The Weight of Water (26 page)

“Do you mean from two men?”

“They took me along the street; walked me along the street.”

“What do you mean by dragged?”

“They dragged me on my hands; took me into some kind of a house; don’t know what it was. I was put on a seat; was kept about
ten minutes; all the people had to look at me; was taken then away out of that house where they took my picture; and was brought
again to station-house.”

“After that, what took place?”

“After that I was closed up again. After a spell I was taken out and brought to the depot. When they took me down to the depot,
I asked them where they were going to put me to. They answered me, they were sending me back to Portsmouth, asked me if I
did not like to go there. I told them yes.”

“Who asked you that?”

“The policeman who took me down there.”

“Do you know his name?”

“Yes, one that was here.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I was brought to Portsmouth. I came to Portsmouth, the street was crowded with peoples, and was hallooing, ‘Kill him,
kill him.’ I was put into station-house. I was closed in about three-quarters of an hour when Mr. Hontvet came there… . Mr.
Hontvet came to side door and said, Oh! damn you murderer. I said, Johnny, you are mistaken. He says, damn you, you kill my
wife’s sister and her brother’s wife. I told John, I hope you will find the right man who done it. He says, I got him. He
says, hanging is too good for you, and hell is too good for you. He says I ought to be cut to pieces and put on to fish-hooks.
I told him, that the net that he had spread out for me to drop in he might drop in himself. He says, where is that tall hat
that you had on that night when you was on the Shoals. I told him I had no tall hat. He says, what have you been doing with
the fish that you bought last night from the schooner, or was going to buy. I told him that I had not bought any fish, and
was not out of Portsmouth that night. He told me that the dory was seen that night, between twelve and two o’clock, going
on board a vessel that was lying at anchor on Smutty Nose Island.”

“What do you mean by dory?”

“Dory pulled on board that schooner and asked that skipper if he had any fish to sell.”

“Did he say where the schooner was?”

“Yes, he said that she was lying at anchor on Smutty Nose Island. He said that this dory was seen crossing over to the westward
of the island and had hailed another vessel there. I then told him, Johnny, better look after that man that has been pulling
that night in the dory. Then he and his brother-in-law answered me, that I was the man. His brother-in-law told Mr. Hontvet
to ask me if I could not get the money without killing the vimen.”

“Who do you mean by brother-in-law?”

“Evan Christensen. I told him that I never tried to steal money, but if I was a thief I thought I could get money without
killing people. He says, you stole thirteen dollars. He says, you took ten-dollar bill out of that pocket-book.”

“Who said that?”

“Mr. Hontvet. His brother, Mattheas Hontvet, showed me another pocket-book and said I stole out five dollars out of that.
I told him that he was mistaken. They then left me, and some more people was coming to see me.”

Blood evidence was introduced into the trial. Horace Chase, a physician who resided at 22 Newbury Street in Boston, testified
that he had made a study of the analysis of blood and had examined the blood found on Louis Wagner’s clothing. Dr. Chase explained
that the red corpuscles of fish blood differ in shape from those of human or mammalian blood. Moreover, he said, it was possible
to distinguish human blood from horse blood because of the size of the blood corpuscles. “The average blood corpuscle of man
measures 1-3200 of an inch; that is, 3200 laid down in a line would cover one side of a square inch; it would take about 4600
of the corpuscles of a horse; the difference is quite perceptible,” he said.

Various articles of clothing had been taken to Dr. Chase in Boston for blood analysis by Mr. Yeaton of the prosecution — overalls,
a jacket, and a shirt. Dr. Chase testified that he found human blood on the overalls, human blood on the shirt, and simply
mammalian blood on the jacket. During cross-examination, Dr. Chase said that he had not made more than “two or three” blood
analysis examinations in criminal cases.

The defense introduced its own blood expert. James F. Babcock, a professor of chemistry at the Massachusetts College of Pharmacy
in Boston, testified that it was not possible to distinguish with absolute certainty human blood from other mammalian blood,
and that it was not possible to say, after blood had dried on an article of clothing, how old the stain was or whether it
had appeared before or after another stain. Nor were there any tests available to determine whether the blood was male or
female. Mr. Babcock said that he had examined blood stains in “several” capital cases.

