying in width, none of them planed. The roof was patched with moss, but its base was a layer of turf. There was only one window. The door was closed. There was a little vegetable patch alongside the cabin. Nothing was growing in it at present, but somebody had made the effort of covering it with bunches of seaweed, to act as fertiliser. Further away, next to the cliff wall, was a potato patch. He estimated it to be twenty square metres. It too was blanketed in seaweed mixed with old, dried potato haulm.At that very moment the door opened. A woman emerged from the cabin. She was wearing a grey skirt and a dishevelled cardigan; she was carrying an axe, and her hair was long, golden and braided into a plait tucked into her cardigan. She caught sight of him and gave a start. But she was not scared and did not raise the axe.Tobia.s.son-Svartman was embarra.s.sed. He felt as if he had been caught in the act, without knowing what the act was. He raised his hand to the peak of his cap and saluted her.'I didn't mean to come creeping up on you,' he said. 'My name is Lars Tobia.s.scn-Svartman, I'm a commander but not the master of the naval vessel that's anch.o.r.ed off the east side of the skerry.'Her eyes were bright and she did not lower her gaze.'What are you doing? I've seen the boat. It anchors here day after day.''We're sounding depths and checking if the sea charts are reliable.''I'm not used to seeing s.h.i.+ps lying at anchor out here among the shallows. Even less to finding people on the island.''The war has made it necessary.'She did not take her eyes off him.'What war?'He could tell that she was genuine. She did not know. She walked out of the door of a cabin on Halsskar and did not know that there was a major war in progress.Before answering, he glanced at the door, to see if her husband might put in an appearance.'There has been war for several months now,' he said. 'A lot of countries are involved. But here in the Baltic it's mainly the German and Russian Fleets stalking each other and hoping to strike a telling blow.''What about Sweden?''We're not involved. But n.o.body knows how long that will last.'Silence. She was young, could not have been thirty. Her face was entirely honest, like her voice.'How's the fis.h.i.+ng going?' he asked politely.'It's hard.''No herring about, then? Any cod?''There are fish about. But it's hard.'She put the axe down on a chopping block. Next to it was a collection of branches and driftwood for making firewood.'I rarely have visitors,' she said. 'I've nothing to offer you.''Oh, that's all right. I'm going back to my s.h.i.+p now.'She looked at him. He thought she had a pretty face.'My name's Sara Fredrika,' she said. 'I'm not used to being with people.'She turned and vanished into the cabin.Tobia.s.son-Svartman stared for ages at the closed door. He hoped against hope that it would open and that she would come out again. But the door remained closed.Then he went back to the Blenda. Blenda. Lieutenant Jakobsson was smoking by the rail as he clambered on board. Lieutenant Jakobsson was smoking by the rail as he clambered on board.'Halsskar? Is that what the skerry's called? What did you find there?''Nothing. There was nothing on it.'They continued with their work, lowering and raising the sounding leads through the water.All the time he was thinking about the woman who had emerged from the cabin and looked him straight in the eye.Towards mid-afternoon a wind got up from the south-west.Just as they finished work for the day it started raining.

PART III.

Fog

CHAPTER 40.

