Devotion, page 14
There came the dull glow of a lamp lit somewhere in the steerage, and enough light seeped through for me to see that I was surrounded by beams. The top bunk occupied by my father and brother, as well as the berths on either side of theirs, had partially collapsed onto the lower bunks, pinning my foot as it hung out into the walkway. The planks had stopped only a few inches from my face, caught by the barrier dividing my berth from the Geschkes’.
‘Hanne? Are you hurt?’
There was a shuffle and confusion of voices as the plank was lifted off my foot. More lamps were being lit amidst a rising chorus of exclamation, and shadows were thrown as people rose from their sleep. I saw my father’s face peer into the bunk.
‘Where’s Mama?’ I could not feel her next to me.
‘She is here with me and Matthias. Hermine also. We are all safe. Can you move your foot?’
‘I think so.’
‘We have sent someone for an iron to pull apart the rest of the planks. The bunk collapsed. It is too heavy for us to lift as a whole. It shouldn’t be long now.’
I attempted a smile, although alarm rose in me.
‘Good girl. It won’t be long.’
I felt Papa’s hand reach in and squeeze my undamaged foot.
It took some time for the right tools to be found, not least because many of those searching had to stop to retch and vomit. By the time the nails had been pulled from the broken bunk and the whole mess of wood lifted away, it seemed that every passenger had woken, crowding the walkway as the men examined the construction of their own families’ berths. After the final plank was lifted from my face and I was freed, Mama helped me out, limping, and I was finally able to see the extent of the damage. By lamplight I saw that an entire row of upper berths had buckled, swooping down like a wave and finally breaking over the place I had lain.
‘Why were you not trapped?’ I asked Mama.
‘I was unwell. I had stepped out to empty the bucket.’
The tween deck looked chaotic. Splintered wood and bent nails lay heaped upon the central table, and while most of the bunks remained aloft, it was clear that they, too, risked collapse. Most possessions had been hauled out and away from the berths, and children sat upon the bags and sheets and piles of clothes, blinking back into sleep as their parents worked themselves up into a state of quiet indignation and prayerful relief that no one had been killed. Everyone looked pallid, anxious. Knowing that we were at sea now, with no recourse to solid ground, or even adequate space to address the calamity, made the atmosphere fraught.
By the time I had found a space at the table, my injured foot raised on my mother’s lap, I noticed that the captain had entered the tween deck to survey the damage, recoiling a little at the smell. He said little, but his lips were thin with anger, and when my father showed him several bent nails gathered in evidence of poor workmanship, he closed his eyes, as if trying to control his frustration. I watched as they spoke to one another, the captain occasionally glancing at my father’s spoiled eye before shaking his hand and leaving.
My father picked his way through the crowd and dropped the nails on the bench beside us. They clattered onto the floor as the ship rose and fell.
‘Captain Olsen has given us permission to pull apart the beds and rebuild them. He will give us new nails at first light, when they might be sourced with less difficulty.’
Mama’s voice was small. ‘Where shall we sleep until then?’
Papa ran a hand through his hair. ‘We have permission to find space on the upper deck.’
‘In the cold and open.’
My father nodded and turned to me. ‘Are you badly hurt?’
‘No.’
‘Good.’
‘It could have been her head, Heinrich.’
‘Praise God it was not.’
He tapped Matthias on the shoulder and together they began to wrench the nails out of the planks so that no one might be accidentally injured by their exposed ends. I lay along the bench, my head cushioned by Papa’s bundle of clothing. For all my foot throbbed, I relished the warmth of my mother’s lap beneath it and, when she believed me asleep, her hand gently sweeping its length.
My father spent the following day directing men on how best to repair the berths, growing increasingly frustrated as the hours passed. Matthias explained to me that it was proving useless.
‘Papa thinks the ship was not intended to carry emigrants: the berths have just been cobbled together without thought as to how they might bear the weight of sleeping men.’
After prayers at last light, the elders crowded around Dr Meissner and demanded a solution be found. Few wanted to risk nights atop a berth that might suddenly give way, and those who said they would not mind were soon drowned out by those who possessed the lower beds.
‘I will not be squashed in my sleep!’ exclaimed Gottfried Fröhlich.
