Stefán Máni - The Ship

‘Yeah?’ asks Ási, turning the light on again.

‘Leave it on – it’s better,’ Jónas says and drops back down on the pillow.

‘Okay,’ says Ási with a shrug. ‘Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight.’

Ási saunters up to C-deck, where he, Sæli and Rúnar have their cabins. Ási’s cabin is on the port side, Sæli’s in the middle and Rúnar’s to starboard. C-deck is the only deck in the ship that is completely manned, as the middle cabins on the other decks are empty.

‘Rúnar, you there?’ asks the cook as he knocks on the bosun’s door.

After a few seconds the bosun opens the door.

‘Something the matter?

‘No, no, I was just wondering if you would ask the captain something for me.’ Ási takes the chewed toothpick out of his mouth. ‘Don’t you have night watch later?’

‘Yes, I’m due up about midnight,’ says Rúnar and yawns. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘I was just wondering how much I should take out of the freezer. If we’re about to abandon ship I’m not going to defrost loads of food.’

‘You might just as well shut off the freezer, Ási, lad. This ship is heading for hell.’

‘Which means we abandon ship sooner or later, right?’ Ási sticks the worn toothpick back in his mouth.

‘Yeah,’ says Rúnar and grins. ‘Unless you want to stay on board?’

‘And sail to hell?’ says Ási, making a face. ‘No-oo. Hardly. But I won’t turn off the freezer for all that.’

‘Up to you. Was there anything else, Ási?’

‘Nope!’ says Ási, and he clicks the heels of his wooden clogs together.

‘Goodnight,’ says Rúnar, nodding to the cook.

‘And sleep well!’ Ási bows to the bosun, who smiles and closes the door to his cabin.

23:47

Sæli is standing by the window to port in the bridge, staring out into the darkness. The storm is dying down little by little, the ship isn’t tilting as much as before, and the weather deck has neither water nor briny mist on it. In the bow the forecastle is tilted and inside is a chained man who has no idea what’s going on, although he must realise that the ship is drifting before the wind and waves, instead of cutting through the waves and heading in a definite direction.

Would his light be on?

‘When can we fetch the man?’ asks Sæli, who jumps hearing his own voice break the hour-long silence.

‘First thing in the morning,’ mutters the captain, who is standing at the table in the chart room and writing a list on the lined paper of a notebook, lit by a low lamp.

It is a list of the things to take with them in the lifeboat. The boat holds eighteen people, so there’s plenty of extra room for fuel, clothes and supplies.

‘At dawn, that is,’ says Guðmundur a little while later, as he adds ‘reading material’ to the list. If they are in the boat for a long time it is better if they have something to do besides stare at their hands in their laps.

‘I see,’ says Sæli softly. He continues to look out through the salt-encrusted windows; there is nothing to see except the ocean and eternal darkness around the lit-up weather deck, and sometimes the odd star in the far distance.

Stars that someone at some time had told him were maybe long dead, although the light they once gave out still travels through the universe.

But that’s either a lie or some kind of astrophysics that Sæli doesn’t understand.

His legs ache but, after having stood for almost eight hours, the pain has become a buzzing numbness that is almost closer to comfortable than uncomfortable. A fatigue that’s unpleasant but which you get used to. What you don’t get used to is the way the ship drifts off to the side this way, making you feel like a passenger in a car that skids sideways and is always just about to run off the road.

Is he getting seasick?

‘I think I’m getting seasick,’ says Sæli as he lets go of the copper pole and moves slowly across the slanting floor and over to starboard.

‘Wait till Rúnar comes up,’ says the captain. He closes the notebook and looks at his watch. ‘It’s only a couple of minutes.’

‘Yeah, okay.’ Sæli grasps a knob on the control panel. ‘Should I take the dishes down?’

‘No, no,’ says Guðmundur, glancing down to the floor where a food tray containing the dirty dishes, cutlery, a coffee mug and a glass is jammed between the mattress and the filing cabinet. ‘Rúnar can take it down in the morning.’

‘All right,’ mumbles Sæli. He takes a deep breath to counteract the nausea that washes over him.

‘Are you going to be sick?’ asks the captain, turning off the table lamp. As the light goes out they seem to see something blinking on the sea only about fifty metres off the starboard side of the ship.

‘Yeah, I—’

‘Hush!’ says Guðmundur, putting a hand behind his ear as he stares out the window to starboard. ‘Did you see that? Something’s blinking out there!’

‘Wasn’t it just the lamp?’ says Sæli, who sees nothing but darkness wherever he looks. ‘The light was reflected in the glass and when you turned it off it was as if something blinked.’

‘No! It was something else.’

The captain rushes to the control panel. He presses his finger on the switch that turns on the foghorn but there’s no sound.

Of course not – all of the wires on the mast have been cut.

‘Bloody hell!’ says Guðmundur, running across the floor to open the door out onto the starboard bridge wing. ‘There’s a ship out there! I’m certain there is a ship out there!’

‘Why…’ Sæli says, then inches across to the door to the wing, which tilts towards the black sea. ‘Watch it!’

The captain reaches out and grasps the end of a searchlight that’s shining at an angle down to the sea on the starboard side; he jerks at it until the cone of light moves up and over the sea, where the waves rise and fall.

‘Come on!’ says Guðmundur as he holds on to the light frame with one hand and stares out over the endless sea.

‘There’s no ship there!’ shouts Sæli out the open door. ‘What kind of ship do you think would sail without a light…’

Sæli goes silent as the cone of light reveals sharp outlines on the sea north of the ship.

There is a ship there. A ship without lights.

‘Did you see that?’ shouts the captain, clenching his left fist. ‘There is a ship there!’

‘Gummi, come back in!’ Sæli calls him back. ‘I don’t like the look of this!’

‘Sæli! Go get the emergency flare! We’ll shoot up a flare! Quick! The flare gun is in the drawer on the right of…’

The captain stops speaking when the approaching ship turns on lights in front and behind and on both sides. These are no ordinary lights. They’re green and, rather than lighting up their own ship, they’re all directed away from their ship, which disappears in a sea of poisonous green light.

‘Green lights?’ asks Sæli. He stares open-mouthed at this oval sea of light that glows like a weird flying object in a cheap movie. ‘Who uses green lights?’

‘They can’t be seen from a distance. They can’t be seen from a distance ,’ mutters Guðmundur as he lets go of the searchlight frame and sneaks backwards through the door without taking his eyes off the green light that’s following his ship, coming closer and closer. ‘Christ almighty! And I thought things couldn’t get any worse.’

‘What is it?’ asks Sæli, his heart in his mouth as he watches, bewildered, while the captain hits one switch after another, turning off all the lights on the outside of the Per se , which gradually becomes lost in the darkness.