The first snow fell on 15 November.It was dead calm, the bank of dark cloud came rolling in from the Gulf of Finland. The snow was slight at first. The thermometer showed minus two degrees and the barometer was falling.The previous evening Tobia.s.son-Svartman had noted in his journal that they had been working for twenty-one days and had three rest days. He calculated that they should have finished sounding the new route, from the Sandsankan lighthouse to the Gryt area of the northern archipelago and the approach to Barosund, by 1 December. Then the Blenda Blenda would move south to Gamlebyviken where a small area of the approach channel needed to be measured again. would move south to Gamlebyviken where a small area of the approach channel needed to be measured again.However, Naval Headquarters had issued a warning that this second stage might have to be postponed until New Year, 1915. In that case Tobia.s.son-Svartman and his colleagues would return to Stockholm and wait there.He was still not sure whether it would be possible to shorten the whole route from Halsskar westwards. There was one area that worried him. It was a badly charted stretch where certain indications suggested dramatic irregularities on the seabed. But were these isolated projections which he could ignore? Or was there an underwater ridge that would force him to restrict changes that could be made to the route?He was not sure. His worry was his alone. He shared it with n.o.body else.When he settled down in his bunk and blew out the paraffin lamp, he wondered why he had still received no letter from his wife. The destroyer Svea Svea had rendezvoused with them on six occasions. Every time, he had handed his main record book over to the cryptographers, spoken to Rake about the war and drunk a gla.s.s of brandy, and before leaving had pa.s.sed over his letter. He had always been sure that this time she would have answered, but Rake never had any mail for him. had rendezvoused with them on six occasions. Every time, he had handed his main record book over to the cryptographers, spoken to Rake about the war and drunk a gla.s.s of brandy, and before leaving had pa.s.sed over his letter. He had always been sure that this time she would have answered, but Rake never had any mail for him.Another thought came into his head. It was now two weeks since he had met the woman on Halsskar. He felt an increasing need to go back to the skerry. Two mornings in succession he had untied the painter and set off in one of the tenders, but at the last moment changed his mind. The temptation was strong, but forbidden.He wanted to go there, but he did not dare.The snow became heavier. The sea was calm, blue-grey. The black clouds crept past. Lieutenant Jakobsson came out on deck with a scarf wrapped round his head and a peaked cap. One rating burst out laughing, then another, but Jakobsson was not angry: he seemed to be amused.'This is totally against the rules,' he said with a smile. 'Scarves are for old women, not for s.h.i.+ps' masters in the Swedish Navy. But there's no denying that they keep your ears nice and warm.'Then, to the general surprise, he bent down and scooped up some snow from the s.h.i.+p's deck and managed to shape it into a s...o...b..ll despite his deformed hand. He threw it at Sub-Lieutenant Welander's back.'Swedes practise to become soldiers or sailors by fighting s...o...b..ll battles as they grow up,' he shouted, pleased with himself to have scored a bullseye.Welander was surprised, shook the snow from his overcoat; but he said nothing, just turned on his heel and walked to the rope ladder and climbed down into his launch. Jakobsson watched him all the way. He frowned.'Sub-Lieutenant Welander's launch has been given a secret nickname,' he confided to Tobia.s.son-Svartman. 'The crew think I don't know about it, but the most important task for a commanding officer, second only to making sure that his s.h.i.+p doesn't set sail for h.e.l.l, is to know what rumours and whispers are circulating among his crew. I have to be aware if one of the crew is being badly treated. I don't want a case like Richter's on my s.h.i.+p, somebody who gets bullied so badly that he prefers to jump into the sea. Sub-Lieutenant Welander's launch is known as "The s.h.i.+lly-Shally". It's a malicious name, but an accurate one.'Tobia.s.son-Svartman understood. Welander was sometimes in two minds about various sounding results and demanded, quite unnecessarily, a second measurement.'What do they call my boat?' he said.'Nothing. That's surprising. Sailors are generally an inventive crowd. But your crew doesn't seem to have discovered a weakness in you that warrants the smas.h.i.+ng of an invisible bottle of champagne against the bows and presenting the boat with a nickname.'Tobia.s.son-Svartman felt relieved. He had not made himself vulnerable without knowing it.Jakobsson suddenly pulled a face.'I have a shooting pain in my arm,' he said. 'Perhaps I've strained it.'Tobia.s.son-Svartman decided he would raise the matter he had been suppressing ever since coming on board.'I sometimes wonder about your hand, of course.'"Everybody does. But very few satisfy their curiosity. In my view it displays disgraceful cowardice not to dare to ask those you work with about their physical defects. The world is full of admirals who walk around with their heads under their arms, but no subordinate dares to ask them about their state of health.'Jakobsson chuckled merrily.'When I was a child I used to fantasise and say my hand had been injured in a pirate attack in the Caribbean,' he said. 'Or munched by a crocodile. It was too uninteresting and woeful to admit that it had always looked as it does now. Some people have a club foot, others are born with a hand that looks like a club. I still prefer to think that I came by it from a swarthy knave and his bloodstained cutla.s.s, but it goes against the grain to tell lies to a fellow officer.'The snow was now falling very heavily. Welander's launch was already on its way to the greyish white buoys that marked where the previous day's soundings had finished.Tobia.s.son-Svartman boarded his launch, the ratings started rowing and he prepared his lead. As it was snowing he had his chart, notebook and pens in a waterproof oilskin wallet.The ratings were s.h.i.+vering in the snow. Two of them had bad colds and their noses were running. Tobia.s.son-Svartman was furious. He hated people with runny noses. But, of course, he made no comment. He was one of the disgraceful cowards Lieutenant Jakobsson had recently referred to.They rowed towards the buoys. He stood in the stern, gazing at Halsskar and thinking about Sara Fredrika. The thought of her husband made him jealous.The snow continued falling.He felt as if the sea were keeping watch on him, like a sharp-eyed animal.

CHAPTER 41.

Shortly after ten o'clock Welander shouted that he had come across a significant underwater peak. Over twenty metres the depth of water had decreased from sixty-three metres to nineteen. It was like coming upon a cliff wall that had risen unnoticed beneath the surface of the sea. Tobia.s.son-Svartman sank his own lead. The last sounding, a mere ten metres astern, had been fifty-two metres. He held his breath, hoping for the same measurement again. But his lead came to a stop after only seventeen metres. What he had feared had come to pa.s.s. They had hit upon an underwater ridge that had not previously been marked on charts.The sea had raised its voice and refused to cooperate.Instead of continuing along the transit line, he requested readings at right angles to the course the launches had been following so far. They must find out if the ridge was a long one or just an isolated stack. They took soundings every three metres and shouted the results to each other. Welander found depths of 19, 16, 16, 15 and then suddenly 7 metres, thereafter 7 again, then 4, followed by another jump to 2 metres. For a further stretch of a hundred metres the distance to the seabed was between 2 and 3 metres.Tobia.s.son-Svartman had the same result. This was no minor irregularity: they had come across a stretch of shallow water that for some reason had hitherto been missed. Off the top of his head he could not remember it being mentioned as a good place for herring fis.h.i.+ng in old doc.u.ments describing the best fis.h.i.+ng grounds around the Sandsankan lighthouse.The snow was falling even more heavily. He felt disappointed. The sea had tricked him.He shouted to Welander, instructing him to stop work for the day. The thoroughly soaked ratings came to life. One of them yawned noisily as he took hold of his oar. A lump of yellowish-green snot was trickling down his upper lip. Tobia.s.son-Svartman stood up abruptly and hit the sailor in the face with the chart pouch. It was a hard blow, and blood appeared immediately on the rating's lip.It all happened so quickly that n.o.body had time to react.Weakness, Tobia.s.son-Svartman thought. Now I have made myself vulnerable. I lost control.The ratings carried on rowing. He sat with his eyes fixed on Halsskar. n.o.body spoke.Over dinner, which consisted of roast beef, potatoes and pickled gherkin, he told Lieutenant Jakobsson about the invisible cliff wall.'What are the implications?' Jakobsson asked.'I shall be able to relocate the navigable channel closer to the mainland, but it will not be as wide as I had hoped.''So it hasn't been a complete failure?''No.'He went on to speak of the other incident.'I gave a rating a good dressing-down today. It was necessary. He wasn't rowing as he should have been. I hit him with the chart pouch.'Needless to say, Jakobsson knew about it already. He smiled.'Naturally, the crew has to be punished if they don't obey orders or fail to carry out their work properly. I must ask you, though, from curiosity purely, what are you doing when you are not "rowing as you should be"?''He was lazy.'Jakobsson nodded slowly, and eyed him quizzically.'I didn't think a s.h.i.+pping lane could be such a personal matter,' he said. 'I can understand that a s.h.i.+p might be. I have seen old captains and bosuns weep when their s.h.i.+p has been towed away to the breaker's yard. But a navigable channel?'Tobia.s.son-Svartman thought he ought to respond to that. But he could not think of anything to say.