‘Yes, lives will be endangered,’ agreed Papa.
Dr Meissner seemed at a loss as to what might be done. Eventually he admitted that some of the men would have to take turns sleeping on deck amongst the barrels and packing cases.
‘And what if the weather is bad?’ asked Christian Pasche.
‘If the waves are so large as to risk washing you overboard, of course you may return below,’ replied the doctor.
‘And sleep where?’
The doctor pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. ‘I imagine if the waves are that large, no one will be sleeping.’
Papa watched as the doctor climbed through the hatchway, returning to his better quarters, then placed a large hand on Elder Pasche’s shoulder. ‘Come, Christian. Let us manage our own affairs.’ He beckoned to the other men from Kay, and together they sat at the table with the passenger list, discussing the best way to divide the available space amongst the families.
I sat upright in the lower bunk, injured foot in front of me, Hermine on my lap. Matthias appeared and handed me a mug of water. ‘I’ve volunteered to sleep on deck,’ he said. ‘I’ll rotate with Traugott Geschke.’
I took a sip. ‘Where will you sleep when he is taking his turn above?’
‘In the stern with the unmarried men,’ Matthias said. ‘Papa and Christian decided that men with families have first right to a berth.’ He smiled when I pulled a face. ‘I don’t mind. I can pretend I am a sailor. Hans and Hermann Pasche will be there too. Daniel and Rudolph Simmel.’ He lowered his voice. ‘Hans is over the moon to get away from his father.’
‘Where will Papa sleep?’
Matthias took the empty mug from me. ‘With Mama and Hermine.’
I frowned. ‘But if Papa is sleeping in this berth, where will I go?’ For an instant I imagined that this meant I, too, would be sent to sleep under the stars, and I felt a surge of excitement at the thought. All that light humming down around me.
‘The bow.’
‘What?’
‘The front of the ship. With the unmarried women.’ Matthias reached for Hermine. ‘There is room there.’
‘Oh.’
He gave me an inscrutable smile. ‘Perhaps you will bunk with Thea.’
Belongings were once more gone through, separated out. Hans shot me a gleeful look as he dragged his mattress through the walkway, ready for his night’s sleep above. I almost envied the boys. Returning below deck after services, the smell of the past few days’ sickness had hit me with such force I gagged. What with the catastrophe of the collapsed bunks and their attempted repair, there had been no opportunity to clean the floors of the sour messes in corners. The captain had assured Papa that seasickness did not usually persist for longer than a few days, and that we would all soon be a great deal more comfortable. It was intolerable to imagine otherwise.
Mama, still peakish, sorted my clothing from hers, wished me a good night and delivered me, limping, to a glint-eyed Mutter Scheck. As soon as I stepped into the bow, she whisked the curtain shut behind me.
‘You have a rather unwell friend here,’ she said, taking me by the shoulder. ‘I thought you might jolly her up. Christiana tells me you two are inseparable.’
‘Christiana’s here?’
Mutter dropped her voice. ‘Poor thing. She hasn’t stopped crying. But Elizabeth is in glory now. She suffers no longer.’
The floorboards suddenly lifted under our feet. Mutter Scheck steadied herself, then continued forwards. There seemed to be not a touch of illness about her.
‘We’re a little crowded. Christiana and yourself are here now. Amalie, of course. Elsa Pfeiffer. And a few more girls you won’t know, from Klemzig and Tschicherzig. You’ll meet them in the morning. I encourage an early bedtime. Easier to bear all this rolling if you’re asleep. Of course, if you must lie awake and groan, it would be best if you could do it quietly. Water closet is there. Mind the entryway.’ She grimaced. ‘Ottilie did not quite make it. We’ve some cleaning to do.’
I made out several sleeping forms. Blankets thrown over heads. A pale foot sticking out into the walkway.
Mutter Scheck directed me to a berth farthest from the curtain. ‘Here you are then. Sleep well. Mind you don’t upset that.’ She pointed to a slop pail, smelling evilly, swinging on a hook at the outer post, then turned and lurched back to her own bunk near the curtain.
I placed my bag under the berth, then looked in. Thea lay against the dividing rail on her back, eyes shut, one hand gripping the wood, the other arm flung across the mattress.
