It was also during that time that Hanna happened to acquire a Portuguese dictionary. Forsman sometimes sifted through his voluminous library and discarded books and booklets that were surplus to his requirements. One day Hanna had found the dictionary in a waste-paper basket. She thought that anything he’d thrown away she could keep if she fancied it, rather than taking it to the rubbish dump. She showed it to Berta, who was not interested in a foreign language she would never have any use of.
But Hanna kept the dictionary and learnt a few words and phrases that she didn’t even know if she was pronouncing correctly.
The late winter continued to be mild in 1904. As early as the middle of March the sailors, who had been spending the winter ashore when the ice prevented them from going to sea, began to gather restlessly in the harbour and on the jetties where sailing boats were beached. Berta explained to Hanna that there were fewer and fewer sailing boats nowadays: more and more owners were buying steamships instead. But there were still sailing ships carrying cargo along the coast, or over to Finland, and perhaps even to the Baltic countries. Quite a few carried timber and fish down to Stockholm, while others headed northwards.
Before long sailing boats would disappear altogether, and be replaced by steamships.
14
One morning Hanna was summoned unexpectedly to Forsman’s office. He didn’t often want to talk to her alone. Every time it did happen, she was worried that he might flare up and start complaining about her work or her behaviour.
When she entered the room she found that Forsman was not alone. Sitting on a chair was a man in uniform she had never seen before. She paused in the doorway and curtseyed. Forsman nodded to her and put his glowing cigar into an ashtray.
The man in uniform was older than Forsman. He observed her closely.
“This is Captain Svartman,” said Forsman. “He is master of a ship of which I am part-owner. She’s called Lovisa, and will soon be setting off on a long voyage to Australia with a cargo of Swedish timber, felled in forests owned by me and sawn up in a sawmill owned by me.”
Forsman paused abruptly, as he usually did when he wanted to give people time to digest what he had said. Hanna searched her mind for a country called Australia, but failed to find it. However, Forsman had said it would be a long voyage. So Australia couldn’t be a neighbouring country.
“I’ve been thinking about your future,” Forsman said suddenly, with such emphasis that Hanna gave a start. “I think you can make more of yourself than just a maid here in my house. I think I can see in you qualities that suggest you could have a bright future. Exactly what will become of you I don’t know. It’s just that I suspect you have a will of your own. And so I’ve decided that you will sail to Australia and back with Captain Svartman. You will work on board as a cook. You’ll be the only woman on the ship, but everybody will know that you are under my special protection.”
Forsman fell silent again and contemplated his cigar, which had gone out. Hanna felt there was something she needed to say immediately.
“I must ask Elin for permission,” she said. “I can’t go off on a voyage without my family knowing about it.”
Forsman nodded thoughtfully and leaned forward over his desk. He picked up a sheet of paper and held it up for Hanna to see.
“Your mother’s writing is like a spider crawling over a page,” he said. “Her spelling is awful. And she has no idea where to put a full stop or a comma. But she knows what I’ve proposed to you, and she gives you her permission to go.”
Hanna realized now that Forsman was continuing to take responsibility for her, as he had promised. It was clear that the idea of her going on a long voyage on one of his ships had been planned for some considerable time. It took a long time for letters to pass between Sundsvall and the distant mountains.
“In just over a month the ship will have all its cargo on board and be ready to sail,” said Forsman. “Between now and then you will go on board every morning. There’s an old ship’s cook by the name of Mörth who will teach you the ropes. You’ll be given some money to pay for the equipment and clothing you’ll need, and you’ll be paid a good wage during the voyage—more money than you would ever be able to earn as a maid. That’ll be all now, but don’t hesitate. I know this is something right up your street.”
Hanna left the room. She could feel a cold sweat under her blouse.
It was the next day, a Sunday when they had a few hours off work, before Hanna told Berta about what had happened. The sun was shining, and melted snow and ice were dripping from the roofs. They had climbed up a little hill just outside the town where there was a tree trunk that somebody had turned into a bench, using an axe. It was still winter, but the midday sun was quite warm. They spread out their overcoats and sat down. Hanna hadn’t prepared anything in advance, but she suddenly had the feeling that now was the time to take Berta into her confidence. She told her everything, and said that she was dreading the task that Forsman had arranged for her. How on earth would she be able to cope with being ship’s cook on a voyage to Australia?
“I wish it had been me he’d asked,” said Berta. “I wouldn’t have hesitated to go.”
“But it’s so far away,” said Hanna, and explained how she had found Australia on the brown globe of the world Forsman had beside his billiard table.
She had been horrified when she discovered that Australia was on the other side of the world.
“I want to stay in Forsman’s house,” she said. “Who will do all my work while I’m away?”
“Is this drudgery really something to aspire to?” said Berta in surprise. “Besides, it’s not really necessary to have an extra maid in this household.”
Berta sounded quite definite in her comments. It was as if she understood what was worrying Hanna—but it could also be that Berta was jealous of her. Hanna had the nasty feeling that Berta might prefer not to have her around.