CHAPTER 42.

He finished his meal and left the mess. When he came out on deck he stopped to gaze in the direction of Halsskar, which was invisible in the dark. He tried to imagine what Sara Fredrika's husband looked like, and wondered if there were any children in the grey cottage.A slight breeze had got up from the south. He could feel that the mercury had risen above freezing point.It had stopped snowing.He sat down at the table in his cabin and tried to deal with his disappointment. He had made a mistake, he had a.s.sumed that he would triumph. He had been convinced that he could change an arc into an almost straight line on the sea chart, give naval vessels more protection, and above all enable them to approach land or head out to sea at faster speeds. Although he knew from experience that a navigable channel was like an invisible obstacle course, he had allowed himself to approach the mission with too much confidence.The sea had not tricked him. It was he who had failed to show sufficient respect. He had committed a grave sin: he had guessed.* * *The paraffin lamp started smoking. As he adjusted the flame a memory came to him. His father had once lapsed into one of his most furious rages when Lars arrived late at the dinner table because he had guessed the time and got it wrong. With a bellow his father had boxed his ears and sent him to bed without food.To be late was to desecrate other people's time. Guessing could be an amusing game, but was never permissible in connection with dinner or other serious matters.Such as being responsible for checking the depth of secret naval channels.He wrote up the notes he had made during the day and worked out a plan for how they would continue their work. They would be forced to retreat about 150 metres. When they came to the previous course of the navigable channel they would start sounding again.He calculated how long it would take. Provided nothing unforeseen happened, they should be finished by 1 December even so.He put the main record book away, turned down the flame and stretched out on his bunk. There was a faint creaking from the hull. He could hear the watchman walking over the deck. Somebody coughed. He thought how there always seemed to be a coughing epidemic on board a naval vessel. It rattled like an echo through the collective chest of s.h.i.+ps. When on board a wars.h.i.+p you could be certain that the wind and the sound of the engines would always be accompanied by somebody coughing.He pictured the crew of a big battles.h.i.+p, perhaps two thousand men, standing on parade and coughing in unison while their superiors looked on.He thought about the sailor he had struck. What did he know about him? He was nineteen, came from inland, Vimmerby, and was called Mats Lindegren. That was all. The lad spoke an almost incomprehensible dialect, often smelled of sweat and gave the appearance of being frightened. He was an insignificant person with a pale, pimply face, and unnaturally thin to boot. There was something vague and elusive about him. It was incomprehensible that he should have joined the navy, even if he was not among the worst when it came to being seasick. He knew as much from Lieutenant Jakobsson, who always had people keeping a check on which members of the crew himself included became incapable of working during a bad storm. Mats Lindegren was one of those not affected. He was not sick, nor did he become dizzy.There in the darkness Tobia.s.son-Svartman suddenly realised why he had been unable to control himself. The yawning sailor with the snotty nose had reminded him of the dead man Richter, the one who had been pulled out of the sea a few weeks ago. The similarity of their appearance, that and the fact that, they had stumbled upon a big underwater ridge had shattered all his best-laid plans, had made him lose control.* * *He closed his eyes and thought about his wife. She was walking towards him through the darkness; he felt wholly calm deep down; the cabin was filled with a sweetish scent, and finally he managed to fall asleep.

CHAPTER 43.

She followed him into his dreams.It was 1905, they had just married and were on their honeymoon in Kristiania. The struggle over the 'to be or not to be' of the Swedish-Norwegian union was at its most troubled stage and he had made the naive mistake of going out for a walk with his wife along Karl Johan wearing his Swedish naval uniform. Just as they were pa.s.sing the university somebody had shouted at him, and even in his dream he could hear that hot-tempered voice: 'Swedish b.a.s.t.a.r.d, go home.' He turned round, but there was no obvious culprit, just a crowd of people who looked the other way or smiled and looked down at the ground. They were staying at the Grand Hotel, and went back there immediately. Kristina Tacker had been fearful and wanted to leave right away, but he had refused. He changed into civilian clothes, they went out again and n.o.body had shouted at them. No one was hostile when they went to the Blom restaurant or the Grand Hotel's veranda, nor when they visited the newly built National Theatre. They saw Johanne Dybwad as Mrs Alving in a production of Ibsen's Ghosts, Ghosts, which his wife thought was disgusting. He agreed with her, to be polite, but in fact he had been disturbed and moved because the play reminded him of his own childhood and resurrected uncomfortable memories of pain and ignominy. which his wife thought was disgusting. He agreed with her, to be polite, but in fact he had been disturbed and moved because the play reminded him of his own childhood and resurrected uncomfortable memories of pain and ignominy.Thus far his dream was clear, a walk down memory lane. But then everything became chaotic. They become separated in a crowd at Bygdy and soon afterwards he sees her with another man. He tries to pull the man away from her, but he is dead and his body is already decaying, the stink is something awful. Then suddenly everything is back at the beginning again. They walk along Karl Johan, stop at the entrance to the Blom restaurant and examine the menu, they talk about everyday things, she squeezes his arm and then the picture goes white, featureless, without content or meaning.When he woke up he tried to interpret the dream. He had let it finish in nothing but whiteness. He had rubbed Kristina Tacker out.His pocket watch showed three minutes to five. No thin light yet. He lay with his eyes open, and in the darkness the opposite of the whiteness of the dream he decided to row to Halsskar that morning.He had to. That was all there was to it. He had no choice.The watchman was pacing up and down the deck.Tobia.s.son-Svartman stretched out a hand and touched his sound, which lay on the floor next to his bunk.