‘Thea?’
Nothing. She was sleeping. Kicking off my clogs I crawled in and, gently moving her arm to her side, lay down beside her. She twitched in her sleep. I gripped the side of the mattress to stop myself from tipping towards her with the movement of the ship, and listened to Mutter Scheck’s bedside prayers, the squeak of metal as the lamp was put out. I blinked back the sudden darkness.
My stomach felt tight. I told myself it was because I had not yet become used to the close air beneath decks and the heat of so many bodies in a small space, that I was still afflicted with seasickness. I told myself it would pass and lay still, anxious to remain on my side of the bunk, my body bracing every time the ship lifted, plunged. I did not know how to lie so close to Thea. I did not understand my own agitation.
Hours passed. The ship creaked. There was the sound of laughter from the main body of berths. Someone shushed. I heard the drip of water as the dipper was lifted, the muffled knocking as it was dropped back against the side of the drinking barrel. Sobbing came from a few bunks over. Christiana, I thought. My muscles began to tremble from the exertion of holding myself to the edge of the bed and at last, exhausted, I gave in, and let myself roll against Thea.
She stirred and I felt her lift her arm and place it around me. The weight of it was a balm.
‘Hanne?’
Thea was lying on her side, head in the crook of her elbow. I blinked hard, could just make out her face in the low, swinging safety light of the hatchway. It was still night. My pillow was damp. I didn’t remember falling asleep.
‘What?’
‘You were crying.’
‘Oh.’ I heard Mutter Scheck cough and turn over in her berth. ‘Maybe I was dreaming.’
Thea reached out. I felt the gentle touch of her thumb on my cheek. ‘Your face is wet.’
I pulled away, felt the beam dividing our berth press against the back of my head. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No. The ship woke me. I haven’t slept a night through yet.’
‘I never sleep well anyway,’ I said. ‘Even back at home. Ever since my parents separated Matthias and me.’
‘You shared a bed?’
‘Until we were ten. Mama said that even as babies we would cry all night if put in separate cribs, and so Papa made a cot large enough for the both of us. They gave us separate beds when we grew, but I would always climb out and find Matthias. I’d crawl in next to him, and then get back in my own bed by morning.’
I waited for Thea to say something, but she only smiled, waiting for me to continue. I felt a wave of affection for her then, the way she listened so absolutely.
‘For years, we found ways to sleep together. But then he was moved to the loft. I went up there sometimes, but’ – I hesitated, feeling a little flush of shame at the memory of Mama’s expression – ‘Mama found me there and forbade it.’
Thea wriggled closer to me. ‘I wish I had a twin.’
I heard Mutter Scheck cough again and raised my head to see if she was awake, but it was too dark to tell.
‘She can’t hear you,’ Thea whispered. ‘Everyone’s asleep but us. If she heard us talking, we’d know about it.’
I felt her smile in the dark and smiled back at her.
‘It must be nice having Matthias. Someone who knows you to your marrow. Someone who loves you as you are.’
‘We used to hold hands, too,’ I said, my voice more breath than sound. ‘As we slept, or when one of us was scared, or simply because we wanted to. But we can’t now.’
We listened to the groaning of boards. The whistle of the wind. Someone was snoring loudly in the main steerage quarters. ‘Who is that?’
‘Probably Eleonore Volkmann.’
I laughed.
‘What? She has such large nostrils. Have you noticed how she flares them whenever her husband orders her about? Like a horse.’
‘Shh, Henriette will hear you.’
‘Henriette has them too. And her sisters. A whole stable of nostrils.’
I snorted and both of us clapped our hands to our mouths.
The ship lurched then. A baby started crying. Thea rolled against me, and even though the ship began to surge and I heard the muted calling of the night watch above us upon the deck, my heart did not beat with fear, but with a pattern of sudden longing I did not understand.
Thea’s hand searched for mine in the dark. I threaded my fingers through hers.
‘Are you afraid?’ I breathed. Her hand was cool in my own.
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Me neither,’ I said.
Her fingers closed tightly about mine. ‘I wish you were my twin,’ she whispered. ‘I wish that I could have known you from birth, that we had all those years together. I wish that we had shared a crib like that.’
‘We’re sharing one now.’
