Stefán Máni - The Ship

Where is he? Who’s shouting? What…

Satan opens his eyes and sees the black shadow of a man lit by red light, framed by a doorway with rounded corners. He smells metal, tar and paint thinner; he is being lifted up and down, tossed about in a narrow and uncomfortable space; he hears the sea knocking against the steel, the wind moaning and the low squeal from the heater; his forearm stings from the needle prick and he can feel how the lock on the chain pushes into the small of his back…

The ship!

‘Leave me alone, man,’ says Satan. He leans his head back on the folded burlap. ‘Don’t wake me until we’ve got to Suriname. Is that clear?’

‘GET UP, YOU!’ Stoker screams, jumping over the sill. Then he lowers his hoarse voice to say, ‘The ship is dead in the water and we’ve got pirates on board.’

‘What!?’ says Satan and opens his eyes lazily. ‘What’d you say?’

‘ The ship is dead! ’

‘You said pirates , you idiot.’ Satan snaps his fingers as he sits up in the plinth course.

‘Yes, and they’ve come aboard!’ says Stoker stepping from foot to foot like a little boy who needs to wee. ‘Their ship is alongside and shoots a machine gun at the slightest provocation!’

‘It’s about time something happened on board this tub,’ says Satan, climbing out of the plinth course. When he stands up the chain around his middle pulls taut. ‘If there is one thing this boring crew needs, it is precisely entertainment from elsewhere. For some reason I didn’t fit the bill, but pirates with machine guns are something everybody can enjoy. Right?’

‘I’m not kidding, man!’ Stoker points with a shaking finger out the open door, where the pirates’ inflatable can just be seen in the water by the weather deck, halfway between the forecastle and the wheelhouse. ‘I heard shots earlier on! They’ll kill us all if—’

‘I never said that I don’t believe you,’ says Satan, shutting Stoker up with the palm of his right hand. ‘Did you bring the key?’

‘The key?’ asks Stoker as Satan removes his hand.

‘Yeah, the key!

‘Oh shit, man!’ Stoker stares at the chain. ‘Who has the key?’

‘The long, ugly one,’ says Satan. He fishes a cigarette packet and lighter out of his left trouser pocket. ‘White, dumb and badly dressed.’

‘Methúsalem! Of course. Shit! Hold on.’ Stoker grabs the pocket of his cotton trousers. ‘I think—’

‘What are you doing, man?’ asks Satan and lights his cigarette.

‘Here it is!’ says Stoker, grinning broadly as he feels something hard in his right pocket, then he turns his pocket inside out and grabs the key before it falls to the floor.

‘Clever boy!’ Satan lifts up his arms and turns around, holding a lit cigarette in one hand and the pack and lighter in the other.

‘Okay, here we go!’ Stoker sticks the key in the lock and turns it clockwise, so the lock pops open and the chain rattles onto the iron floor.

‘Excellent!’ says Satan and blows smoke out his nose as he sticks the cigarette packet and the lighter in his right trousers pocket.

‘Now what?’ asks Stoker, grabbing the iron column in the middle of the forecastle to keep from falling down.

‘Do what I do.’ Satan sticks the cigarette in his mouth, then tears the net off the paint cans at the front of the plinth course and screws the lids off a five-litre can of thinner. ‘Find more of these thinner cans and hand them to me.’

‘Okay,’ murmurs Stoker and drops to his knees by the plinth course as Satan goes over to the door and tosses the cans in the direction of the pirates’ inflatable.

He could, of course, shoot at the boat but it could be hellishly difficult to hit a moving target from so far away – besides which, there’s not all that much ammunition.

The can lands in the sea in front of the boat. It washes back up on the weather deck on the next wave.

‘Here!’ Stoker hands Satan another can. ‘There’s just one more.’

‘Quick!’ says Satan with the cigarette hanging from his mouth. He takes the can and flings it with all his strength back along the ship. The can spins in the air and spits thinner in all directions, before landing on the weather deck behind the inflatable and at the feet of the black-clad man who’s lying face down by the railing.

One down – way to go!

‘This is the last one,’ says Stoker as he passes Satan an open can only half full of thinner.

‘ Watch this ,’ hisses Satan out of one side of his mouth. He waits a moment while the ship rights itself and then he throws the can high up into the sky, watching as it swings in a long arc out over the weather deck and directly over the unmanned inflatable, which lifts on a wave as if to receive the can.

‘Wow! That was really—’ Stoker stops when a light begins to blink in the sea of green light and a shower of lead bullets slams into the starboard side of the forecastle, the outside of the door and the forward hatch.

The sound of the pirates’ heavy machine guns carries to them shortly after the first bullets slam into the inch-thick steel, raising sparks.

Stoker grabs his head and throws himself to the side, while Satan jumps out of the door and disappears from sight.

‘Wait! Wait! WAIT FOR ME!’ cries Stoker, clambering over the sill and running barefoot over to the port side and from there back along the slanting weather deck. When Satan is halfway to the back of the ship he stops and sits down on the weather deck with his back to the hatch. He looks up to the sky, where the emergency flare is glowing, and curses the man who shot it up.

What halfwit lights up the field of battle when the enemy has come so close? The battlefield that, in this case, is the crew’s home ground! These guys are so stupid! In close combat, darkness is the best comrade in arms, any sensible man knows that – if he’s got any balls.

‘Now what?’ asks Stoker, red with cold, kneeling beside Satan.

‘Wait a second,’ says Satan and he sucks on his cigarette until it glows white, then stands up and throws the stub over the hatch cover.

‘I get it. You’re going to burn the dinghy so they can’t get back if—’

‘Take a look!’ says Satan, nudging Stoker with his elbow.

‘All right,’ mutters Stoker as he stands up and looks across the hatch cover.

The machine gun retorts and bullets slam into the hatch cover and fly with a loud whine into the night.

Stoker throws himself back on his knees and looks at Satan without saying anything. He doesn’t need to say anything.

Disappointment shines from his eyes.

‘Fire or no fire, doesn’t matter,’ says Satan under his breath. He gets to his feet without straightening his back. ‘Come on, let’s face these bandits!’

Stoker struggles to get up, then follows Satan over the weather deck.

‘How many did you say there were?’ Satan asks when they reach the stairs up to B-deck.

‘I have no idea. But that inflatable couldn’t carry more than six.’

‘One’s down already. So there are, at most, five left. Five men with machine guns. It’s not going to be any fucking child’s play getting bullets into all their guts.’

Satan runs over to the starboard side of the wheelhouse, sits on his haunches under the white-painted iron wall and pulls his hunting knife out of its holster on his left leg.

Inside the thick walls, the alarm bells are sounding.

‘What are you going to—’

‘ Shut up! ’ hisses Satan and gestures to Stoker to sit behind him. ‘Take this knife. If you unexpectedly find yourself in close combat, make eye contact with your enemy, get as close to him as you can and then push the knife into his stomach. It’s best to surprise them if you can.’