CHAPTER 44.

The sea was wreathed in fog when he rowed over to Halsskar.About halfway there the Blenda Blenda had faded away like a dark shadow amid all the white. had faded away like a dark shadow amid all the white.He wondered if the whiteness in his dream had presaged the fog. A fish broke the surface of the water alongside the boat with a plop. That's what pike do, he thought, but would a pike really be as far out to sea as this?He rested on his oars and listened. The fog magnified the noises from the invisible s.h.i.+p. Some of the ratings had been ordered to sc.r.a.pe away rust. The blows of hammers and chisels bounced through the fog and reached his ears. There was no risk of his getting lost, he could navigate on the basis of the noises. He counted his strokes and when he looked ahead he saw he was close to land. He beached the tender as before, having considered rowing a bit further and tying up in the little inlet where the sailing dinghy was moored. That would save him having to clamber over the slippery rocks, but the inlet was not his, and he did not want to intrude.He made his way to the protected natural harbour and paused to observe the dinghy. It was in the same place as last time, but the sail was not furled round the mast, it was flapping gently in the slight breeze. The nets were hanging as before, but as he approached he could smell fish. There were the remains of cod and a few flounders in the water next to the boat He was surprised that the gulls had not already been there and eaten the lot. He walked on over the slippery rocks, slipped and cut his hand on a sharp stone. He had a handkerchief in one of his pockets, Kristina Tacker had embroidered his initials into one corner. He pressed it against his hand until the bleeding had stopped.The door of the grey cottage was shut. Smoke was coming out of the chimney. He sat behind some large rocks and let his telescope glide over the building, the door, the walls, the window. The only moving thing was the smoke. He waited. Suddenly a black cat with a white nose appeared round one corner of the cottage. It paused and looked towards where he was sitting, one front paw poised. He held his breath. The cat moved on again and vanished into some bushes. The door opened. Sara Fredrika came out. She lifted up her skirt and squatted down. He had a glimpse of her white legs. He hesitated for a moment, then grasped the telescope and aimed it at her. Just as she stood up she looked straight at him. He jerked the telescope away and closed his eyes. She walked along the path towards the inlet where the sailing dinghy was moored, and disappeared behind an outcrop of rocks.He stood up and half ran to the highest point of the skerry, where he could see down into the inlet. There was the creaking sound of an oar, some squeaking from a rowlock, and then he saw the boat moving away from land. She rowed with good, strong strokes, and the sail was hanging loose, flapping as if enjoying its freedom. He could see through the telescope that she had tucked her skirt above her knees, and that there were nets lying on the stern thwart. She emerged from the inlet but did not follow the line of the coast. Instead she headed for the inner archipelago where the nearest landmark was a group of bare rocks sticking up out of the water.She tossed a cork float over the side and as the dinghy glided downwind at a fair pace she let the net go. The breeze was easterly, barely enough to cause ripples. He estimated the net to be forty-two metres long, and she quickly adjusted the flow whenever it threatened to become tangled. She knew what she was doing and wasted no time. Her blonde hair kept falling over her face, she kept blowing it away, shaking her head, and eventually hung on to a long strand with her teeth to keep it out of her way.He lowered the telescope. Odd that she was out in the boat on her own. Was her husband ill? Was he in bed at the cottage, behind the closed door?He made up his mind on the spot. It would be some time before she finished laying out the nets and came back to the skerry.He walked down to the cottage. The door was still closed and there was no sign of the cat. He approached cautiously and peered in through the window. It was quite dark inside and difficult to see anything. A fire glowed in the hearth. Suddenly it flared up. There was only one room, a bed, a table and a chair inside the rough walls. He could not see anybody in there. He tried the door, knocked gently, then opened it. The room was empty. No sign of her husband. No boots, no overcoat, no pipe on the table, no shotgun on the wall. She lived there alone.There was was no husband. Sara Fredrika lived all alone on Halsskar. no husband. Sara Fredrika lived all alone on Halsskar.He thought he heard the dinghy sc.r.a.ping against some stones in the inlet and hurried back to his hiding place behind the rocks. She soon appeared, walking towards the cottage. She glanced up at the sky then went inside.The fog was lifting when he returned to the s.h.i.+p. He rowed so fast that his clothes were sticking to his body. Why was he in such a hurry?Was he running away from something, or towards something?

CHAPTER 45.