The defense then called Asa Bourne, a fisherman, who testified that he and his sons had been out fishing on the night of the
murders, and that the wind was so strong they could not make any headway against it. In his opinion, said Bourne, Wagner could
not have rowed to the islands and back.

Dr. John D. Parsons, the physician who had examined the body of Anethe at the undertaker’s room at Gerrish & Adams, was recalled
to the stand by the defense. He was asked whether or not it was reasonable to suppose that the wounds upon Anethe, from their
appearance, were made by a person not very muscular. He replied, “I think the flesh wounds might have been made by a person
of not great muscular force.”

Finally, the defense made an attempt to dismiss the entire case. In the state of Maine, at that time, a person could not be
convicted of murder in the first degree of another person if the victim was not accurately named and that name not accurately
spelled in the indictment. When Evan Christensen first testified, he said, “Anethe Christensen was my wife.” The indictment,
however, reports the victim as Anethe M. Christenson, with the slightly different spelling and the middle initial. Evan was
recalled to the stand, whereupon Tapley questioned him.

“What time of day did you say that you went down to that house where your wife was dead?”

No response.

“What time was it?”

No response.

“Do you understand me?”

No response.

“What time of the clock was it, after you heard of your wife’s death, that you went to the house the first time, the first
morning after the murder?”

No response.

“Did you go inside?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you go around in the different rooms?”

“I went into other rooms.”

“Didn’t you find a good deal of blood in those rooms?”

“Yes, sir.”

“On the floor?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Were you asked, since you were here day before yesterday, what your wife’s name was?”

No response.

“Did anybody ask you before you came in this morning what your wife’s name was? Didn’t somebody ask you?”

No response.

“When did anybody say anything to you about your wife’s name since day before yesterday, do you understand?”

No response.

“Are you a Norwegian?”

No response.

“You do not understand, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“Did you speak with any one about your wife?”

No response.

“Did you tell anybody your wife’s name, before you came here this morning?”

No response.

“What is Karen’s full name?”

“Karen Alma Christensen.”

“Was your wife’s name Matea Annette?”

“Anetha Matea Christensen.”

“Was she not sometimes called Matea Annette?”

No response.

“Do you understand my question?”

No response.

“When were you married?”

No response.

“When did you marry your wife?”

No response.

Tapley finally gave up this old appeal, and the court declared that Anethe M. Christenson, as written, was the victim in the
case.

Billie is doubled over at the waist, as if she will be sick. She coughs several times. Her skin has gone a shadowy white,
and there is perspiration on her forehead. She cries. She does not understand what is happening to her. “Mom,” she says. “Mom.”

The boat catches a gust, and it feels as though we have been hit by a train. We heel over, and I bang my head hard on the
chart table. I hear the crash of dishes in the cabinets. A thermos on the counter slides the length of the Formica counter
and topples onto its plastic cap. I kneel on the teak planking and hold Billie as best I can. I fight a sense of panic.

“Rich,” I call up the ladder. I wait for an answer. I call again. “There’s water on the floor,” I shout.

It is hard to hear his response. Before the storm, the sounds from the water were soothing. The gentle slap of waves upon
the hull. But now there is a kind of churning roar that is not just the engine. It is as though the ocean has become more
difficult to slice through, as though the sea were causing resistance. Above this noise, I hear Rich call to Thomas, but I
cannot make out the words.

Thomas slides down the ladder. He is soaked despite his slicker. He seems not to have the metal clasps fastened correctly.
He sees me with Billie, with Billie bent over and crying. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“I think she’s seasick.”

He squats down beside us.

“She’s frightened,” I say. “She doesn’t understand.”

“Did you give her the half pill?”

“Yes. But it was probably too late.”

Thomas reaches for a dishtowel and uses it to wipe Billie’s forehead. Then he blots his own face. He is breathing hard, and
there is an angry swelling to one side of his cheekbone.

