Between Two Seas Read Online Free PDF Page A

beach. He was in a dreadful state: sick and injured. My grandfather had him carried up to his own house to be nursed. It was many days before he came out of his fever and began to recover.
    But the other crew members were all drowned.
    Silently, I begin to pray.

FIVE
     
    T he crew is on deck, battling to control the boat in the heaving sea. All the while the wind howls and the boat pitches and shudders. The timbers groan with the strain. A frying pan someone has left out is flung across the cabin, rattling against the wall. Each time the boat crashes into a wave, I hold my breath, thinking this time it must have been a rock, and any minute now I will hear the boat splitting open, and see the water rushing in. And then as we lurch on, I let my breath go in a sigh of relief. But the relief is short-lived. There’s always another wave ready to break upon us.
    When any of the men come down into the cabin, to eat or to take a short rest, they are drenched and exhausted. Even Jens has no word for me, only an anxious smile. They are battling for our survival. Each time one of them unbattens the hatch to come down into the cabin, water pours in with them, and then lies swishing back and forth on the floor. I can hear it in the darkness, and it makes me think of the whole sea trying to tear the ship apart. Terror sits like a hard knot in my stomach.
    I listen to the sound of the men’s boots above me, and the shrieking of the wind, and I long for it to end. I can’t sleep for the many hours that the storm rages, only lie and wait.
    At last it seems to lessen. The boat begins to move more purposefully again. Exhausted, I fall asleep.
    When I wake, the hatch is open and light is streaming into the cabin. The creaking of the ship sounds friendly once more. Two sounds tell me all is well: on deck, someone is singing; and closer at hand, there are steady, rhythmic snores.
    I sit up cautiously and climb out of my bunk. The captain is stretched out, fully dressed, in his bunk, asleep.
    The singing stops, and Jens climbs down the ladder. He gives me a tired grin and says, ‘The storm is over now.’
    Weakened beyond belief by seasickness and lack of food, I drag myself across the cabin. When Jens sees me trying to climb the ladder, he comes to help me up onto the deck. The sea is an angry boiling grey, the sky overcast. To my great joy, there’s land on the horizon.
    ‘It’s Tyskland ,’ says Jens. ‘Germany.’ I must look startled, because he laughs. ‘We come too far south in the storm,’ he explains. ‘But we’ll be soon in Esbjerg now.’
    As I look at the land, I feel a deep excitement rise unexpectedly within me. I had never left Grimsby and here I am looking at Germany. I imagine all the people there, living their lives, speaking their language.
    ‘Is it very different to England?’ I ask Jens. He is still standing next to me.
    ‘Germany?’ he asks. ‘I never went there.’
    ‘What about Denmark?’
    He smiles at me. ‘Yes, quite different.’
    I think how much I’ve grown to like his face these last few days. When I first saw him, I thought he was quite ugly. Skinny, with sandy hair and pale freckled skin. But now I find his face familiar and friendly. I find myself smiling warmly back at him.
    ‘Why go you to Denmark?’ he asks.
    I feel myself closing up at once. I’m not going to share my story. I’m afraid of seeing him turn away from me in disgust. That’s what most people do when they discover I’m illegitimate. A whore’s brat, they call me. But I’ve seen whores with their painted faces and their shameless, flaunting ways. My mother was nothing like them. She was a lady.
    A half-truth can do no harm.
    ‘I’m going to see my father,’ I say. ‘He came back to Denmark, and he doesn’t know my mother has died.’
    Jens looks slightly puzzled. I don’t want to give further explanations, so I hurriedly add: ‘He lives in Skagen.’
    ‘Skagen?’ Jens whistles. He pronounces the name Skayen .