Lieutenant Jakobsson was standing by the rail, cleaning his pipe.He smiled.'You get up early.''I hope I didn't wake you?''If I manage to sleep, I dream I'm awake. Sometimes I don't know if I'm awake or asleep. But when I come out on deck it's the real world, and I saw that one of the tenders was missing and they said you had rowed off into the fog.''I need some exercise. The work in the boats isn't enough.'He climbed up on deck and headed for the mess and breakfast. He had spent too much time on Halsskar. Work would be late in starting today.Jakobsson followed him.'Maybe I should accompany you,' he said, after lighting his pipe. 'Maybe you've discovered something?'For a moment Tobia.s.son-Svartman thought that Jakobsson knew. Then he understood that it was an innocent question.'There's nothing there. You can't even get ash.o.r.e. But I enjoy rowing.''It's not something I try to do, not with my hand.'Tobia.s.son-Svartman drained his cup of coffee then stood up, went back on deck and climbed down into his launch.Sub-Lieutenant Welander gave him a clumsy salute. His launch had already cast off.The rating Tobia.s.son-Svartman had struck in the face the day before had a swollen lip, but there was no snot hanging from his nostril. He had changed places and now had the oar furthest from the stern thwart It would be harder for Tobia.s.son-Svartman to reach him there, should he have another fit of rage.

CHAPTER 46.

Late that afternoon the Svea Svea appeared on the horizon. appeared on the horizon.They stopped their work immediately. Tobia.s.son-Svartman had written up his notes by as early as six o'clock.He made his way over the gangway that had been set up between the two vessels. Anders Hockert welcomed him aboard. While they were on their way to Captain Rake, he politely asked after Lieutenant Sundfeldt and Artillery Captain von Sidenbahn.'Von Sidenbahn has done his stint and is back ash.o.r.e,' Hockert said. 'That's where he prefers to be. He was d.a.m.ned annoyed, having to live on a moving floor. Sundfeldt is asleep he was on bridge watch yesterday evening. He has an amazing ability to sleep, that man. Some of those who choose a seafaring life dream about being rocked to a sound night's sleep by their s.h.i.+p. I have a theory that says they are really longing for their mothers. So how's the work going?''Well.'Hockert paused and eyed him up and down.'Well? Neither more nor less? Just "well"?''Some things go brilliantly. Other days cause a few problems. Let's say, we're making progress.'Hockert knocked on the door and opened it before Rake had a chance to respond. Then he stepped aside and vanished down a companionway.Rake was waiting for him, his jacket unb.u.t.toned.He held a letter in his hand.

CHAPTER 47.

He saw right away that it was from Kristina Tacker.The handwriting was unmistakable, with marked, fancy flourishes on the capital letters. He would have preferred to leave Rake immediately and return to his cabin to read the letter.Previously he had been worried because she had not written. Now that had changed and he was anxious to know what the letter said.Rake picked up the brandy bottle. Tobia.s.son-Svartman noticed that he was wearing a black armband on his left arm.Rake saw what he was looking at.'My mother has died. I'll be going ash.o.r.e in Kalmar and will hand the s.h.i.+p over to Lieutenant Sundfeldt for a few days while I deal with the funeral.''I'm so sorry.'Rake filled his gla.s.s.'My mother was 102,' Rake said. 'She was born in 1812, so if she had lived in France she might have met Napoleon. Her own mother was born sometime in the 1780s, I forget the exact year. But it was before the French Revolution. When I touched my mother's hand it often occurred to me that I was feeling the skin of somebody who in turn had touched the skin of people born in the eighteenth century. In certain circ.u.mstances it's almost incomprehensible how time can shrink.'But it's hard to mourn a person who is 102 years old. For the last ten years she hasn't known who I was. Sometimes she thought I was her late husband, my own father, that is.'Extreme age is a spiritual pitched battle fought in the dark. A battle that inevitably ends in defeat. The darkness and degradation of old age is something for which religions have never been able to offer us consolation or a satisfactory explanation.'But death can come suddenly and unexpectedly even for one so very old. It might seem an odd thing to say, but death always disturbs us no matter when it comes. Although my mother was in spiritual darkness she had a strong will to live. She did not want to die, despite being so old.'Tobia.s.son-Svartman made to leave, but Rake was not finished.'There has been a military confrontation near the Gulf of Riga,' he said. 'Our clever radio operators who listen in to communications between the German and Russian s.h.i.+ps and their high commands have been able to confirm the engagement. It happened at the end of last week. One German cruiser was damaged by torpedoes, but was able to limp back to Kiel. Two Russian vessels, a torpedo boat and a troops.h.i.+p, were torpedoed and sank.''Is there anything to suggest that Sweden might be drawn into the war?''Not a thing. But there are opinions, of course. Mine, for one. I think we should join in on the German side.'Tobia.s.son-Svartman was astonished. The captain was openly declaring that he was opposed to Swedish neutrality, which had been decided on by parliament and the government. A vigorous Navy Minister would have stripped him of his command forthwith if he had heard what Rake had just said. But it was an open question whether a Navy Minister would dare to fall out with his senior officers.Rake seemed to read his thoughts.'Obviously it is forbidden to say something like that. But I'm not especially concerned about the consequences. If the worst comes to the worst, I can always plead diminished responsibility due to the sudden death of my mother.'He stood up. The audience was over. He handed over the letter and opened the door leading to the deck. Rake accompanied Tobia.s.son-Svartman to the gangway sloping steeply down to the gunboat's deck.'I keep thinking about that dead German sailor,' he said. 'There will now be lots of dead bodies floating around in the Gulf of Riga. All seas are graveyards, but there are no remains at the bottom of the Baltic. It is a big cemetery that is devoid of any human remains. The lack of calcium means that bodies and skeletons very quickly decay here, or so I've been told.'They said their farewells when they came to the gangway. Rake asked how the work was going.'Some days everything goes well, other days bring setbacks. But we are making progress,' Tobia.s.son-Svartman said.On the way down the gangway he stumbled. For a moment he was in danger of dropping the letter.

CHAPTER 48.

