night. I’m no longer surprised by the thought of a church buried in this sand.
It is pitch dark in the house tonight. I lie shivering under the blankets, and for once I don’t mind Lise cuddling up beside me, her head against my shoulder, her hand tucked into mine. At least I’m sure she’s louse-free these days.
I hear a cry in the night. At first I take no notice. It is faint and quickly carried away in the wind. But then I hear it again, closer. More voices take up the cry. I can hear the word they’re all calling:
‘ Skibsbrud! ’ Shipwreck!
I sit up in my bed, my heart beating fast. Out there in the howling wind and huge waves, people are in danger on the sea.
Lise stirs, but puts her thumb in her mouth and goes back to sleep.
There’s a hammering at the door.
‘Søren!’ calls a voice.
Søren gives a loud, grunting snore and rolls over in bed. He has his head in his hands and he’s muttering curses under his breath.
The knock at the door comes again, louder, more insistent.
‘Søren! Skibsbrud! ’
The house seems to come to life all at once. I sit still while Søren swings himself out of bed, snatching at his clothes as he stumbles towards the door. Jakob and Morten, his sons, jump out of bed at the same time. There’s a confused babble of voices, and the door bangs open, letting in a blast of cold night air. The baby wakes and begins to wail.
Once the men have left the house, I get up myself. I tuck our blanket around Lise, and lift the crying baby out of his crib. He’s wet and I change him quickly before tucking him up with his mother. His cries fall silent as soon as he finds her milk. Lise and her sisters sleep on, undisturbed.
Lighting a tallow candle from the banked-up fire in the kitchen, I pull on clothes and wrap myself in my shawl. I’m wide-awake now, and sit down on a chair by the window, tucking my feet up off the cold floor. I imagine the stranded ship, pounded by the sea, her crew terrified and helpless. I feel restless, wishing there was something I could do.
A few moments later there’s another knock at the door.
‘Marianne,’ someone calls.
It’s my neighbour, Hannah, standing out there in the wind.
‘Bring a couple of blankets and come with me,’ she urges me in Danish. I’ve learned enough by now that I can understand most everyday things.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask her.
‘To watch—and help if we can,’ she replies briefly.
Despite the wind and the cold, I don’t hesitate for a moment. Eagerly, I pull several blankets from the bed and follow Hannah out into the darkness. The wind is fierce and the sand is stinging like the night I was on the beach. Hannah is heading towards the west coast, bent forward against the westerly wind, her shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders.
We have little breath for talking as we walk. We head further north than the time I came here with Mikkel. As soon as we come out onto the beach we’re hit by the full blast of the wind, but it’s coming off the sea, so there’s no sand in it now. The moon breaks through a patch of cloud, revealing a terrible sight.
The sea is a furious black monster. Huge waves curl and thunder onto the beach. Some distance out, a wooden sailing ship is lying, listing over to one side. The waves are breaking against her and right over her. Her sails are down, torn and flapping uselessly. For a moment I can make out tiny black figures clinging to the sides, and then the moon darkens and only the outline of the ship remains.
I gasp and Hannah puts an arm around my shoulder.
‘It’s caught between the sandbanks,’ she says. ‘The most dangerous place of all. We must pray the lifeboats will be here soon.’
‘Lifeboats?’ I’m only confused for a moment. Of course they must have lifeboats here.
‘They use the biggest fishing boats,’ Hannah explains. ‘There’s one kept just up the beach from here and another at Højen.’
‘Højen?’ I ask.
‘It’s the part of Skagen
It is pitch dark in the house tonight. I lie shivering under the blankets, and for once I don’t mind Lise cuddling up beside me, her head against my shoulder, her hand tucked into mine. At least I’m sure she’s louse-free these days.
I hear a cry in the night. At first I take no notice. It is faint and quickly carried away in the wind. But then I hear it again, closer. More voices take up the cry. I can hear the word they’re all calling:
‘ Skibsbrud! ’ Shipwreck!
I sit up in my bed, my heart beating fast. Out there in the howling wind and huge waves, people are in danger on the sea.
Lise stirs, but puts her thumb in her mouth and goes back to sleep.
There’s a hammering at the door.
‘Søren!’ calls a voice.
Søren gives a loud, grunting snore and rolls over in bed. He has his head in his hands and he’s muttering curses under his breath.
The knock at the door comes again, louder, more insistent.
‘Søren! Skibsbrud! ’
The house seems to come to life all at once. I sit still while Søren swings himself out of bed, snatching at his clothes as he stumbles towards the door. Jakob and Morten, his sons, jump out of bed at the same time. There’s a confused babble of voices, and the door bangs open, letting in a blast of cold night air. The baby wakes and begins to wail.
Once the men have left the house, I get up myself. I tuck our blanket around Lise, and lift the crying baby out of his crib. He’s wet and I change him quickly before tucking him up with his mother. His cries fall silent as soon as he finds her milk. Lise and her sisters sleep on, undisturbed.
Lighting a tallow candle from the banked-up fire in the kitchen, I pull on clothes and wrap myself in my shawl. I’m wide-awake now, and sit down on a chair by the window, tucking my feet up off the cold floor. I imagine the stranded ship, pounded by the sea, her crew terrified and helpless. I feel restless, wishing there was something I could do.
A few moments later there’s another knock at the door.
‘Marianne,’ someone calls.
It’s my neighbour, Hannah, standing out there in the wind.
‘Bring a couple of blankets and come with me,’ she urges me in Danish. I’ve learned enough by now that I can understand most everyday things.
‘Where are we going?’ I ask her.
‘To watch—and help if we can,’ she replies briefly.
Despite the wind and the cold, I don’t hesitate for a moment. Eagerly, I pull several blankets from the bed and follow Hannah out into the darkness. The wind is fierce and the sand is stinging like the night I was on the beach. Hannah is heading towards the west coast, bent forward against the westerly wind, her shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders.
We have little breath for talking as we walk. We head further north than the time I came here with Mikkel. As soon as we come out onto the beach we’re hit by the full blast of the wind, but it’s coming off the sea, so there’s no sand in it now. The moon breaks through a patch of cloud, revealing a terrible sight.
The sea is a furious black monster. Huge waves curl and thunder onto the beach. Some distance out, a wooden sailing ship is lying, listing over to one side. The waves are breaking against her and right over her. Her sails are down, torn and flapping uselessly. For a moment I can make out tiny black figures clinging to the sides, and then the moon darkens and only the outline of the ship remains.
I gasp and Hannah puts an arm around my shoulder.
‘It’s caught between the sandbanks,’ she says. ‘The most dangerous place of all. We must pray the lifeboats will be here soon.’
‘Lifeboats?’ I’m only confused for a moment. Of course they must have lifeboats here.
‘They use the biggest fishing boats,’ Hannah explains. ‘There’s one kept just up the beach from here and another at Højen.’
‘Højen?’ I ask.
‘It’s the part of Skagen
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