“It’s up to you to make the decision,” said Berta. “There’s nothing I’d like more for you to stay on here. If for no other reason than you lie still at night. I can’t put up with sharing a bed with somebody who kicks and tosses and turns all night.”
They both burst out laughing, but soon became serious again.
“Talk to Forsman if you are hesitant about it,” said Berta. “He’s the one who has the final say.”
They said no more about the voyage just then. Instead they sat there gazing out over the town and the seemingly endless stretch of white ice beyond the wooded hills. When it became too cold, they stood up and made their way back down the icy path. First Berta slipped, then Hanna. They laughed, then held each other’s hands as they continued down the slope. Hanna was thinking about what saddened her most: that she would lose the friend she had made in Berta.
The following day she plucked up courage and knocked on the door of Forsman’s office. He shouted “Come in,” and raised an eyebrow in surprise when she stepped over the threshold.
“What do you want?”
She remained standing in the doorway. What should she say, in fact?
“Come on in,” he said. “Come to my desk! I’m expecting some men from whom I’m going to buy some timber. Tell me what you want. Are you unwell, or what’s the matter?”
“I’m fine,” said Hanna, curtseying when she spoke to him.
“What is it then? I don’t like you standing here curtseying unnecessarily.”
“I would like to stay here,” she said in a voice so low that Forsman had to lean forward over his desk in order to hear her. “I don’t know what’s in store for me on that ship,” she said. “But here I think I do a good job.”
Forsman leaned back in his desk chair again. His large hands rested heavily on his stomach, where his waistcoat was unbuttoned. He eyed her intently.
“You must go on that voyage. It’s best for you. Believe me.”
He stood up. The interview was over. Hanna curtseyed and hurried out.
It felt as if she were running.
15
The hymn book was similar to the one Forsman had given Elin that day in December the previous year, when the sleigh they had been waiting for finally emerged from the edge of the forest. Now it was time for her to board the ship full-time, it was Hanna’s turn to get one. She had joined the crew, and had signed a contract and an insurance agreement.
By then she had been taught all the things she needed to know by the old cook Mörth, who couldn’t resist groping her but stopped immediately when she thrust his hand away. Then he would wait until the following day before trying again. Even if she disliked the fact that he wouldn’t leave her alone, he really did his best to teach her how to prepare good food for the crew. He urged her to keep track of essential stores, and which of the harbours they visited would be most suitable for restocking. He made a map and drew up a list for her, and she realized that without Mörth she would never have been able to prepare herself properly for the voyage.
Forsman took her to one side after he had presented her with the hymn book. He seemed embarrassed, almost emotional, as if he had been drinking. Which she knew he hadn’t been.
“I hope all goes well for you,” he said. “May God watch over all you do. But I’m also on call if need be, I promise you that.”
Her farewells to the stone-built house and its occupants were short. But Berta and she had made a pact: it was holy, they assured each other, and must not be broken. They had vowed to write to each other until they met again. They had learnt to read and write together, and now it had become clear that there was a purpose behind it all. And if it turned out that Hanna never returned to Sundsvall, at least they would be able to meet in the letters they exchanged.
Forsman accompanied her to the ship. A man in uniform she had never seen before was waiting for them at the top of the gangplank. He was young, barely more than four or five years older than she was. He was wearing a peaked cap and a dark blue tunic, was fair-haired, and stood at ease with a burnt-out pipe in his hand.
Hanna stepped out onto the gangplank. When she arrived on board, the unknown man was waiting for her.
She curtseyed, then regretted it. Why on earth should she curtsey to one of the sailors?
She heard heavy steps behind her. It was Forsman, coming on board with the captain.
“Third Mate Lundmark,” said Captain Svartman. “This is our cook, Hanna Renström. If you look after her well, perhaps you will get some decent food on the voyage.”
Lundmark nodded. His smile made Hanna feel insecure. Why did he look at her so intently?
But now she knew who he was, at least.
There was a light breeze blowing over Sundsvall’s harbour that April day. She closed her eyes and listened to the noise of the wind and the waves. The forest, she thought. The waves sound just like it did up there in the mountains when there was a wind blowing. Irrespective of whether the wind was cold or warm.
She suddenly longed to be with Elin and her brother and sisters. But there was no going back, just now there was only this steamship with its cargo of aromatic, newly sawn planks, about to set off for Australia.
“Lars Johan Jakob Antonius Lundmark,” said a voice right next to her. It was the third mate who had stayed behind while the captain and Forsman headed for Svartman’s cabin. “Lars after my father,” he continued. “Johan after my paternal grandfather, Jakob after my elder brother who died, Antonius after the doctor who once cured my father’s blood poisoning. Do you know who I am now?”
“I’m called Hanna,” she said. “I only have one name. That has always been enough for me.”
She turned on her heel and went to her own cabin. Apart from Captain Svartman, she was the only member of the crew who had a cabin to herself. She sat down on the bunk bed with the hymn book in her hand. When she opened it up, she found two shiny one-krona coins inside.