He shut himself away in his cabin and sat down to read the letter.Suddenly he was overcome by the conviction that she had not written before because she had been unfaithful. The letter was bound to contain a confession that she had met somebody else. He sat for a long while with the letter in his hand, not daring to open it.The letter contained nothing of what he had feared.First she apologised for the delay in writing. She had been unwell for a few days and unable to write. Then their maid, Anna Beata, had left without warning. Perhaps she had got herself pregnant it had not been possible to extract any sensible reason for her resignation. That had meant she was forced to turn to Fru Eber, who had an agency for domestic servants in Brahegatan, and then she had had to interview the applicants. It had taken several days and evenings before she was in a position to appoint a girl from odeshog who spoke in a funny dialect but had good references, including one from the headmaster of the grammar school in Sodertalje she had worked for him, it seemed. She was also called Anna, was twenty-seven, and Kristina Tacker described her as 'on the chubby side, with large, foolish eyes, but she seems reliable and honest. She is also strong, which could be useful as our carpets are heavy.'The letter ended with her saying how much she missed him, how empty and dreary the flat seemed, how frightened she was by the war, and how she hoped he would soon come back home. He put the letter down and felt guilty about having suspected the worst. He had a wife who opened her heart to him, a letter that had been delayed by a maid who might have been made pregnant in the bushes at Djurgrden and no longer wanted to fulfil her duties. He had a bad conscience about leaving her on her own to take care of all the practical details that she might have difficulty in coping with. She was like one of her own china figurines.It seemed to him that what he was feeling must be love. The tension that had eased, his bad conscience and her fragrance that filled the cramped cabin.He wrote a reply immediately: he made no mention of Rudin's illness and death, nor did the dead German soldier feature in the letter. He was afraid that any such detail would only worry her the more. He wrote positive things about the sea that had a mind of its own, the endless hours in the launch, the lonely mealtimes. And how he longed for her and dreamed about her every night.When he had finished, it dawned on him that not a word of it was true. Nothing he had written was genuine. It was all fantasy, empty poetry, nothing more.It was as if something had come between him and Kristina Tacker. He knew what it was. Or, rather, who it was. It was Sara Fredrika, the woman who lived alone on Halsskar.It was as if she she was in his cabin here and now, with her skirt pulled up above her knees. was in his cabin here and now, with her skirt pulled up above her knees.He went out on deck and gazed at Halsskar. It was hooded in darkness.That was where he was heading for.Late that night, just before midnight, Anders Hockert came across from the Svea Svea and returned the main record book, which had been copied. and returned the main record book, which had been copied.Tobia.s.son-Svartman handed him the letter he had written to his wife. Hockert invited him to join a game of cards that was in progress in the destroyer's wardroom.He declined.He lay awake. He was longing to be with the woman on Halsskar.

CHAPTER 49.

The Svea Svea weighed anchor during the night. weighed anchor during the night.He was woken by the powerful vibrations as the destroyer backed away from the Blenda. Blenda. The letter to his wife was on its way. The carrier pigeon was made of steel and instead of wings it had powerful steam engines. The letter to his wife was on its way. The carrier pigeon was made of steel and instead of wings it had powerful steam engines.

CHAPTER 50.

When he got up at dawn he was greeted by Lieutenant Jakobsson looking grim. He asked Tobia.s.son-Svartman to accompany him to the bows of the s.h.i.+p.Lying among several large capstans was Sub-Lieutenant Welander. He was covered in vomit and smelled strongly of spirits. There was an empty vodka bottle between his feet. His hair was matted, his eyes bloodshot and when he tried to stand up he was incapable of maintaining his balance and fell backwards among the hawsers.Jakobsson watched him in disgust.'I suspected something like this,' he said. 'I could sometimes smell it, but he'd turn away and speak with his mouth almost closed. I've been waiting for the bubble to burst. Well, it has burst now. We'll let him lie here for the time being.'They went to Welander's cabin. Beneath his bunk Jakobsson unearthed a collection of bottles, most of them empty, some unopened. He made a rough calculation.'Sub-Lieutenant Welander has drunk a litre of spirits per day since he came on board. Only an advanced alcoholic can drink that much. He has done his job and not given himself away. But there are limits. He pa.s.sed the alcoholic's meridian last night. Everything has fallen to pieces, he couldn't give a fig for his responsibilities or his reputation. He couldn't care less about his commission or his family. All he cares about is his d.a.m.ned bottles. It's tragic but not unusual. And very Swedish.'They went back on deck. Jakobsson gave the order to carry Welander back to his cabin. They watched the sorrowful procession, with Welander's arms hanging limply between two strong ratings.'He must leave the s.h.i.+p immediately, of course,' said Jakobsson. 'I'll send for the gunboat Thule Thule to take him to port. But how are we going to resolve the business of his launch?' to take him to port. But how are we going to resolve the business of his launch?'Tobia.s.son-Svartman had started working on that problem the moment he saw the drunken officer sprawled among the hawsers. At the same time he was asking himself why he had not suspected that Welander was concealing his alcoholism behind a mask of correctness. He was irritated that Lieutenant Jakobsson had sharper eyes than he did.He preferred not to wait for another naval engineer. One of the oarsmen in Tobia.s.son-Svartman's boat, Karl Hamberg, was older and more experienced than the rest. He could take over the responsibility until the soundings in this area were completed. The people in charge in Stockholm could come up with a successor to Welander for the next stage, the soundings at the approaches to Gamlebyviken.Jakobsson listened to his proposals and gave his approval. Hamberg was a conscientious and energetic sailor from oland. They called him in and explained the situation. He seemed to be honoured and not overawed by the responsibility he was being given.Late that afternoon the Thule Thule set sail from Slatbaken to fetch Welander. The crews of the launches watched with interest as Welander staggered over to the sister s.h.i.+p. set sail from Slatbaken to fetch Welander. The crews of the launches watched with interest as Welander staggered over to the sister s.h.i.+p.Tobia.s.son-Svartman could hear the oarsmen muttering contentedly among themselves. They made no attempt to conceal their Schadenfreude Schadenfreude over the fact that an officer had been caught out. over the fact that an officer had been caught out.Never again would Tobia.s.son-Svartman meet Sub-Lieutenant Welander. The thought scared him. It was like a cold wave hitting him from behind.I will never learn how to cope with leave-taking, he thought. Never ever. Every leave-taking implies a threat.

