The Last Boat Home (11 page)

A pink glaze on the horizon narrowed under a dull, swelling darkness. Else checked the time: it was half past three. She
wriggled her toes in her boots as she glanced at the fjord, where a lonely skiff with a sagging tarpaulin was docked at the Elvebakken pier. Her knuckles were winter rough. She brushed the coarse peaks across her lips before tucking her fists under her armpits. She wished she had remembered her gloves. She would have to be sure to bring them tomorrow.

When she squinted up the road and noticed Yakov Bezrukov, it was too late to steal into the kiosk unseen. The circus performer seemed not to care about the woman hunched in her coat who gaped when he closed in on Else.

‘I thought we would have met again before now,’ he said. ‘Have you been ill?’

‘No,’ Else said.

‘I’m glad to hear it. Then why haven’t you been to the paddock with your boyfriend?’

The kiosk door opened, spilling a hot coffee smell onto the street. Petter and Rune followed Lars out of the shop. He clapped Yakov on the shoulder as if greeting a friend.

‘And here he is,’ Yakov said. ‘The man who knows about things.’

‘How’s work?’ Lars asked.

‘Not good. We’re thinking of moving on.’

‘You can’t do that,’ Lars said. He tore open a packet of Prince and offered it to Yakov. ‘Do we still have a deal for Saturday?’

‘We do,’ Yakov said.

He helped himself to two cigarettes, balancing one behind his ear before biting the other between his teeth. He levelled his gaze at Rune for the seconds it took him to produce a matchbook from his pocket.

Once Rune had lit Yakov’s cigarette, Else returned to her study of the road. She was not convinced by Lars’s plan to smuggle homebrew to the circus men, however infectious his excitement might be. The risk of being found out was too high, and what
would her mother do then? The weeks since the accident had been hard enough. Else thought of her bent over the sewing machine, her eyes on the cloth and her slipper steady on the foot pedal as if the back door had not just crashed open and her father was not reeling down the corridor. When his snoring began, her mother would snip the thread with her scissors and tidy away her sewing box before joining him in their bed.

At the top of the hill, a man wearing a
lusekofte
emerged from the grocery. Else measured his descent and lifted her rucksack over her shoulder.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said.

‘But I bought gum,’ said Lars. ‘Don’t you want any?’

‘I have to go.’

‘See you tomorrow,’ Petter said.

‘Are you catching the ferry?’ asked Yakov. ‘Well, so am I. I’ll walk you down.’

‘I’ll come too,’ Lars said.

Yakov snorted two jets of smoke through his nose and he and Lars accompanied Else to Havneveien. They matched her strides while Lars reviewed the details for Saturday night: how much liquor to bring, when the boys would arrive at the paddock. Else surveyed the harbour before bolting under the ash trees that lined the pavement. At least there were not many people about. The thought of sitting with the circus man all the way across to the public dock made her mouth dry. She hoped the ferry would be empty. She hoped it would be full.

At the base of the Longpier, Lars’s hand grazed her elbow. ‘Stay a little,’ he said. ‘You still have time.’

Yakov grinned and sucked a long breath from his cigarette. He tossed it into the water and climbed aboard the ferry.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Lars, ‘of where we could go, now that the paddock’s been taken over. Can you meet me on Friday?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Else said.

‘I’ll be at the bus depot at seven.’

‘I don’t know,’ she said and again her eyes swept the harbour to check if anyone was watching. She was about to refuse, but saw herself sitting alone once more in the dining room when she could be with Lars. Why shouldn’t she meet him? No one would miss her. It would be easier than it ever had been before.

‘Where would we go?’ she asked.

‘Somewhere warm,’ Lars said. ‘I’ll make sure it’s comfortable.’

‘All right,’ she said.

The ferry’s engine rumbled, dirtying the air with petrol fumes. Else jogged down the Longpier and jumped onto its deck. She slid open the door of the passengers’ cabin, bracing herself for the journey that lay ahead. Inside, Yakov sat beside the strong man. Pastor Seip inspected his nails on the opposite bench. A look of relief smoothed the lines of his forehead when he saw Else hesitating in the entrance.

‘Hurry up,’ he said. ‘You’re letting in the cold.’

Else yanked the door shut and sank onto the bench next to him. The ferry’s motor towed them into reverse.

