The Silence of the Sea

Chapter 13

Breakfast tasted odd; perhaps it was the atmosphere. No one mentioned the events of the previous night in the girls’ presence, but they seemed to sense the tension between the adults. They pushed their cereal around their bowls, saying little and asking no questions. When the occasional spoonful found its way into their mouths, they chewed it for an unusually long time. Heavy rain beat on the windows and the yacht was rocked by the violence of the weather so that all loose objects had to be fixed to the table.

‘I’ve got more seasickness pills if you want them.’ Thráinn’s attention was fixed on his half-eaten slice of toast. He looked weary and the dark circles under his eyes hinted at a bad mood, though one wouldn’t have known it from his tone.

‘We might well take you up on that.’ Ægir hadn’t experienced any discomfort until now, but at the mention of seasickness he became aware of an uneasy sensation in his stomach. If the ship carried on pitching and tossing like this all day, one if not all of the family would be retiring to bed.

‘Take them now rather than waiting until you feel queasy. It can’t do you any harm.’ Thráinn lifted his toast as if to take a bite, then put it back on his plate. He took a gulp of coffee from a heavy mug that even the rolling of the ship had failed to stir. ‘It would be better to have you fit later on if we need to tackle the container. With the weather this bad, it’ll take three men, and Loftur could do with some shut-eye; we were up nearly all night trying to get the communications system to work.’

Lára’s eyes widened when she heard this. She had said to Ægir earlier that morning that none of them should go out on deck in this weather. The risk of being washed overboard was too great. He squeezed her thigh to reassure her that she needn’t worry. ‘Don’t you want a rest yourself?’ he asked Thráinn. ‘Weren’t you on watch all night? It’s okay by me if we wait a bit before taking a look.’

‘Okay by me too.’ Halli was the only person whose appetite seemed unaffected. He reached for a slice of toast and began, with difficulty, to spread it with a thick layer of cold, hard butter. ‘I’ll take a look in the meantime and try and work out what to do. There’s no rush – even if we do manage to free it now, we’re not going anywhere in a hurry while the sea’s this rough. We can idle a bit longer. It won’t change anything.’

‘Maybe not, but I want to sort this out as soon as possible. There’s no point hanging about and I can’t pick up the transmissions from shore well enough to get a weather forecast. The NAVTEX issued a storm warning but there’s no telling how long it’ll last. It could be several days. The forecast has changed since we set out so I have no idea how it’s going to develop.’ Thráinn swallowed another gulp of coffee. ‘There are waterproofs in the store cupboard – unless you’ve brought your own.’ Neither Ægir nor Halli had had the foresight; Ægir hadn’t anticipated a sea voyage, and Halli had probably assumed that all the gear would be provided. The idea of having to don someone else’s smelly waterproofs made the prospect of going out on deck even less alluring and Ægir’s appetite dwindled to nothing.

‘I think it’s ridiculous to go outside in this weather.’ Lára pushed Ægir’s hand off her thigh. ‘It’ll end in disaster.’ Her gaze strayed to the larder door, which was now secured with a padlock. Thráinn must have locked it during the night to prevent the girls from accidentally looking in the freezer, and perhaps also to ensure that none of the adults tampered with the evidence. ‘Why can’t we just accelerate and leave the wreckage behind?’

Thráinn’s expression did not alter; he merely contemplated Lára with weary, dispassionate eyes. ‘Because it’s risky. The debris could get caught up in the propeller or damage the hull and I don’t suppose you’d find that much fun. The fact it hasn’t already floated away suggests it’s caught, maybe hooked onto us, and that worries me. You have no reason to doubt my judgement on matters like this.’ Apparently realising how harsh this had sounded, he tried to mitigate the effect: ‘But you needn’t worry about us going out on deck. I wouldn’t take your husband if I thought there was any danger.’

‘I once saw this guy get swept overboard. Talk about unlucky. A big wave came and… whoosh. He was gone.’ Halli spoke with his mouth full, having emptied his plate again. ‘But that was in a much worse storm than this.’

Lára narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Poor man! What happened to him?’

Halli shrugged. ‘Dunno. We never saw him again.’

The twins were gaping. ‘Did he die?’ said Arna.

‘No, he didn’t die,’ Ægir interjected quickly, before Halli could scare the living daylights out of the girls. ‘He was picked up by a lifeboat from a passing ship.’ His daughters seemed to accept his improvised happy ending. Indeed, they often seemed to believe what suited them. ‘Now finish your breakfast. I don’t suppose it’s a good idea to take seasickness pills on an empty stomach.’ He glared at Halli to stop him from contradicting the rescue story. The young man looked mortified, as if he wished the floor would swallow him up; his blush was even visible between the roots of his dyed hair. Ægir ignored Halli’s discomfort and concentrated on his daughters. ‘Finish your milk but leave enough in your glasses to wash down the pill.’