CHAPTER 51.

That evening he felt restless and started listing his a.s.sets.He had settled into his bunk and snuffed out the paraffin lamp. Then it took possession of him, as if he were starving. He lit the lamp again and took out the black notebook in which he wrote up his accounts.It was a habit he had inherited from his father. Throughout his childhood and youth, at the most unlikely times, sometimes at midnight, but just as often at dawn, Hugo Svartman would sit hunched over his black notebooks, checking his a.s.sets and the stock exchange index.Hugo Svartman had left a fortune. When he died in 1912, his estate was valued at 295,000 kronor. Most of it was in equities, bonds and debentures. There was also a portfolio of industrial shares. He had invested mainly in Separator, Svenska Metallverken and Gas-acc.u.mulator.His son calculated, checked, crossed out and started all over again. It was as if he were suffering from a fever. By two in the morning he felt satisfied. His insecurity had melted away.Not only were his a.s.sets still there, they had grown. Since the death of his father the fortune had swollen to more than 300,000 kronor. The share index had shot up after the outbreak of war. Trenches and naval battles supplied the stock exchange with bloodstained energy.He put out the light and lay down ready for sleep, on his left side, with his hands clenched by his crutch.He was at peace.

CHAPTER 52.

The next day it was grey and foggy again.The temperature was plus two. He woke up with a start and saw that it was 5 a.m. He could hear the watchman walking on deck, but no coughing. It was a new watchman. They followed a rota drawn up by Lieutenant Jakobsson which, for some reason unknown, kept changing.He stayed in his bunk until it started to get light. Then he got up and had coffee in the galley, where the cook was preparing breakfast. He climbed down into one of the tenders and pushed off, having turned down the offer of a rower.The tender glided into the fog of its own accord. He established his course then started rowing. Somebody had oiled the rowlocks, which no longer squeaked like awkward children.The silence was split by a desolate sound, a whining noise, possibly from birds gone astray in the fog.When he came to the skerry he could not work out at first where he was. Nothing alters a sh.o.r.eline so much as negotiating it in fog. He rowed cautiously alongside the sh.o.r.e, sc.r.a.ping the bottom now and then, and eventually found his usual landing place.It was damp and he was freezing. The dinghy was moored in the inlet. The sail was furled round the mast and the tiller was lying on the rocks. Nets hung wet from the hooks on the grey poles, and he gathered that she had already been out that morning and taken in the nets. He continued walking, but stopped dead when he heard a noise he could not identify. He waited until it had stopped then advanced with caution to his hiding place. He raised his head and looked down at the cottage. Fog was streaking in among the cliffs.She was getting washed. She was naked, standing in a baler and facing him. Her hair hung down over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, which were dripping wet. She was rubbing herself vigorously with a flannel, bending down for more water, quickly, as it was cold. The fog was a curtain that had been pulled aside and this performance was just for him.A memory came to mind. A few months previously he and Kristina Tacker had gone to the Svenska Teatern and seen the young and highly praised actress Tora Teje in a play whose name he had forgotten. During one of Teje's big monologues he had undressed her in his mind's eye and she had stood there on the stage, just for him, belting out a monologue of which he could not remember a single word.Sara Fredrika stepped out of the baler and wrapped herself in a grey linen sheet. She spent for ever rubbing her hair, it was as if she were drying a newly scrubbed floor. She emptied the baler, dressed and went indoors.Crouching down he ran back along the path, slipped and stumbled on one of the rocks, but he did not stop until he had reached the tender. He rowed into the fog, the rowlocks had started squeaking again, he was sweating, and all he wanted to do was to get away.What was he afraid of? He had no answer to that.He lost his way in the fog and could not at first find the s.h.i.+p. Everything was strangely silent, he was forced to shout and only when he heard a response was he able to get back on course.Jakobsson was smoking his pipe next to the rope ladder, waiting for him.'You keep making your early-morning trips,' he said. 'Everybody has a right to their secrets. Welander had his, until the bubble burst. When will yours burst?'Tobia.s.son-Svartman wondered yet again if Jakobsson knew something.'I just row around in the fog,' he said. 'It might seem pointless, but it wakes me up, body and soul. I row myself into a state where I'm ready to do my work. It chases away all my ugly dreams. Rowing can be like getting washed.'Lieutenant Jakobsson held out his pipe.'I smoke. Without tobacco I wouldn't even be up to being in charge of one of the navy's old tugboats. I mean that metaphorically, I would never dream of saying nasty things about a tugboat. They are like Ardennes horses. Even if a tug doesn't have a heart or lungs, they wear themselves out in the end and eventually they are no longer capable of towing. Horses are sent to the knacker's yard, boats to the breaker's yard.'Tobia.s.son-Svartman was growing tired of Jakobsson. He was a bit of a fusspot, tended to be ingratiating. And he was a d.a.m.ned chatterbox with bad breath and a smelly pipe. It was the same as the sailor with the snotty nose. Tobia.s.son-Svartman had an urge to punch him.He had breakfast, then he went back to work. The rating who had taken Welander's place performed excellently. They broke the record that day, making 144 soundings before they had to stop work because of failing light.All the time he was thinking about what he had seen that morning. It seemed to him more and more like a mirage, something he had not in fact experienced.

