and work he got.”
“Do you require my assistance any further,” I asked in order not to start an upset arguing of this matter.
“Yes, Fred needs your keys.” He must have recognized this as a bit too hard, even for his standard. “You will get them when you come back – if you come back.”
“No need to replace them if they are on the bottom of the sea,” I summarized.
“Exactly,” he said with a diabolic smile.
I took out the keys for the house in Hellerup and handed them over to Fred. “Don’t be too nice to Mr. Smith. He needs some practice till I get back!”
“Buy yourself a business-class ticket home from Dakar. Permission granted.”
Then I left the room, got hold of my new notebook, said goodbye to Juanita and then I left the house. The main entrance door locked behind me.
I had ample time before Alice came home from work, so I decided to walk home. I started to pack comfort clothes and a single thick book, just in case of electric calamities. I had downloaded some electronic books. I had no experience with this medium but decided that my small cabin left no room for a bigger library.
Having packed, I left for Alice’s apartment, in walking distance from my flat at Østerbro, a part of Copenhagen North of the City and adjacent to the suburb of Hellerup. It was close to 6 p.m. and Alice had just returned.
“What’s that nonsense about being a sailor and leaving tomorrow?”
“It is the truth,” and I told her the story how it had come to that, leaving out only the toxic waste and the dead sailor. “I shall be at the ship tomorrow at 7 a.m. and shall then fly back from Dakar in ten to fourteen days.”
“Shouldn’t we go to an informal restaurant nearby and the come back here afterwards,” Alice suggested.
“All right, may I suggest the Turkish restaurant?”
“No, we have been there so often. A new Chinese restaurant that has opened in the vicinity ...”
“Please no. The cook on the ship is from somewhere in East Asia. I don’t know what kind of food he produces, but could we perhaps stay European tonight?”
The Italians won. How we spent the rest of the evening is none of your business. Call it the privacy desire of any sailor. I spent the last few hours in my own bed in order to be at ‘Frozen Gulf’ in time.
3 – Rule the Waves
Having reported to the captain shortly before seven, I went directly to my cabin to get some minutes more sleep. Probably we had had too much of the Chianti yesterday evening since I did not wake up when we finally sailed; in spite of the new surroundings and a bed which now seemed to be a little too short, I slept firmly until Luciano woke me up at eight and asked me to come to the bridge. I looked out of the cabin window: Barsebäck, the now inactive Swedish nuclear power station facing Copenhagen was slowly passing by, until I realised, on awakening, that the ship was doing the active passing. I had looked forward to great the old white house in Hellerup, but that was certainly too late now.
The captain greeted me again and thanked me for not being complicating their action “Since we were going to spend some time together, you might as well get acquainted with your duties. There are to be at least two on the bridge all the time: firstly, the ones who are commanding the ship are me and my direct assistants here, the navigating officers.” He pointed at them, also present at the bridge and with the same uniform as yesterday. “Then there is the second shift, responsible for keeping the important officers alive and awake but otherwise not to mix up in our activities. It is only possible to leave the cabin for a short time for a visit to the toilet or in order to get a fresh replenishment of coffee. This is the schedule for our activity in the first four days, until we reach the Biscayan.”
“What then?”
“Then we shall see how you are managing the sea. We can expect some rolling there and it is no shame for a newcomer to feel sick then. Maybe we shall get a first taste on your resistance before, but the weather should be fine for the next few days. Nevertheless, this is no passenger ship and it was not built for comfort.” Yesterday he had talked about a cruise, instead he now handed me a piece of paper. “This is the plan for work sharing in the coming days.”
6-8 a.m. Capt. Caspersen & Ch.eng. Cordone
8-12 a.m. 1st Lt. Krueger & Mr. Gusto
12-6 p.m. Capt. Caspersen & Machine Ass. Liegoff
6-10 p.m. 2nd Lt. Kreschov & Mr. Gusto
10-2 a.m. 1st Lt. Krueger & Tel. Ms. Anders
2-4 a.m. 2nd Lt. Kreschov & Cook Mai-Pen
4-6 a.m. 2nd Lt. Kreschov & Ch.eng Cordone
“You see, we – the officers and you – all serve eight hours a day and the others less, since they also have other duties. We do not celebrate special weekdays – a sailor celebrates when he is in port. There is breakfast at 7-9 a.m., lunch at 11 a.m.-1 p.m. and supper 5-7 p.m., enabling everybody to enjoy each meal.”
“Enjoyment depending on the sea,” added Krueger. His blond hair made him look younger than his brown-haired Russian colleague but I figured they were both in the end of their thirties. All the officers looked at me and laughed diabolically.
“Speaking about the sea, how does your dog manage rough weather?” I asked.
“Normally excellent, but Tom showed some symptoms on the last travel, so I left him with my sister in Denmark.”
“He was sniffing around the front cargo space,” added Igor Kreschov.
The captain interrupted him. “It has nothing to do with that. But Mr. Gusto, it is anyhow forbidden for you to stroll around at deck, except for the area directly under the bridge. This for safety reasons! This is no luxury liner – if a wrong sea comes in, and that can occur quite suddenly and unexpectedly, you may be swept down in the waves, and I’m responsible.”