‘Ugh.’ Bylgja made a face. ‘It was disgusting. I don’t want another one.’

Ægir was so relieved by the change of subject that he didn’t bother to point out that the pill was flavourless. ‘Finish your breakfast.’ The talk of the unfortunate man who had been washed overboard was an uncomfortable reminder of what lay in the chest freezer behind the larder door. His mind was haunted by dead white fingers clutching at thin air. Somehow, not seeing the whole body made it worse. He leant back in his chair and put the last piece of toast in his mouth. He would have more success in making them eat if he set a good example but the bread was as dry and unappetising as when he’d taken the first bite and the butter tasted like rubber. Perhaps he was fated to find everything he ate equally off-putting for the rest of the voyage. So much for luxury: inedible food and second-hand waterproofs.

‘Did you make contact yesterday?’ Ægir had to raise his voice to make himself heard over the crashing waves, wind and rain. Contrary to his hopes, conditions were even worse on deck than they had appeared from inside. The only ray of light in the darkness had been the waterproofs, which turned out to have hardly been worn. He and Halli had been offered a choice of gear, all of it virtually untouched, presumably because the yacht had chiefly been used for cruising in warm waters. ‘Did you receive any clearer instructions about what we should do?’ Difficult though it was to carry on a conversation against the wind, this might be his only chance. Some of what he wanted to discuss was not for the girls’ ears and he would rather keep Lára out of it too, as far as possible. She had been badly shaken by the turn of events.

‘I couldn’t get through to the Icelandic Coast Guard,’ Thráinn replied, ‘but I managed to raise a British ship on the VHF. I couldn’t hear much because of all the static but I’m pretty sure they got the message and will pass it on to the Icelandic authorities. With any luck we’ll manage to get the long-range radio working, so I can call home myself and repeat the message. Still, we’ll hold to our course regardless, as I said last night.’ Thráinn no longer looked like a ghost; he seemed to have been revived by the roaring elements. There was colour in his cheeks and his eyes were alert. The same was true of the well-rested Halli who looked full of beans, as if he was positively eager to do battle with the forces of nature. The difference between these two men and Ægir could not have been starker; they relished hard physical labour and a hint of danger, whereas he preferred to work in a safe indoor environment.

‘You didn’t tell them about the container and the fix we’re in?’ Ægir received a slap of spray across his face, and the salt stung his freshly shaven cheek. Volunteering to replace the injured crew member was without a doubt the most serious error of judgement he had ever made. He managed to banish this thought by concentrating on the idea of going home. All they had to do was hold out until they reached Iceland, where a new and better life awaited them.

‘No. It was more important to pass on the other message. I didn’t want to risk confusing them. Besides, what are they supposed to do? Is your committee prepared to pay to have us rescued?’

‘Probably not.’ Ægir took hold of the long pole with a hook on the end that Thráinn now handed him. The wet wood felt slippery in his hand. ‘But you reckon they understood and will report the news about the body?’

‘I hope so, but I can’t be sure. We’ll just have to wait and see; hopefully we’ll find out sooner rather than later. It all depends on how successful we are in repairing the long-range radio – or the VHF, for that matter. Then at least we’d be able to make contact with other vessels. Fortunately, the navigation system seems to be unaffected, which suggests it’s not caused by an electronic fault. To be honest, I don’t know what the hell’s going on.’

‘Want me to take a look at it?’ Halli was holding open the lid of a white chest while Thráinn pulled out various pieces of equipment. He had a job keeping his grip on the lid in the buffeting wind. ‘I know a thing or two; I was going to train as an electrical engineer once.’

‘That would be great. But Loftur seems to know a bit about radios too and he was stumped.’ Thráinn straightened up, keeping one foot on the tools he had taken out so they didn’t roll away. ‘Maybe it’s just a coincidence – the storm pissing us about.’ He handed Halli two poles similar to the one Ægir was holding and took two more for himself. ‘I hope this’ll be enough.’ He also picked up a tangle of straps from the deck and held it out to the others. ‘Put this on. I don’t think your wife would be too pleased with me if you were washed overboard, and I can’t afford to lose you either, Halli.’