‘I was just on my way to visit your father,’ said Pastor Seip. ‘I trust he has fully recovered now?’

Else’s stomach turned to vinegar. ‘Yes,’ she said.

‘Good, good,’ he said. ‘I expect we’ll be seeing him at church next Sunday, then. And how is your mother?’

‘Well,’ she said.

‘Good, good,’ he said.

The captain guided the boat around and into the current. Across from Else, the strong man’s curls skimmed the ceiling. He grasped the folded lip of a paper bag from the hardware store and blinked through the window at the gentle crests of the waves. Yakov smirked at Else. He crossed and uncrossed his knees and fondled Lars’s cigarette and burped once and scratched his neck. Pastor Seip cleared his throat and scowled at the strong man’s
shins. He combed his fingers through his hair before patting it flat over his head.

The town receded into a dwindling twilight while, on either side of the ferry, the fjord reached for an uninviting coast, where trees sprouted into branches that seemed feeble without the finery of their crowns. Else sat on her hands and suffered Yakov’s attentions. A chill seeped through her coat from the wood panel at her back.

‘And how is school?’ asked Pastor Seip.

‘Fine,’ said Else.

‘You’re managing at the Gymnasium?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

‘It’s an adjustment for everyone,’ he said.

When Else next peeked at the minister, his eyes were closed. She buried her chin behind her scarf and tried to think. In all likelihood, her mother would be out. Her father would have spent at least part of the day in the boathouse. Else would have to rouse him, clean him up, get him dressed and presentable before Pastor Seip arrived at the farmhouse. She would cycle ahead. Perhaps today would be different. Her parents would be in the kitchen brewing coffee, already prepared for their visitor.

Darkness had extinguished the last traces of colour from the sky when the ferry moored at the public dock. Else stood and pulled open the door to the deck.

‘I have Father’s bike,’ she said to Pastor Seip over her shoulder.

The conductor released the chain that secured the ferry’s exit and she bounded ashore to retrieve the bicycle.

‘Now, Else,’ said the minister and she rested a foot on one pedal and kicked onto the road and away from him. She swerved to avoid the circus men, who had wandered out of the lamplight that pooled on the pier.

‘Careful there, treasure,’ Yakov said. Straightening her legs,
Else rose from the saddle. She pumped the pedals and bounced over rocks into the night.

No lights were on in the farmhouse. The boathouse window shone with a candle’s flame. Else propped the bike against the wall of the milking barn and sprinted over the earth, trampling the vegetable plot in her haste. Her chest was heaving when the soles of her shoes slammed the boathouse stairs.

‘Father?’ she said. She struck her fist on the door. It swung open on its hinges, releasing the stink of acid and onions. A dim glow spread from a lantern over the workbench and onto the floor, lifting the outline of the trapdoor out of shadow. Between lobster traps and loops of rope, a puddle of drying liquid glistened on the timber planks next to the mattress, where her father kneaded his thigh through a pair of long johns.

‘Father,’ Else said. ‘Pastor Seip is on his way.’ She knelt by his side and shook his shoulder until his eyelids parted. ‘Do you hear me? Pastor Seip is coming. He’ll be here any minute.’

Her father rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, smudging a trail of saliva over the bristles that studded his chin. He mumbled and struggled to sit up and Else grabbed his wrists and did her best to help him to his feet. His skin smelled of curdled milk and stale tobacco. She held her breath and wrapped an arm around his waist, not letting go until she had supported him outside, past the fishing wire and
Norges
jars scattered on the ground.

Else left him to find his own way across the yard and raced ahead to make the farmhouse ready. After switching on the lights in the hall and dining room, she built a fire in the oven with logs and scraps from the woodbox. Tendrils of smoke floated after her into the kitchen, making her cough as she filled the kettle under the tap. When her father appeared in the doorway, beads of water were snapping on the hob. He considered Else in a squint. His throat was hoarse when he spoke.

‘Make some coffee,’ he said and lurched towards the sink. He rolled the tap and grappled with his jumper as a stream poured into the basin.

‘You should wash in the bathroom,’ Else said.

Her father moistened his hands and passed a bar of soap between his palms. He screwed his eyes shut and smeared suds over his face, then lathered his neck and the knots of hair on his chest and under his arms. Else removed herself to the dining room, where she lingered by the window, keeping watch on the hill that led from their property to the road. She saw the outline of Pastor Seip approaching from the milking barn.