She went back on deck. The mate was no longer there. She stood by the railing until Forsman emerged from the captain’s cabin.
“Thank you for the money,” she said.
“Money is a good way of helping the word of God to fruition,” said Forsman. “A bit of travel money won’t do you any harm.”
He stroked her awkwardly on the cheek, then left the ship on the gangplank which swayed noticeably under his weight.
The whole ship seemed to lean on one side as it bade farewell to its owner.
16
Nine hours later, on 23 April 1904, the steamship Lovisa weighed anchor and set off for Perth.
The ship sounded a farewell with its foghorn. Hanna stood by the rail aft, not far from her cabin, but had the feeling that she was still standing down there, on the quay.
She had left a part of herself behind. She didn’t know who she now was. The future—uncertain, unknown—would reveal that to her.
She stood behind her cabin, under a projecting roof, and looked down at the swirling foam whipped up by the propeller. Drifting snow, she thought. Now I’m on my way to a world where it never snows, where there are deserts, and the dry sand whirls around in temperatures that are beyond my comprehension.
Suddenly she saw that the mate was standing beside her. Looking back, what she first noticed about him were his fingernails. They were clean and neatly cut, and she recalled how Elin used to sit crouched over her father’s nails, devoting endless effort and tenderness to her efforts to make them neat and clean.
She wondered who cut the third mate’s nails. She understood from something Captain Svartman had said that Lundmark was unmarried. Svartman had also asked her if she had a fiancé waiting for her to return home. When she said she hadn’t, he seemed to be pleased. He had muttered something about preferring that not too many of his crew had close family connections.
“In case anything happens,” he had added. “All the sea offers us is the unexpected.”
Lundmark looked at her with a smile.
“Welcome aboard,” he said.
Hanna looked at him in surprise. It was Forsman speaking. Lundmark had imitated his voice with astonishing accuracy.
“You sound like him,” she said.
“I can if I want to,” said Lundmark. “Even a third mate can have a shipowner’s voice hidden away inside him.”
A distant call from the bridge cut short their conversation. The black smoke from the funnels was sinking down onto the deck. She had to turn away to prevent it from making her eyes hurt.
Hanna had a fifteen-year-old boy by the name of Lars to help her with the preparation of food. He was also sailing for the first time. He was an orphan, and scared stiff. When he shook hands with her, she could feel how he was ready to snatch his hand away from her if she were to squeeze it too tightly.
Captain Svartman had asked for pork and brown beans this first day of the voyage.
“I’m not superstitious,” he’d said, “but my best voyages have always started with my crew being fed with pork and beans. There’s no harm in repeating what has already proved itself to be a good thing.”
In the evening, when she had made all the necessary preparations for the next morning’s breakfast and sent the mess-room boy to bed, she went out on deck. They had now left the archipelago behind them, and were heading southwards. The sun was setting over the forests on the starboard side.
All at once Lundmark appeared by her side again. They stood there together, watching the sun as it slowly vanished.
“Starboard,” he said without warning. “There’s a reason for everything. It’s an odd word, but it means something even so. Star has nothing to do with stars, it comes from ‘steer.’ In the old days a helmsman would stand with a steering oar in the aft of the ship, and he would have it on his right because then he could use his right arm to move it, and a man’s right arm is usually stronger than his left. So the right-hand side was called ‘steerboard,’ and that gradually changed into ‘starboard.’ ”
“What about ‘port’?” she wondered.
Lundmark shook his head.
“I don’t know,”
he said. “But I’ll find out.”
It soon became a habit. Every evening Hanna and the third mate would stand there talking to each other. If it was raining or very windy, they would shelter under the projecting roof of her cabin.
But she never had an answer as to why it was called “port.”
17
This is amazing, she thought. Every morning when I wake up my bed has moved on. I’m in a different place from where I was when I went to sleep.
But something else about her was beginning to change as well. She had started looking forward to her meetings with Lundmark. They talked tentatively about who they were, where they had come from, and she didn’t flinch one evening when he suddenly put his arm round her.
They were in the English Channel at the time, edging slowly forward through a bank of fog that loomed up in front of them like a wall. Foghorns were sounding eerily from various directions. They made her think of a flock of animals that had broken up, and was now trying to reassemble. Captain Svartman was always on the bridge whenever they passed through fog, and he had ordered extra lookouts to stand guard. Occasionally black ships with slack sails or ships with smoking funnels would appear out of all the whiteness and glide past, sometimes far too close, making Svartman shake his head in disapproval and give orders to slow down even more. For two days and two nights they were almost motionless. All accessible lamps and lanterns were kept burning on deck, Hanna found it difficult to sleep and frequently left her cabin, but she was always careful not to get in the way.
The next day Captain Svartman asked Hanna to look for the mess-room boy, who had disappeared. She found him in the food store, hidden away. He was trembling with fear. She comforted him and took him out on deck, where Svartman pressed a lantern into his hand.