Ægir put down the pole and untangled the straps, which turned out to be a harness for attaching to a safety line. Copying Halli, he eventually managed to pull it on after a clumsy struggle. It appeared that Thráinn didn’t intend to fasten himself to anything, although Ægir had noticed more harnesses in the box. Perhaps it was beneath his dignity. Although the harness was rather uncomfortable he felt much better for wearing it and would be even happier once it was clipped to the lifeline. His courage rose and he no longer dreaded what was to come. ‘Right.’ He picked up the pole and his new sense of daring was bolstered by the heft of the powerful implement in his hand. Perhaps he was in the wrong profession at home, and would have done better to choose a job that tested his physical endurance and manliness rather than his knowledge of debit and credit. The gust that buffeted him sideways as he thought this jerked him smartly back to reality. In weathering it, he banged his elbow so hard that his funny bone screamed in agony. The deck was running with water, which made crossing it treacherous, and his waterproofs acted like a sail. He took care to tread down heavily to keep his balance on his way to the rail. It was as if the wind was intent on knocking him over but couldn’t decide in which direction.

‘Clip this through the loop.’ Thráinn handed Ægir a hook, then fastened the other end of the lifeline to a steel ring on the rail. After that, he took a firm grip on the line where it hung down from Ægir’s body and yanked it. He did not offer Halli the same treatment. ‘Ready?’ Both men nodded. They now embarked on an operation that Ægir found baffling and counter-intuitive for much of the time. The aim was to push the debris away from the ship, ascertaining, as they did so, whether there was anything lurking under the surface that might damage the propeller or rudder when they started moving again. But no matter how hard they strained and how far over the rail they hung, nothing worked: the rusty, slimy container refused to budge. It made no difference whether their efforts were coordinated or not. The wreckage clung like a limpet to the side of the yacht, and the only visible change was that several cardboard boxes bobbed up and floated alongside it.

‘It looks as if the bloody thing’s come open.’ Thráinn pulled in his pole. ‘Fucking hell.’

‘Is that bad?’ Ægir hauled in his pole too, glad of a chance to rest his arms.

‘Potentially.’ Thráinn wiped his forehead to stop the water streaming into his eyes. ‘It depends what’s inside and which way the doors are facing.’

‘Can this piece of junk really be caught on something?’ Halli spat out a mouthful of briny saliva and nearly had it blown straight back in his face. ‘There’s something fucking weird about this.’

Thráinn wiped his forehead again. ‘I don’t know what’s going on down there. There shouldn’t be anything on the keel for it to snag on. Unless there’s a hole. You did check below yesterday, didn’t you?’ This was directed at Halli.

‘There was nothing wrong. Not then, anyway, and I doubt the hull’s been holed since. We’d have noticed. The container’s just too bloody heavy and we can’t get a proper purchase on it from up here. You can’t see a fucking thing either.’ He bent over the side again, using the pole to give the wreckage another prod. ‘I’ll go below when we’re finished here and do another check.’

‘Are you positive it was only one container?’ Ægir scanned the heaving sea as it dawned on him that there could be more debris on the way. ‘And where’s the ship that lost it? Surely it’s their duty to recover it or make sure it sinks?’

Thráinn and Halli exchanged mocking glances. ‘It doesn’t work quite like that.’ Thráinn gave Ægir’s shoulder a punch. ‘Not such a dumb question, though. According to NAVTEX there was only one container. If more had fallen overboard, there’d have been another alert. So, no need to worry about that, just concentrate on finding out how we can get rid of this bugger without doing any damage.’

‘Shouldn’t we simply chance it? Start sailing and see what happens?’ Ægir was desperate to prevent the captain from saying the words he dreaded most; that they should launch a dinghy and try to take a closer look. The deck felt as secure as a padded cell compared to the thought of braving the ferocious sea in a flimsy little tender. He was suddenly aware of the seasickness pill lodged in his throat, refusing to slide down into his stomach.

Thráinn shook his head without speaking. Halli vacillated at his side, then spoke up when it appeared that the captain was not going to. ‘I reckon we’ve done what we can from up here. The weather won’t make any difference.’ He tapped his pole lightly on the rail. ‘Why don’t we go inside since this obviously isn’t going to achieve anything? I’ll check the engine room and the bottom deck. If everything’s okay down there, maybe it wouldn’t be such a crazy idea to get going again.’

Ægir was facing into the wind, which made it difficult to see the men’s faces. The gale seemed to be growing stronger and the drops that lashed his face were halfway between rain and hail. Turning away from the weather, he saw one of his daughters watching him through a porthole. The glass was covered with spray so he couldn’t see which of the twins it was; Arna, or Bylgja without her glasses. The little face looked somehow different, more dejected than a child’s face should, unless it was a distortion caused by the streams of water coursing down the glass. He hoped her father’s performance on deck was not the cause of her misery. His heart grew heavy and the bravado that had been fuelling him until now evaporated. ‘I’m all for going inside.’ His voice betrayed neither agitation nor eagerness; he was simply stating a fact. The wind snatched the hood from his head and water trickled down his neck, forming an icy river down his spine. The cold triggered a mental image of the thin hand in the freezer and suddenly he could do no more. ‘I’m completely knackered.’