CHAPTER 53.

Late that evening, when he had already fallen asleep, Lieutenant Jakobsson knocked on his door. He dressed quickly and went on deck.Way out to sea, on the eastern horizon, tongues of fire rose up through the darkness. A naval battle was taking place.'We have had radio telegrams to the effect that something big and possibly crucial was in the offing,' said Jakobsson. "The Russian and German fleets have come up against each other. People will die tonight in a mixture of steam and fire, they'll be blown to pieces, drown.'The flashes came and went, shooting up into the night sky. Distant rumbles and blasts could be heard.Tobia.s.son-Svartman thought about the tragedy that was taking place. The heat of battle was h.e.l.lish. An orchestra comprising the musicians of evil was playing out there in the darkness. Every flash in the night sky was a note that turned into a lethal projectile.They stood on deck for a long time, watching the battle. n.o.body said a word. Everybody was depressed, silent.Shortly after three in the morning it was all over. The flames died away, the gunfire ceased. All that remained was the wind, which had veered to the east. The temperature had fallen again.

CHAPTER 54.

Snow came, then drifted away. The wind remained light, alternating between east and north. They had just one day with a strong northerly gale. Tobia.s.son-Svartman forced the work rate up, the ratings were sometimes on their knees with exhaustion, but n.o.body complained.The sea held its breath: there were fewer and fewer flocks of birds, and those, barely visible over the crests of the waves, heading due south.The days became shorter.All the time he was thinking about the woman on Halsskar.

CHAPTER 55.

A week pa.s.sed without his going back there.He became more and more restless, wanted to go, but did not dare. Was he too close, or was the distance too far?The Svea Svea turned up, without Captain Rake, who had gone to Stockholm to bury his mother. Lieutenant Sundfeldt received him in the saloon. He had two letters. One was from his banker, Herr Hkansson at the Handelsbanken head office, and the other from his wife. turned up, without Captain Rake, who had gone to Stockholm to bury his mother. Lieutenant Sundfeldt received him in the saloon. He had two letters. One was from his banker, Herr Hkansson at the Handelsbanken head office, and the other from his wife.They conversed briefly. The cryptographers collected his record book.When he returned to his cabin he first read the letter from Hkansson. The stock exchange was still reacting bullishly to the war. There was no reason to worry. The war meant rising share prices and stability in key industrial stocks.His banker advised him to consider buying into Russian Telecom and Bofors Gullspng, both of which had just posted good profits forecasts.He spent some time just holding the letter from his wife. Eventually he decided not to open it. It was as if he already knew what was in it, and it upset him. He tucked it into some pages in an old atlas he had in his travel archive.Then he sat down at his little table. How should he reply to a letter he had not read?He scribbled a few lines: he had a bad cold, a sore throat. Every evening his temperature varied between 37.9 and 38.8. But he was managing to cope with his work, which was now entering a crucial phase. He thanked her for her letter, and told her he loved her. That was all.In his heart, he knew that he would soon return to Halsskar.

CHAPTER 56.

By 27 November they had reached the point in their soundings where the new section of the navigable channel would join the old one.It was further and further to row there from the mother s.h.i.+p. Lieutenant Jakobsson had offered to move the Blenda, Blenda, but Tobia.s.son-Svartman had insisted that she remain where she was. but Tobia.s.son-Svartman had insisted that she remain where she was.'My calculations regarding the new channel are based on the point where the Blenda Blenda has been anch.o.r.ed all the time. It would make matters more awkward if the s.h.i.+p were to be moved now,' he said. has been anch.o.r.ed all the time. It would make matters more awkward if the s.h.i.+p were to be moved now,' he said.Jakobsson accepted that response. He could not know that Tobia.s.son-Svartman did not want the Blenda Blenda to come too close to Halsskar. to come too close to Halsskar.On that morning he noted that the s.h.i.+p's barometer was falling. The slowness of the change might suggest that there was no major storm on the way, but he suspected that the weather would soon deteriorate significantly. The first dramatic storm of winter was looming.This was the sign he had been waiting for. Swiftly he packed some of the dried food he always took with him on his travels, in case something unexpected happened. Without anyone noticing, he also paid a visit to the s.h.i.+p's store and took a few red flares. He rolled an extra sweater and some warm socks in an oilskin coat and placed the parcel in one of the tenders.As he rowed away from the Blenda, Blenda, the wind was gathering strength. He was sure that a storm would be over them from the north in an hour or so. the wind was gathering strength. He was sure that a storm would be over them from the north in an hour or so.This time he decided to row into the little inlet where the tender would be less exposed. The dinghy was there. He beached the tender on the s.h.i.+ngle and tied the painter round the base of a robust juniper bush.It was just turned eight. There was a moment of calm, then the north wind set in. He waited in the inlet until he was certain the storm had come to stay. Then he clambered up to the highest point on the skerry and fired one of the flares. The crew of the Blenda Blenda would know that he was safe on the island and would stay there until the storm eased. would know that he was safe on the island and would stay there until the storm eased.He hurried back to the tender, collected the parcel and followed the path to the cottage. The door was closed, smoke was rising from the chimney. He sat behind his rock, waiting for the rain. He stayed there until he was wet through. Then he emerged from behind the rock.