Her thumb moved over my knuckle.
‘I hate that I’m older than you,’ Thea whispered.
‘Barely. Eighteen days.’
‘The saddest eighteen days of my life.’
I could feel her breath against my cheek, and a sudden vision of Thea in the forest, pulling away from me, the feel of her lips still so pronounced upon my own, came flooding back to me.
The ship rolled. We both braced against the force of the wave, and in the swinging of the safety lamp I saw that she was watching me, her eyes lit with something I wanted to ease, something I wanted to answer in my own.
‘Maybe, as God did not allow us to enter the world on the same day, He will give us the good grace to leave it together,’ I whispered, and immediately felt foolish.
Thea was silent for a long while. The ship’s passage eased, the lamp stilled, and her face fell back into shadow. I thought she had closed her eyes, that she had grown drowsy, when I heard her voice, soft and a little raw. ‘I hope we do,’ she whispered. ‘I hope we do.’
born of soil
Days on the ship took on a rhythm. Every morning those who were well enough would rise at seven o’clock and, if the weather allowed, meet amidst the boxes and barrels on the deck for morning services, held on rotation by elders of the various congregations. We sang and prayed, and I liked the way our voices were diluted by the rushing of the ocean around us, the way we were drowned out by a greater, more ancient voice in praise of itself. Hot water for coffee was ready at eight o’clock, and we would eat at the table, which had a lip at its edge to catch any plates that slid. We soon found, however, that it was difficult to eat at all when the ship was pitching. Inevitably our food would end up in our laps or spill across our neighbour’s. After breakfast we cleaned dishes and cutlery, drew rations and water, and were informed by Mutter Scheck whether it was our turn to soak salt meat, roast coffee or otherwise clean the compartment. We swilled and scrubbed the floors with sand at least once a week, and more if someone had been sick upon it.
Someone was always sick.
The women in the bow who remained confined to their beds were largely from Tschicherzig, and although Thea and I caught glimpses of these strangers gripping buckets and heard them groaning in the night, we knew them only from what Mutter Scheck intimated to us. Ottilie, who seemed to bring up every meal she attempted, was already widowed at twenty. Another two Johannes, a dressmaker and her cousin, were travelling together. Maria, a girl our age who was close to Ottilie, was orphaned. Christiana, Henriette, Amalie and Elsa we knew.
On fine days Mutter insisted that every able woman drag her mattress and blankets up onto the deck to air them out, allowing us to return them below only after she had brought her nose to the canvas and sniffed, a practice which mortified us, as did her enthusiastic applications of vinegar if the smell was found to be too unpleasant. We were to wash our faces and hands morning and night, and while she did not lean forwards and smell us, she was not above folding down our ears to ensure that we had cleaned thoroughly. We washed in sea water, which left my skin feeling tight and dry. Sometimes, in the light, I could see tidelines of salt ebbed upon Thea’s neck and forehead, and knew I had them too.
‘Mermaid,’ I whispered to her, the first time I saw them on her skin.
‘More like salted herring,’ she replied.
Mutter Scheck’s appraisal and insistence on cleanliness was not limited to our beds and bodies. Our moral scrupulousness was also closely watched. All single women were forbidden from breaching the confines of the bow at night and Mutter Scheck discouraged us from even lurching to the water closet set aside for our use. Instead she issued us with tin chamber-pots that slid under our bunks, and sometimes had to be fetched from the far wall by wriggling under the lower berths on our stomachs. The Guzunder, when finally found and filled, was to be emptied into the slop pails secured to the side of the berth by a hook, and all was to be voided and rinsed daily, weather permitting. Any woman who did not securely replace the lid to the slop found herself saddled with the responsibility of emptying it for a week or more, an unenviable task when the ship was rolling. Mutter Scheck inspected our cutlery and plates after washing and made us keep our dishes against the side of the berths. When Henriette complained about their constant rattling, Mutter produced some string to hold them fast, and my father inserted small hooks into the wood from which we might hang our cups, for ease of drying and reaching. Often times, at night, I would watch my and Thea’s mugs sway above my head, until sleep finally arrived, and occasionally, during swell, I would be woken by a plummeting handle smacking into the bridge of my nose.