His words seemed to galvanise Thráinn, though it was possible he had been intending to call it a day anyway. They unclipped the lifelines and stowed the equipment and poles in the box without speaking, too exhausted to yell above the noise of the wind. When they entered the storeroom where the waterproofs were kept, Halli was the first to break the silence. It was as quiet as a church inside after the roaring of the storm. ‘I reckon my waterproofs are even wetter on the inside.’ He wrestled with the trousers, which clung obstinately to the legs of his jeans. ‘Don’t know why I bothered putting them on.’

‘This stuff’s crap. Useless in these conditions.’ Thráinn beat most of the water from his jacket and hung it up. ‘We’d have been better off wearing this thing.’ He yanked at the leg of a wetsuit hanging from one of the pegs. An oxygen cylinder, mask and buoyancy compensator were stowed underneath. ‘Then you wouldn’t have needed the lifeline either.’

‘No, thanks.’ Halli grimaced. ‘No one’ll ever talk me into diving. It’s unnatural to breathe underwater.’

‘Me either.’ Thráinn’s voice sounded as worn and hoarse as it had at the breakfast table. ‘I’ve never understood the attraction.’

Ægir stopped rubbing at the wet patches on his sleeves. At last here was a chance to prove himself braver than these men. ‘I can dive. I even have a certificate.’ He omitted to point out that it was a certificate for beginners, which had involved little more than learning how to expel water from one’s mask.

‘You can dive?’ Thráinn eyed him with an expression he didn’t much like, as if the captain was investing his words with a deeper meaning than he would wish. Halli also stood and gawped at him for a moment, then caught the captain’s eye.

‘Er, yes.’ Ægir hesitated. Didn’t they believe him? Was he so pathetic in their estimation that they believed he was capable of making up a lie like that to impress them? ‘I went on a course a few years ago while on holiday abroad.’

‘Then isn’t it time you gave it another go?’ Thráinn poked the oxygen cylinder with his toe; it didn’t budge. ‘There’s no point trying to see what’s happening from up on deck but it would be child’s play for a diver. How about it? It should only take a few minutes.’

Once again Ægir was conscious of the pill burning his dry throat. What kind of moron was he? He had absolutely no desire to plunge into that angry, grey sea, which had nothing in common with the warm turquoise waters where he had learnt to dive. Here he would be enfolded in an icy grip about as comforting as the embrace of the body in the freezer. He gulped and the pill shifted infinitesimally further down his throat. He was transported back to the time he had lied to some boys he used to look up to as a kid, by claiming that he could jump between two garage roofs. They had taken him at his word. He had climbed up onto the neighbour’s garage and tried to leap over to the next one, about ten metres away, as he claimed to have done often, aware all the time that he would never make it. He had spent the rest of the summer stuck at home with a broken leg. Had he learnt nothing since then?

Ægir’s thoughts returned to that summer as Halli and Thráinn lowered him into the sea. If the worst happened, broken bones would be the least of his problems. His only comfort was the knowledge that he was attached to the rail, so he could be hauled up in case of emergency; a fact he kept repeating to himself in the hope that it would help him master his terror. There had been no lifeline when he leapt off that garage years before. But this consoling thought evaporated the instant his feet dipped into the pitiless sea and the cold began to tighten its iron grip on him. It was no better when his whole body was submerged. His teeth chattered uncontrollably, preventing him from yelling with all the breath in his lungs that he wanted out. He was here now and would simply have to complete his task: even as he told himself it should only take about five minutes, he knew he was lying. Checking the pressure gauge, he saw that there was still enough air in the tank, which was hardly surprising as he had barely had time to use any. Why couldn’t the cylinder have been empty? Then no one could have expected him to do this.

He deflated his buoyancy compensator, the BCD, a little and began to sink. Such was the shock of the cold when the surface closed over his skull that he felt as if he’d been hit over the head with a plank. Everything went silent and he realised he was holding his breath, so he concentrated on his respiration for a while. In. Out. In. Out. After a minute or two he was breathing instinctively, which was a relief. Yet it was as much as he could do right now, with the murky grey waves heaving just above his head, to focus on not panicking. He tried to calm himself, this time by closing his eyes and listening to his own breathing magnified by the mask. Feeling slightly better, he resolved to get on with the job, but even as he moved, warning bells began to go off in the most primitive part of his brain.

This would end badly.

This would end badly.

This was bound to end badly.

He opened his eyes.