Devotion(68)

It was painful to see my parents mourning me, but it was harder still to see them begin to accommodate that grief and find a place for it within their lives. Their faith assured them that I was in a place of peace, and their certainty of this made my death even more catastrophic to myself. Regret and anger sometimes wormed through me so relentlessly that when Mama and Papa spoke of inanities – the vile rations of salt herring, the sunburn of Gottfried Volkmann – I wanted to rip the boards from the floor. Some days I crawled into any free berth, covered my face and let time make a puddle of me. How much I had taken for granted! I had been so stupid to assume I had years ahead of me, even after seeing Gottlob’s own life pinched out. My parents’ belief that my death was the will of God broke my heart.


Thea spent most of her time sitting on her berth, ignoring the other girls as they sewed – determinedly, endlessly – for their dowry boxes, flipping through her father’s Bible without seeming to read a word. I watched Anna Maria labour in the kitchens, cursing the clay mortar that had begun to break up around the copper pans, trying to conjure something that might tempt her daughter’s appetite. Barley with beef. Rice cooked with sugar. Thea raked her spoon through the food and absently licked it clean, but inevitably her meals were left to grow cold.

Mutter Scheck had less patience for Thea’s listlessness. She encouraged her to rise from bed and take exercise about the bow, and when she refused, Mutter Scheck seemed at a loss as to what to do next. She was not used to disobedience. One day she flung a shawl on Thea’s bed and stood next to it, hands on hips. ‘Gott l?sst uns wohl sinken, aber nicht ertrinken. God lets us sink, but not drown. Still, I’m sure He’d appreciate it if you made an effort to swim.’

Thea looked up at her, face expressionless. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I’ve heard a whale was seen from deck this morning. You should go. Some fresh air will do you good.’

‘I’m quite tired.’

‘It need not be long,’ Mutter said. She grabbed Henriette by the shoulder as she passed by. ‘You too. Go on. Take Thea upstairs and have a little sightsee.’

Henriette showed her the bedsheet she carried. ‘I’ve nearly finished this.’

‘Take it up with you.’

Henriette hesitated, looking askance at Thea.

‘Really, Mutter Scheck, I would rather stay here,’ Thea said.

‘No. You’re as sallow as anything. Go on. You too, Henriette.’ Mutter Scheck picked up the shawl and wrapped it around Thea’s shoulders.

I followed Thea and Henriette up the hatchway, blood swelling again in memory of the whale’s song that had kept me company in my last moment. I wanted to see the whale. I wanted to sing with it, and for Thea to hear my voice echo its siren song.

The day was grey-mouthed, wide with high cloud. Thea and Henriette stood about in the chill wind for a few minutes, looking out to sea, before a sailor, guessing at what they were after, told them the whale had not been sighted for several hours.

‘Should we go back down?’ Henriette asked Thea. ‘It’s cold.’

Thea turned to the ocean. It was dark and choppy, the surface crowded with gulls that swooped and alighted between the waves. ‘Don’t let me keep you.’

‘What was that? Noisy things, aren’t they?’ Henriette murmured. She glanced at the embroidery in her hand. ‘I might just sit and do a little more,’ she said, settling herself against a barrel out of the wind. ‘The light is better. Oh, you can see all my mistakes.’

Thea pulled the shawl closer about her neck and left Henriette sucking her teeth over the bedsheet. I followed her to the gunwale. Her face was sprung with bones I had never noticed before, edges she did not used to have. She looked older. At the same time, I was reminded again of the beauty I had always seen in her, the way it lay in the hidden details of her body. The small lines in her lips and the sudden, thrilling sharpness of her teeth when she smiled, and the white-lightness of her eyelashes that gave her an ethereality, a start ling difference. So much of her beauty, I realised, is adulteration. I watched her as she looked at the circling birds, a small smile emerging at the corner of her lips as they suddenly dived and emerged, all wing-flap and outrage, fighting over some fishy prize. I felt hungry for her imperfections. I lifted my hand and placed a fingertip on the scar under her ear, traced it with my nail.

A plume of water suddenly burst through the surface of the sea. As others exclaimed and came running to port, Thea leaned out over the side of the ship, eyes gleaming. I leaned out with her. I could hear an upswell of music, a keening, louder than anything I had heard in life. I felt my body tremble with it, the pleasure of it.

A whale swam in clear view. Another gust of water erupted from its blowhole as it briefly rose to the surface.

‘Henriette,’ Thea said, eyes not leaving the cutting water, ‘Henriette, come and see.’

‘I saw.’ Henriette got to her feet and backed away a little.

Thea turned. ‘You can’t see it from there.’

‘Do you think it might upset the ship?’

‘No.’

Henriette stepped forwards and peered out to the ocean, eyebrows lowered.

‘Here, stand where I am. Can you see it?’

‘It’s so big.’

Thea grinned at her and jealousy spiked through me. Water from the whale had blown over the ship: a fine mist hung in her hair and her face was damp and beautiful. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’