Роберт Фиш - The Gold of Troy

From the log of the Danish cutter Elritse , entered by her captain, Eric Hansen:

23 May , 1945: Propeller shaft twisted after hitting unknown object at 2315 22 May necessitating delay and reduced speed thereafter. At 0205 today encountered small “boat running without lights off Gedser light. Flashed orders for it to lay to and when it did not obey, fired several shots across her bows. In our crippled condition she could have outrun us, but unaware of that fact, elected instead to self-destruct. The Elritse cruised the spot where she blew up and foundered until 0300. There were no signs of survivors or anything to indicate what cargo the ship carried so precious as to cause the smuggler to blow the ship rather than lay to and submit to search ...

Gedser — January

Winter storms on the Baltic are not uncommon, but the one that raged down from the north that day in late January surpassed any of the long, bitter season. Knud Christensen, standing at the window of his farmhouse outside of Gedser, stared with concern out over the sea. Ahead was nothing but a wall of white sweeping over gray waters lashed by wind. The small dock at the end of his property was barely visible, with the high waves washing over it, foaming as they tried to sweep away the dory anchored under it. But it was not the vulnerability of the dory that concerned Christensen. He was worried about his two brothers, out in the storm. They were both seasoned fishermen, both excellent sailors, but this storm had come up so suddenly, so viciously, that any boat caught in it could be in danger.

It was odd that Knud had not been the one to take to fishing, leaving either Niels or Gustave to handle the farm. As a boy of fourteen he had been the most attracted to the sea; the oldest and biggest of the three brothers, the best swimmer, the best diver, the one most at home in or on the water. But as he grew older, Knud Christensen realized he preferred the quiet, almost stolid life connected with bringing things slowly from the earth. Sailing, as well as fishing, required the making of instant decisions at times, and Knud would have been the first to admit he was ill-equipped for this. Now, at twenty-eight, he knew he had made the right choice. Farming permitted a man time to think, to ponder, to consider problems in depth; either the middle brother, Niels, or Gustave, the youngest and the family favorite, were quicker and far better in general for the life at sea they had chosen.

But now his two brothers were out in a storm and Knud was worried. For once he wished he had gone with them; the sea held no fear for him. He might not have been the quickest-witted, but he was by far the strongest, and muscle was needed as well as brains in a storm of that magnitude. But here he was, chained to the land, warm and safe in a house, helpless to do anything but wait.

The snow ceased as suddenly as it had come, but the winds, if anything, seemed to intensify, whipping about the old house, raising the waves even higher. The light of the lighthouse could be seen once again; under its probing eye the huge waves twisted and lashed at each other, battering their way to fall with fury on the shore. Christensen strained his eyes. In the dim light cast from the dull sky he could see a boat, and then another, heaving on the waves, trying to beat their way into the harbor and safety, but it was impossible to distinguish or identify any particular boat at that distance. He stood there until darkness finally blocked everything from the sea, and only the eye of the lighthouse, revolving endlessly, could be seen high in the dark sky, the beam it threw lost in the night. Then, at last, he left the window and went through the house turning up the lights.

There was the possibility, he suddenly realized, that they had managed to reach another haven, another harbor, but in that case surely they would have telephoned. A thought came; he went to the telephone and raised it. There was no sound. The storm had interrupted service. Christensen felt a sudden wave of relief. That was it. They had put into another harbor and had been unable to get in touch with him. He was beginning to act like an old mother hen with his two chicks. They were fine and could take care of themselves. Hadn’t he himself taught them to sail? Pleased with his solution to the problem he went into the kitchen to start supper. The two would be starved when they got back. It would have been impossible to have managed anything in the small galley in that storm.

A sudden knock on the door and Christensen mentally kicked himself for having waited so long to start cooking. Then he paused, frowning. His brothers never knocked, why should they? He hurried to the front room, swinging the door wide, stepping back against the wind that rushed in. Jens Krag, a neighbor and a fisherman, came in, shaking drops from his sou’wester, standing on the entrance mat, dripping, his face wreathed in misery. Knud stared at him blankly, wondering at the visit. Then, slowly, the other’s silence, his expression, brought understanding.

“Gustave... Niels...”

Krag stared at the floor, unable to look into Christensen’s gaunt face. He swallowed. “The storm came up so suddenly...”

Christensen grabbed the man by the front of his slicker, shaking him savagely. “Where are they? What happened?”

Krag allowed himself to be shaken. He seemed to feel that anything that could relieve the other man’s agony was permissible. Christensen suddenly seemed to realize what he was doing, but there was no thought of apology. He released the other man and pointed abruptly to the sofa. “Sit down. I’ll get something to drink. You will tell me what happened.”

He shoved Krag onto the sofa and walked into the kitchen. It seemed to him he was walking in a dream, or standing to one side watching someone else walk into the kitchen and cross to the cupboard to take down a bottle. He stopped and stared at the wall without seeing it. No. No ! Jens Krag was a liar! He wouldn’t give the bastard a drink. Instead he would beat the truth out of him! It was impossible that Gustave was dead, that Niels was gone! He would make the miserable liar admit the truth — it was a vicious joke, and Knud Christensen was not one to be joked with!

But Jens Krag had told him the truth, or would when he gave him a chance to say anything at all. Krag was not a liar, and he knew it. He walked back into the front room with a bottle and two glasses, fighting the tears that stung his eyes. He filled the two glasses, threw his own drink down his throat without waiting for the other. It might have been water for any effect he felt. He refilled his glass and stood over Krag, a menacing figure.

“Now — what happened?”

Krag took his drink down gratefully. It brought color to his face and made the telling of the tragedy, while not easy, easier. He was relieved that Knud Christensen had not gone completely berserk at the news. He had known Knud since the Christensen child had been the only one. He had seen him grow and knew the boy who was now a man, while slow to temper, could be frightening when finally aroused. He looked up into Knud’s white face and then looked down at the carpet, his heavy veined hands slowly twisting the empty glass, speaking hesitantly.

“The storm came up so suddenly... It had looked threatening, but we were sure we would be back before anything serious. The herring were running, we were netting them like mad, our lockers were almost full, and nobody wanted to leave until we had filled them completely. It hasn’t been so good lately, the fishing I mean, and—” He seemed to feel Christensen’s increasing impatience and hurriedly went back to his story. “When the storm really struck, we all pulled our nets and headed in. We were off the lighthouse when it really hit. We were within sight of each other when the snow came, but in that blizzard we couldn’t see a thing. I was afraid we’d run into each other, but we had to keep moving. Without the engines we would have been swamped in a minute. Then, suddenly, the snow stopped and I saw we were almost on top of your boat. I veered away and then I saw they were in trouble. The engine must have failed. They were losing way and bouncing around completely out of control. There was nothing we could do to help them in that sea. Then—” He paused.