“Then there is a seaman’s burial all-inclusive,” Kreschov supplied ironically. The captain killed further comments with a sharp view.
I tried to thaw the general mood with mentioning that I had brought a small device for spending the time and if allowed, I would also be occupied with it on the bridge – yes, if I could just fetch it.
“Here in the beginning of our travel, there are enough people on the bridge. You can stay away till we have passed Kronborg, which will be after ten. Go to the mass and have some breakfast instead.”
A good advice which I gladly followed. I knew that I had some adaptation to overcome leaving Juanita’s kitchen, but I had not expected problems to start already now. I found the mass easily, where all the other crewmembers were sitting, and I greeted them collectively – they knew I was coming and connected my name to the increase in their salary, so I was welcome.
The coffee was too strong to my taste and instead of fresh milk – obviously a rarity due to isolation of the sea – there was some condensate cream. Square bread for the toaster and various canned products. In fact, there were no fresh products here, although we had just left Copenhagen. I looked out of the window, now showing the direction of sailing. No, we were too far away from the coast to swim home to Juanita’s kitchen. I promised never to criticize it again when I came home. In the meantime, I could only try to adapt my taste to a different level since unable to alter the present one. A snob like Mr. Smith would probably not survive in these surroundings.
“I thought you were having duty on the bridge now?” asked Miss Anders, the only person there in uniform.
“The captains wanted peace and sent me away. I shall come back after we have passed Elsinore and this time knock at the door before entering.”
“Nobody ever knocks the door to the bridge before entering,” Konstantin said seriously. He was perhaps twenty-five-years-old, dark-haired with a full beard and a serious young man, not famous for his smile. About the age of Liu, I could hardly guess, a problem I generally have with Asian and African people, but somewhere between twenty and forty, if such a broad margin can be of any use. Worse, he was the only slim cook, I have ever seen, and he did not seem to have brought any of his costumers out o
f their decent proportions.
I got a certain inspiration, excused me and left the company. At Elsinore and its Swedish counterpart, the city of Hälsingborg, the separating sea, Øresund, our naval strait, was only a few kilometres wide; at least there should I have connection to a mobile phone network and thus the ability to send an email from my notebook. It was perhaps also the only possibility to do so during the whole travel. Afterwards, I would try to call Fred from my mobile. Stupid that we had not foreseen this possibility, but who could know that I already had important matters to report? There was E-mail facility on the bridge, but the mail would be read by Ms. Anders and possibly also the captain. I had already instructed Fred to use allegories to be understood exclusively by me, when I finally could mail him the right address.
So I made my report, and as the Swedish Coast appeared nearer, I also sent it – on first attempt, by the way; I could use such happy experiences more often, when the technique functions as it is supposed to do.
Then I called by phone, simply to make sure the mail was read. Surprise: the giant himself took the phone, so it was after 9.30 a.m. He never introduces himself. “Yes?”
“We are just sailing close to the Swedish coast and I sent an E-mail with important information. Ask Fred to open it when he comes. I can be interrupted any time from here.”
“As long as you are not, feel free to speak.”
“OK. There is very toxic waste onboard. A German sailor died on the short route from Kiel to Copenhagen and was thrown overboard, probably to prevent an autopsy. And the captain’s dog was given to his sister.”
“I did not know that you are so fond of dogs.”
“It is kind of a colleague. Anyhow, the captain is very devoted to it, and its absence is a serious symptom. I wonder if the ship is insured. Where is Fred?”
“Do we ask where you spend your time?”
I decided that the time had come for the connection to be interrupted and turned the mobile phone completely off. Then I went to the mass to enjoy the view to Elsinore and say goodbye to Denmark.
The others were gone but Luciano returned and apparently shared my feelings.
“It is always moving to see this place,” he said.
“I thought you were Italian”
“I spent most of my childhood in Denmark. In Denmark, they considered me an Italian and in Italy a Dane. And since Denmark seaways end here, at least the coast visible from the ship, I always had strong feelings when seeing the castle and the flags over there. It sort of awoke the Dane in me. But how about yourself, you are also a mixture?”
“I’m more to the Danish side. I grew up in a small city in Quebec where the Anglophone and Francophone were equally strong, and I then created a third party.”
“But your father ...”
“He was seldom home, he was a businessman, and with my mother, I spoke Danish. And since I was mostly haunted by both patriotic groups of boys, I preferred being different. Only when I grew up and moved to Denmark, the Canadian in me awoke. Where did you grow up?”
“I went to Italy with my parents when I was 15, so from then on, there was no choice. Only later did I understand my dual nature.”
“Dane abroad and foreigner in Denmark?”
“Exactly, just like you.”
“Luciano, we are compatriot Exile-Danes!” and exactly then, a Danish ferry booed aggressively. There was a heavy traffic here, with small ferries between Denmark and Sweden in one dimension and down the Strait of Øresund, so this was a critical point. “The Danes do not like us exiles,” I concluded. “Perhaps it has a deeper meaning that fate has put us onboard a Danish ship under Panama Flag?”
“Be glad that you are not at the bridge, there is probably a bad sentiment after this event.”
“Event? Which event?”
“The near-collision. We should let the ferry pass. I