Read Online Between Two Seas by Marie-Louise Jensen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Marie-Louise Jensen
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the smell away momentarily.
Outside almost every house there are fishing nets and fish hanging out to dry. Mostly plaice, by the look of them. There are also midden heaps, piled with rotting refuse and fish scraps.
That’s what stinks.
Children in rags run barefoot in the dunes and around the houses. Outside some houses, old people are mending nets. They stop to watch as we pass. Some wave and call out greetings.
This is no prosperous town. It’s barren and windswept. These people are poor. Miserably poor.
I look ahead, for the taller houses, the harbour. Nothing.
What is this place I have come to?
‘ Ça n’est pas Skagen? ’ I ask bewildered.
Ancher lifts his brows in surprise.
‘ Mais oui, bien sûr! ’ he exclaims. ‘This part is called Vesterby. In a few moments we’ll get to Østerby.’
Østerby, when we reach it, has one or two pretty stone houses painted yellow with red-tiled roofs. But here, too, there are mainly black-tarred wooden shacks. We pull up outside the one large, red-brick building in the place. It looks very new and fine, especially compared to the buildings around it. The men both jump down, and Peter turns to lift me down too. He treats me as though I were a lady.
I am reeling with shock at my surroundings, but I manage to thank him: ‘ Tak! ’
Our eyes meet and he smiles again, but Ancher is speaking to me:
‘Where do you need to go?’
I look around me. And that’s when I realize.
Having finally arrived, I have no idea what to do next.
ELEVEN
Skagen, September 1885
I ’m silent a moment. Panic wells up in me.
‘I … I am not quite sure,’ I say. I look at the large modern red-brick building behind Ancher. Brøndums Hotel is written on the sign. It looks new. It also looks as though even one night would cost more than the few coins I have left.
At this moment I long to find my father more than I ever have done. In this place, he is the one person who can make everything all right. I’m so close now. But I don’t want to blurt out my reason for coming here.
‘I have a letter to deliver,’ I tell Ancher. ‘Then … I suppose I need to find somewhere to stay.’ I lift my chin defiantly. ‘Somewhere … cheap.’
‘Who is the message for?’ he asks.
‘Lars Christensen.’ I almost whisper the name. The moment has finally come when I may find him. I’m breathless with anxiety.
‘Lars Christensen?’ asks Ancher looking surprised. ‘Are you sure the name is Lars?’
‘Yes, quite sure,’ I say, feeling far less confident than I sound.
‘I think you’d better come inside for a few moments,’ he says. ‘We’ll ask Fru Brøndum. She knows everyone here.’
He pays the driver, and then goes into the inn. Peter is hovering near me, waiting to say goodbye. I shake his hand, and make myself meet his eyes for an instant.
Ancher rings a bell and after a moment a woman emerges from what looks like the kitchens, carefully wiping her hands on a towel. She’s neat and tidy with a strong stern face, which relaxes into a smile when she sees Ancher. She smiles at him. She obviously knows him. They speak Danish together, and I hear my father’s name spoken. The sound of his name, spoken by Danes, makes everything feel real. I’m going to meet him at last.
The woman wrinkles her brow. She shakes her head as she speaks. I’m desperate to know what she is saying. I look from one to the other in doubt and confusion. Time seems to slow to a crawl. There’s a silence. I become aware of a ticking of a large clock on the wall to my right.
‘He would be about … thirty-five years old?’ Ancher asks at last.
About two or three years older than my mother was.
‘Yes, does she know him?’
‘Could there be some mistake with the name?’ His face is serious.
‘No.’ I shake my head firmly. ‘Why?’
My mouth is dry, and my hands are damp. He must be here. He must.
‘There was a Lars Christensen here in Skagen. He went to sea when he was
Outside almost every house there are fishing nets and fish hanging out to dry. Mostly plaice, by the look of them. There are also midden heaps, piled with rotting refuse and fish scraps.
That’s what stinks.
Children in rags run barefoot in the dunes and around the houses. Outside some houses, old people are mending nets. They stop to watch as we pass. Some wave and call out greetings.
This is no prosperous town. It’s barren and windswept. These people are poor. Miserably poor.
I look ahead, for the taller houses, the harbour. Nothing.
What is this place I have come to?
‘ Ça n’est pas Skagen? ’ I ask bewildered.
Ancher lifts his brows in surprise.
‘ Mais oui, bien sûr! ’ he exclaims. ‘This part is called Vesterby. In a few moments we’ll get to Østerby.’
Østerby, when we reach it, has one or two pretty stone houses painted yellow with red-tiled roofs. But here, too, there are mainly black-tarred wooden shacks. We pull up outside the one large, red-brick building in the place. It looks very new and fine, especially compared to the buildings around it. The men both jump down, and Peter turns to lift me down too. He treats me as though I were a lady.
I am reeling with shock at my surroundings, but I manage to thank him: ‘ Tak! ’
Our eyes meet and he smiles again, but Ancher is speaking to me:
‘Where do you need to go?’
I look around me. And that’s when I realize.
Having finally arrived, I have no idea what to do next.
ELEVEN
Skagen, September 1885
I ’m silent a moment. Panic wells up in me.
‘I … I am not quite sure,’ I say. I look at the large modern red-brick building behind Ancher. Brøndums Hotel is written on the sign. It looks new. It also looks as though even one night would cost more than the few coins I have left.
At this moment I long to find my father more than I ever have done. In this place, he is the one person who can make everything all right. I’m so close now. But I don’t want to blurt out my reason for coming here.
‘I have a letter to deliver,’ I tell Ancher. ‘Then … I suppose I need to find somewhere to stay.’ I lift my chin defiantly. ‘Somewhere … cheap.’
‘Who is the message for?’ he asks.
‘Lars Christensen.’ I almost whisper the name. The moment has finally come when I may find him. I’m breathless with anxiety.
‘Lars Christensen?’ asks Ancher looking surprised. ‘Are you sure the name is Lars?’
‘Yes, quite sure,’ I say, feeling far less confident than I sound.
‘I think you’d better come inside for a few moments,’ he says. ‘We’ll ask Fru Brøndum. She knows everyone here.’
He pays the driver, and then goes into the inn. Peter is hovering near me, waiting to say goodbye. I shake his hand, and make myself meet his eyes for an instant.
Ancher rings a bell and after a moment a woman emerges from what looks like the kitchens, carefully wiping her hands on a towel. She’s neat and tidy with a strong stern face, which relaxes into a smile when she sees Ancher. She smiles at him. She obviously knows him. They speak Danish together, and I hear my father’s name spoken. The sound of his name, spoken by Danes, makes everything feel real. I’m going to meet him at last.
The woman wrinkles her brow. She shakes her head as she speaks. I’m desperate to know what she is saying. I look from one to the other in doubt and confusion. Time seems to slow to a crawl. There’s a silence. I become aware of a ticking of a large clock on the wall to my right.
‘He would be about … thirty-five years old?’ Ancher asks at last.
About two or three years older than my mother was.
‘Yes, does she know him?’
‘Could there be some mistake with the name?’ His face is serious.
‘No.’ I shake my head firmly. ‘Why?’
My mouth is dry, and my hands are damp. He must be here. He must.
‘There was a Lars Christensen here in Skagen. He went to sea when he was
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