The White Voyage (9 page)

‘He’s below, sir,’ Herning said.

‘In his cabin?’

‘They’re persuading him to go there.’ Herning looked uneasy. ‘He’s not dangerous, but he’s rambling a bit.’

Mouritzen said: ‘He was shouting something about the bear and the first sign.’

‘It’s a bit queer,’ said Herning. ‘It’s these spiritualists he goes to in Dublin. They told him there was going to be trouble on this trip, and they said that the beast would go free. It’s queer, sir. They weren’t to know we’d be carrying a bear.’

‘Perhaps they weren’t to know,’ Olsen said, ‘but Carling knew. He probably told them about it.’

‘He says he didn’t.’

‘And is he to be believed, the state he’s in? He’s probably invented the whole thing. Are you fool enough to give any credence to a man who’s raving?’

‘No, sir.’

‘He’s not dangerous?’

Herning shook his head. ‘No violence at all. They got him down quite easily. He’s just talking a lot, about signs and all that.’

‘In that case we can concentrate on the bear. Do you think it might have got washed overboard?’

The question was addressed to Mouritzen. He said:

‘No way of knowing. I should think the odds are against it, though.’

‘So should I,’ Olsen said. ‘Well, we have enough to contend with, without that.’ He left the bridge to go to his cabin, and came back shortly afterwards with his automatic pistol. He threw it to Herning. ‘Take a party, find the bear, and shoot it. All right?’

‘Yes, sir.’

When Herning had gone, Mouritzen said: ‘It seems a pity. It’s not the bear’s fault.’

‘Fault,’ Olsen said, ‘fault! What has fault to do with it? Do you suggest that in conditions like this I can accept responsibility for a bear running loose?’

‘No, of course not. Shouldn’t we notify the Simanyis, though?’

‘You can, if you want to. If you think it’s worth while waking them up.’

Mouritzen hung on to a support as the
Kreya
rolled to a new impact.

‘I doubt if they will be sleeping very heavily,’ he said.

He left his oilskins on the bridge, and went down the inside stairs to the cabins. He knocked at the door of the cabin which the two male Simanyis shared and was answered by an inconclusive groan. Opening the door, he found Stefan lying in his bunk, his face buried in the pillow and a bowl beside him. The other bunk was empty.

Mouritzen asked him: ‘Your father – where is he?’

His mouth muffled by the pillow, not looking up, Stefan said:

‘They are downstairs – in the saloon.’

Mouritzen found all the rest of the family down there, fully dressed, sitting in the end alcove, in front of a table that held a half-empty bottle of whisky and a number of ginger ale bottles, some empty and some still unbroached. Josef waved to him.

‘You have time for a drink, Mr Mouritzen? Can you get a glass?’

Mouritzen shook his head. ‘Not just now. I have some bad news for you. Katerina’s cage has been torn loose by the waves.’

‘Torn loose?’ Josef said. ‘She is not drowned?’

‘She has got out of the cage,’ Mouritzen explained. ‘The Captain has given orders for her to be found and shot. There is nothing else to be done. She cannot be allowed to roam loose on the ship in this storm. It is better for her, too.’

Josef stood up, holding on to the table as the ship rolled.

‘No,’ he said. ‘You cannot shoot that bear.’

‘The order’s already been given. I am sorry.’

‘But they haven’t found her yet?’ Nadya said. She was wearing jeans and the yellow sweater. She looked tired; her eyes were darkly underlined. ‘I will go and find her.’

‘There’s nothing you can do,’ Mouritzen said.

He stood in her way as she came towards the door. Josef, after a moment, followed her. She looked at Mouritzen, shaking her head a little.

‘Tell Captain Olsen we will see to the bear.’

‘It is no sense your going out there,’ Mouritzen said. ‘You could not do anything, and you might easily be hurt – killed even. The storm is getting worse all the time.’

Nadya took his arm and pushed him to one side; he was admiringly conscious of her great physical strength, hardly inferior to his own.

‘There is no time to waste in talking,’ Nadya said.

‘At any rate, you must get some kind of waterproofs on,’ Mouritzen said. ‘In two minutes you will be drenched to the skin.’

She went out of the swing doors without replying, Josef following her. The ship lurched, and by the time Mouritzen had followed them, Josef was going out to the deck. Mouritzen hesitated, undecided as to whether he should go up for his own oilskins. But there was not enough time. He plunged after them, fending the door open as it closed on him, and was soaked immediately by a wave breaking right across the ship.

