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 ship. 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?'
Tobiasson-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.'
Tobiasson-Svartman was growing tired of Jakobsson. He was a bit of a fusspot, tended to be ingratiating. And he was a damned chatterbox with bad breath and a smelly pipe. It was the same as the sailor with the snotty nose. Tobiasson-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.
Tobiasson-Svartman thought about the tragedy that was taking place. The heat of battle was hellish. 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. Nobody 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. Tobiasson-Svartman forced the work rate up, the ratings were sometimes on their knees with exhaustion, but nobody 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 Halsskär.
CHAPTER 55
A week passed 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 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
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 ship. 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?'
Tobiasson-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.'
Tobiasson-Svartman was growing tired of Jakobsson. He was a bit of a fusspot, tended to be ingratiating. And he was a damned chatterbox with bad breath and a smelly pipe. It was the same as the sailor with the snotty nose. Tobiasson-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.
Tobiasson-Svartman thought about the tragedy that was taking place. The heat of battle was hellish. 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. Nobody 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. Tobiasson-Svartman forced the work rate up, the ratings were sometimes on their knees with exhaustion, but nobody 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 Halsskär.
CHAPTER 55
A week passed 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 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
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