‘He’s here,’ Else called. ‘Hurry upstairs. Put on something clean.’

Her father emerged from the kitchen trembling and naked. He hobbled into the corridor, marking the floorboards with watery footprints. Else grabbed his clothes from the kitchen counter and stuffed them into her milking pail in the cupboard before finding a rag with which to soak up his tracks. She was on her hands and knees by the sideboard in the dining room when the minister rapped on the door. She stood and hid her rag in the hallway chest before tugging down the waist of her jumper.

She smiled when she invited Pastor Seip in. He glanced past her into the hall. ‘There you are,’ he said. ‘You set off in such a hurry, I’ve never seen the like. Isn’t your mother here?’

‘She’s at the
bedehus
,’ Else said. ‘May I take your coat?’

He stepped inside and took off his coat. Else hung it on a peg nailed into the wall.

‘And your father? You must have told him I was on my way.’

‘He’s just coming,’ Else said. ‘Would you like a cup of coffee?’ She showed him into the Best Room, scolding herself for not thinking to air the space when she had had the chance. The room smelled stuffy in spite of its chill. Its corners gathered dust and cobwebs. Else struck a match to a candle on the bureau, while
Pastor Seip settled onto a cushion. She laid the table with onkel Olav’s cups and lifted the coffee pot from its shelf.

‘I’ll just check the water,’ she said and slipped into the hall. The minister’s hands were folded in his lap when she returned with a full pot.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. She placed the pot on the table.

‘Well, yes,’ said Pastor Seip. ‘Where has he got to?’

‘The coffee, I mean. I hope chicory will do.’

Pastor Seip’s tight lips made room for a sigh. His mouth closed at the sound of footsteps on the stairs before Johann’s tread delivered him stooping through the doorway. He lunged forward with an outstretched hand.

‘Pastor Seip,’ he said. ‘How good of you to come.’

The slur in his words sent Else’s heart pitching in her chest. A look of disgust creased the minister’s forehead. He accepted the handshake without getting up and frowned when his host collapsed into a chair. Johann scratched the fur on his cheeks and chin with fingers stained sepia. His eyes seemed to sink behind puffy lids. They hunted the room for Else.

‘Pour some coffee, then,’ he said.

Else filled the cups with chicory. The candle’s flame chased dribbles of wax onto its pewter candlestick while she waited for someone to speak. Neither man touched his drink.

‘Well,’ said Pastor Seip. ‘I can see my visit today was ill-advised.’

‘Not at all,’ said Johann. ‘Would you like some sugar with your coffee? Else, you forgot the sugar.’

‘Perhaps another time would be more convenient.’ Pastor Seip plucked at his jumper as if seeking reassurance that he, at least, was in order. He got to his feet.

‘You’re not leaving?’ said Johann.

‘Tell Dagny,’ said Pastor Seip. ‘Tell her I’ll see her on Sunday, will you?’

In the hall, Else helped the minister into his coat and saw him out through the front door. She returned to the Best Room, where her father had stayed seated. He stared at his cup in drowsy contemplation. He lifted it to his lips and took a sip, then spat his mouthful onto the table. Johann leapt from his chair and threw back his arm, drenching the furniture and curtains in chicory. A tendon stiffened in his neck when he flung the cup. It smashed against the wall, showering the floor with black and gold.

‘Buy some damn coffee,’ he said and staggered past Else, following the minister into the yard. He vanished under the branches of the morello cherry tree towards the boathouse. Alone in the Best Room, Else picked the gold leaves off the floor, collecting them in her palm. She recovered the rag she had hidden in the hallway chest and mopped up the chicory.

A
T SEVEN O’CLOCK
on Friday, Else waited for Lars. There were no coaches due and the forecourt was empty of cars and people. By the locked doors of the bus depot building she watched for him in the dark of a winter deprived of snow, when the cold seems to freeze out the stars.

A single headlight sparked in the gloom before she heard the buzz of a moped. It drove into the car park and slowed to a stop. Its light blinked out.

‘Else?’ said Lars.

‘I’m here.’

Else started towards his voice and their bodies collided. Her laugh was swallowed by a kiss. Lars’s teeth snagged her lip, but his mouth was warm.