There was a flash of torchlight from the after deck, and the Simanyis headed for it, with Mouritzen behind them. It was possible to see that there were four of five of the hands at the other side of the hatch. Josef shouted to them, bellowing against the wind. As they got nearer, one of them heard and looked round.

Mouritzen came up with the Simanyis. ‘Please go back inside,’ he said. ‘You must not interfere with the running of the ship.’

Herning was there, carrying the automatic.

‘Have you killed it?’ Mouritzen shouted at him.

Herning shook his head. ‘It’s hard to get a proper shot, with the ship rolling as it is. And I did not want to wound the animal.’

Someone flashed a torch. It showed Katerina huddled up beside an oil-drum in the lee of the poop-deck. She was wet and bedraggled. She was shivering and she cowered away from the light.

Nadya, without comment, pushed the men aside and went up to the bear. She knelt down and put her arms round the furry neck, lowered her head and whispered in Katerina’s ear.

Herning said helplessly: ‘What do we do now, sir?’

‘Stand by,’ Mouritzen told him. He advanced towards Nadya and the bear. ‘Nadya!’ he called.

‘Keep away,’ she said. ‘She is all right with me, but she is frightened and does not know what she is doing. It is not safe for you.’

He knelt beside them. ‘Be reasonable,’ he said. ‘There’s no way of securing her again, and she can’t be allowed to go loose. You will be compensated for the loss.’

‘Stand away,’ Nadya said. ‘Tell those others also to stand away.’ She called to Josef: ‘Papa, bring the lead for her.’ He went, and she spoke again to Mouritzen. ‘If you get them to stand clear, no one will be hurt.’

‘The cage is broken,’ Mouritzen said. ‘There is no point in putting her back there.’

‘I know that.’

‘You cannot stay there, and you cannot walk her round the deck in this storm, and she cannot go in the hold because of the horses. Where do you think you will put her?’

‘In our cabin,’ Nadya said. ‘We can sleep in the lounge.’

‘But even if you could get her there,’ Mouritzen protested, ‘she would wreck it!’

‘She is a quiet bear.’ She smiled sardonically out of the darkness. ‘And we will compensate for the loss.’

Olsen said: ‘My God! I have never given you credit for outstanding intelligence, Mouritzen, but I would not have expected you to bungle things like that.’

‘What could I do – order the men to put her and her father in irons? They wouldn’t have been easy to cope with under ordinary circumstances, but in present conditions it was out of the question.’

‘They should not have been allowed to go out on deck in the first place.’

‘I couldn’t stop them. She’s as strong as I am, and he’s considerably stronger. Besides, they were out before I realized what was happening.’

‘And you should have had the sense to make sure the job had been done before you told them of it.’

‘I didn’t expect them to react that way.’

‘Damnation to your psychological expectations!’

‘Does it matter very much, anyway? She got the bear to the cabin all right and they’ve locked her in there. Any damage she may do will be less costly than replacing a trained circus bear would be.’

‘It matters that when I give an order it should be carried out. All right. There is nothing we can do now. But the report goes into the log in full, with you named as responsible for non-compliance with my instructions. Is that understood? Do you have any objections?’

Mouritzen shook his head. ‘No objections.’ There was silence for a time, apart from the unending crescendo of the gale, and the groaning counterpoint of the
Kreya
’s resistance to it. ‘She was incredible,’ Mouritzen added. ‘A magnificent woman.’

‘Yes,’ Olsen said. ‘But I haven’t much liking for masterful women. When, in school history, I read of Joan of Arc, I detested her. I thought it fitting that she was executed, although I did not approve of the method.’

‘What kind of women do you like?’

‘Those that can be bought. The purchase removes the possibility of sentiment.’

‘So you hated your mother,’ Mouritzen said, ‘as well as worshipping your father. You are the anti-Oedipus.’

Olsen looked at him with cold anger. He began to say something, but checked the words before they could make sense. A smile came to his face, broadening slowly.

‘You are a clever man, Niels. I am fortunate in having you as First Officer. A better officer might well be a more stupid one, and I would not care to have to live with stupidity.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But it is not true that I hated my mother. Hate is a large thing, and what I felt for her was small.’