“What happened?” I ask, pointing to the bump.

“It’s rough out there,” he says. He flips off the hood of the slicker, wipes the top of his head. His hair is mussed in an
odd kind of sculpture that would make Billie laugh if she felt better.

He puts his hand down to the teak planking to balance himself. He is still breathing hard. Trying to catch his breath. Our
faces aren’t a foot apart. I think, looking at him, He’s frightened, too.

Thomas yells up the companionway. “There’s water over the teak, Rich. I can’t tell how much.”

We can hear Rich’s voice, but again I cannot make out the words. Thomas stands up and leans against the ladder. “OK,” he says
in answer to something Rich has asked.

I watch Thomas take a tool from a galley drawer and then remove a cushion from the dinette. In the bulkhead is a socket. Thomas
puts the metal tool into the socket and begins to ratchet it back and forth. He is awkwardly bent on the bench, and the table
is in his way. I have hardly ever seen Thomas perform manual labor before.

“It’s the bilge,” Thomas says to me. “Rich says the electric is gone.”

Thomas works intensely, silently, as if he wishes to exhaust himself.

I hear another sound then, or rather it is the cessation of sound.

“Shit,” I hear Rich say loudly.

He comes down the ladder. He lifts a diving mask off his face, and I can see the crazy 8 the rubber has made. The skin around
the 8 looks red and raw. “We’ve lost the engine,” he says quickly. He looks at Billie. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“She’s seasick,” I say.

He sighs heavily and rubs his left eye with his finger. “Can you take the wheel for a minute?” he asks me. “I have to go into
the engine compartment.”

I look at Billie, who is lost in the isolation of her misery. She has her hands neatly folded at her stomach. “I could put
her in with Adaline,” I say. I know that Rich would not ask for help unless he really needed it.

“Get her settled,” he says, “and come on up, and I’ll show you what to do. The sooner the better.”

I take Billie to the forward cabin and open the door. The berths make an upside-down V that joins in the middle, so that they
form a partial double bed. Below this arrangement, there are large drawers, and to the end of each leg of the V, a hanging
locker. Adaline is lying on her side in the berth to my left. She has a hand to her forehead. She glances up as I enter and
raises her head an inch.

I hold Billie on my hip. I do not want to give my daughter up. I do not want her to be with Adaline. Billie retches again.

“She hasn’t thrown up yet,” I say, “but she feels awful. Rich needs me to take the wheel for a minute. Thomas is right here
if you need him.”

“I’m sorry, Jean,” she says.

I turn to Billie. “I have to help Uncle Rich for a minute,” I say. “Adaline is going to take care of you. You’re going to
be all right.” Billie has stopped crying, as if she were too sick to expend even the effort to weep.

“Seasickness is awful,” I say to Adaline. “Rich and Thomas pride themselves on never getting sick. It’s supposed to be in
the genes. I guess Billie didn’t get them.”

“It’s one of the first things he told me about himself when I met him,” says Adaline.

“Rich,” I say, wiping the sweat off Billie’s brow.

“No, Thomas.”

I feel it then. A billowing in of the available air.

“When did you meet Thomas?” I ask as casually as I can.

There are moments in your life when you know that the sentence that will come next will change your life forever, although
you realize, even as you are anticipating this sentence, that your life has already changed. Changed some time ago, and you
simply didn’t know it.

I can see a momentary confusion in Adaline’s face.

“Five months ago?” she says, trying for an off hand manner. “Actually, it was Thomas who introduced me to Rich.”

A shout makes its way from the cockpit to the forward cabin.

“Jean!” Rich yells. “I need you!”

“Put Billie down here with me,” Adaline says quickly. “She’ll be fine.”

I think about Thomas’s suggestion that we use Rich’s boat.

I set Billie beside Adaline, between Adaline and the bulkhead, and as I do, the boat slides again. Billie whacks her head
against the wall. “Ow,” she says.

I am thinking I just want it to be all over.