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Authors: Henning Mankell
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looking forward to his arrival behind the galley: longing for their meeting.
One evening he presented her with a little wooden sculpture of a mermaid. He had bought it in an Italian port on a previous voyage, and thereafter took it with him on all the ships he signed on to.
‘I can’t possibly accept it,’ she said.
‘I want you to have it,’ he said. ‘I think it looks like you.’
‘What can I give you in return?’ she asked.
‘I have everything I need,’ said Lundmark. ‘That’s the way I feel at the moment.’
They stood there in silence for a while. Hanna wished him goodnight and went to her cabin. Later, when she peered through the door she could see him still standing there by the rail. He was gazing out over the sea as darkness fell. He had his legs apart, and his officer’s cap in his hand.
The following morning she was sitting in the galley, descaling a freshly caught fish which was to be the sailors’ dinner. A shadow fell over her. When she looked up it was Lundmark standing there. He went down on one knee, took her hand which was full of glistening fish scales, and asked her to marry him.
Until that moment they had done nothing but talk to each other; but everybody else on board had regarded them as a pair, she knew that, since none of the other men had approached her at all.
Had she been expecting this to happen? Had she been hoping it would? No doubt she had occasionally had such a thought, the idea that she was sailing together with him, not with a ship laden with timber. Despite the fact that she had only met him when the ship was about to leave Sundsvall.
She said ‘Yes’ without hesitation. She made up her mind in a flash. He kissed her face, then stood up and left to attend the meeting the mates had with the captain every morning.
They stopped in Algiers in order to take on board more coal – Hanna knew by now that this was called ‘bunkering’. The Swedish consul, a Frenchman who had once visited Stockholm in his youth and fallen in love with the city, found an English Methodist minister who was prepared to marry the couple. Captain Svartman produced the necessary documents and was a witness to the marriage together with the consul and his wife, who was so moved by the brief ceremony that she burst into tears. Afterwards the captain took them to a photographer’s and paid for a wedding photograph out of his own pocket.
That same evening she moved into Lundberg’s cabin. The second mate, whose name was Björnsson, moved into the ship’s cramped hospital cabin – Hanna would retain her own cabin, Captain Svartman was reluctant to take it away from her. But if anybody on board fell seriously ill, it would be used to accommodate them.
Captain Svartman was positively inclined towards their marriage. But as they left Algiers that same evening their wedding night was ruined by the fact that the prearranged timetable of duties came into operation, and Lundberg had to take his turn as lookout. There was no question of Captain Svartman giving him the evening off – his benevolence didn’t stretch that far. And it would never have occurred to Lundmark to ask for special treatment.
So Hanna had become a wife, Fru Lundmark. Both bride and bridegroom were shy and insecure. The solidly built third mate had been transformed into a little child, scared stiff of causing injury or offence. They embraced cautiously, as they barely knew each other yet. Their lovemaking was low-key, not yet uninhibited passion.
When they passed through the Suez Canal, they both happened to be off duty at the same time – an infrequent occurrence. They stood by the ship’s rail, contemplating the beaches, the tall palm trees, the camels slowly waddling along, the naked children diving into the waters of the canal.
What Hanna found hardest to get used to was sleeping with him lying by her side. Sleeping alongside a brother or sister or Berta had been one thing: but now she was sharing a bed with a big,
One evening he presented her with a little wooden sculpture of a mermaid. He had bought it in an Italian port on a previous voyage, and thereafter took it with him on all the ships he signed on to.
‘I can’t possibly accept it,’ she said.
‘I want you to have it,’ he said. ‘I think it looks like you.’
‘What can I give you in return?’ she asked.
‘I have everything I need,’ said Lundmark. ‘That’s the way I feel at the moment.’
They stood there in silence for a while. Hanna wished him goodnight and went to her cabin. Later, when she peered through the door she could see him still standing there by the rail. He was gazing out over the sea as darkness fell. He had his legs apart, and his officer’s cap in his hand.
The following morning she was sitting in the galley, descaling a freshly caught fish which was to be the sailors’ dinner. A shadow fell over her. When she looked up it was Lundmark standing there. He went down on one knee, took her hand which was full of glistening fish scales, and asked her to marry him.
Until that moment they had done nothing but talk to each other; but everybody else on board had regarded them as a pair, she knew that, since none of the other men had approached her at all.
Had she been expecting this to happen? Had she been hoping it would? No doubt she had occasionally had such a thought, the idea that she was sailing together with him, not with a ship laden with timber. Despite the fact that she had only met him when the ship was about to leave Sundsvall.
She said ‘Yes’ without hesitation. She made up her mind in a flash. He kissed her face, then stood up and left to attend the meeting the mates had with the captain every morning.
They stopped in Algiers in order to take on board more coal – Hanna knew by now that this was called ‘bunkering’. The Swedish consul, a Frenchman who had once visited Stockholm in his youth and fallen in love with the city, found an English Methodist minister who was prepared to marry the couple. Captain Svartman produced the necessary documents and was a witness to the marriage together with the consul and his wife, who was so moved by the brief ceremony that she burst into tears. Afterwards the captain took them to a photographer’s and paid for a wedding photograph out of his own pocket.
That same evening she moved into Lundberg’s cabin. The second mate, whose name was Björnsson, moved into the ship’s cramped hospital cabin – Hanna would retain her own cabin, Captain Svartman was reluctant to take it away from her. But if anybody on board fell seriously ill, it would be used to accommodate them.
Captain Svartman was positively inclined towards their marriage. But as they left Algiers that same evening their wedding night was ruined by the fact that the prearranged timetable of duties came into operation, and Lundberg had to take his turn as lookout. There was no question of Captain Svartman giving him the evening off – his benevolence didn’t stretch that far. And it would never have occurred to Lundmark to ask for special treatment.
So Hanna had become a wife, Fru Lundmark. Both bride and bridegroom were shy and insecure. The solidly built third mate had been transformed into a little child, scared stiff of causing injury or offence. They embraced cautiously, as they barely knew each other yet. Their lovemaking was low-key, not yet uninhibited passion.
When they passed through the Suez Canal, they both happened to be off duty at the same time – an infrequent occurrence. They stood by the ship’s rail, contemplating the beaches, the tall palm trees, the camels slowly waddling along, the naked children diving into the waters of the canal.
What Hanna found hardest to get used to was sleeping with him lying by her side. Sleeping alongside a brother or sister or Berta had been one thing: but now she was sharing a bed with a big,