‘You would call it indifference?’ Mouritzen said.

He realized that he had allowed some of his scepticism to manifest itself in his tone of voice. Olsen plainly noticed it, but merely smiled.

‘You think I do not know myself, Niels? I am a man without insight, ruled by his prejudices and obsessions. That is how I appear to you, is it not?’

‘Not quite like that.’

‘The same brush blackens you,’ Olsen said. ‘Although you are clever, you have not seen this. Find a seaman and you find a man who, deep down, is indifferent to women. He may pursue them, he may even marry, but that does not alter things. No true lover would tolerate so frequent and such long separation from that which he loves. No woman of sense marries a seaman, except for convenience.’

‘You have strong views,’ Mouritzen said. ‘And you put them well. But they are still nonsense.’

Olsen laughed. ‘Does it come too close?’

‘It comes nowhere near me. It’s a matter …’

He broke off as the telephone bell rang. Olsen picked up the receiver.

‘Captain speaking.’

Mouritzen watched him as he listened, observed the slight narrowing of the eyes.

‘Mr Mouritzen will be coming down right away,’ Olsen said.

‘More trouble?’ Mouritzen asked.

‘Herning sounds nervous,’ Olsen said. ‘Hold him on a tight rein, Niels.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘He says that the No. 1 hatch has gone.’

‘My God!’

‘Yes. Better get down there right away.’

Clinging to the steps as a wave washed over the
Kreya
, Mouritzen thought the wind was even higher. He made his way across a deck running with water towards the cluster of lights above the forward hold. Herning was there, with half a dozen hands; and also, he saw with some disquiet, Carling. But Carling made no attempt to interfere as Herning made his report.

‘Smashed open, like a tin box, sir! And every sea we ship cracks it farther open.’

Their torches, cast together, threw a double beam and Mouritzen saw what had happened. Presumably a wave had got under the hatch cover and lifted it. Subsequent seas had crashed the cover down against the hatch, lifted it and crashed it again, in a rhythmic pounding under which, in the end, the heavy steel had twisted and buckled. Now the cover on the starboard side was forced down below the level of its mate, useless, and with each wave water was sucked through into the hold, wrenching it further out of shape.

The
Kreya
heeled and a wave lifted higher and higher above them before thundering down to immerse them, for an instant, in a world of savage water. Holding on to the rail, Mouritzen had a moment’s dread that there would be no more solid, that this was the end of things – a roaring in the ears, a choking, liquid coldness. In the apprehension of death, he thought of the sun, of all its lavish fire, and desperately worshipped it.

But the ship rolled back, and they were safe still, on their steel raft, tossed on the heaving waters. Above the howl of the gale, the deeper tumult of the waves, the creak and whine of the
Kreya
herself, he heard another sound: cries of shrill agony, inhuman and forsaken. The horses.

He shouted to Herning: ‘Bring the pumps up, and call up all hands.’

Mouritzen fought his way to the forecastle, and reported by telephone to Olsen.

Olsen asked: ‘Just how bad is it?’

‘Bad enough.’

There was impatience in Olsen’s voice.

‘Can it be re-secured?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure, man?’

‘Even in a calm sea, we couldn’t fix this. The cover is twisted out of shape, and each wave twists it more.’

‘Have we taken much?’

‘I can’t see yet.’

‘Then for God’s sake get down to the hold and find out.’

Resentfully dignified, though conscious of the absurdity at such a time, Mouritzen said:

‘I’m reporting to you first. I’ve ordered the pumps up. Now I’m going down to the hold.’

‘Move fast,’ Olsen said, and hung up.

Only one of the double doors to the hold had been closed, and water had seeped beneath it; the corridor was an inch or two awash. When Mouritzen opened the other door, water flooded past him. Two naked light bulbs were burning in the hold and he saw that water was a couple of feet deep on the port side. As the ship rolled, the water raced across the floor and the horses on the starboard side were fetlock deep in it. The horses kicked and struggled and whinnied their distress. The
Kreya
buried herself still deeper, and from above fresh water poured like a torrent. Mouritzen jerked back as it cascaded on to him. As he did so he heard the jagged, abrasive sound of metal scraping against metal. He directed the beam to tilt the other way. The cover had settled still further; it hung down from the hatch, and there were at least three or four feet of space between it and the top.