Free Between Two Seas by Marie-Louise Jensen Page A

cobbles. There’s a small kitchen area ahead of us, open to the thatch above. It’s very basic, with no floor, just sand. Dirty pans and crockery lie strewn on the surfaces. There’s a strong fish smell. I feel nausea rising in me. I swallow hard, trying not to breathe too deeply. Above the kitchen, there’s an open half-loft full of fishing nets and tools.
    We step up to the right onto a wooden floor and go into the main room of the house. It’s as small as our room in Grimsby. The windows are dirt encrusted.
    There are two double beds built into the end wall. In one lies a woman, seemingly asleep. There’s a smell of sickness in the room. I remember it from when my mother was ill, and it brings a rush of memories with it.
    On my left there is a stove with a cradle pushed under it. A table and chairs stand against the opposite wall. There’s not much else, and I wonder where I will sleep. Hannah is trying to rouse the woman in the bed.
    ‘Lene!’ she is calling, shaking her by the shoulder. After a minute or two, the woman sits up and stares around her. Her gaze is unfocused, even more blank than her daughter’s. She doesn’t seem to listen as Hannah talks to her. She’s telling her my name.
    I don’t notice the baby next to Lene until it wakes up and starts bawling. Its mother ignores it completely, so Hannah picks it up. A look of disgust comes over her face, and she at once lays the screaming bundle down on the floor and begins to unwrap it. I recoil as I see it’s soiled itself, and has obviously been in that state for some time. There is a thick yellow-brown crust on its skin and clothes. I stand by stupidly as Hannah undresses the baby. From time to time, she speaks to me in Danish. She seems to be explaining how to do this. Am I supposed to change it? I’ve never even held one in my life. I look indignantly at the mother, but she’s lying on her back, gazing blankly at the ceiling as though the baby is nothing to do with her.
    ‘ Vand ,’ says Hannah, and points outside. I put down my bag and go outdoors. There is an open well at some distance from the house. It’s right next to the midden heap, and I must pick my way through rubbish, fish innards, and human waste to draw the water.
    It’s revolting. Don’t they have a privy?
    I look around, but I can’t see one.
    I lower the bucket on its rope and half fill it with water, and then take it back into the house so that the baby can be washed. Once it’s clean, its raw, red bottom bound up in a fresh napkin, Hannah pushes and pulls the mother into a sitting position, and helps her put her baby to the breast. I look away, embarrassed. Abruptly, the wails and shrieks give way to sucking and grunting noises.
    Is this where I have to live? Did I come all this way to be surrounded by such squalor and hopelessness? Better by far I had stayed in Grimsby.
    No. I pull myself together, and take a breath of the stinking air.
    This is just for now. Until I can find work or leave Skagen altogether. Meanwhile, no one here knows anything about me. It’s a chance for a new start.

THIRTEEN
     
    I wake up at first light itching all over. When I try to roll over I get an elbow in my back.
    Then I remember.
    I’ve been sleeping in a pull-out bed with three girls. It’s like sleeping in a drawer. The bedding is smelly and as I begin to scratch, I realize I’m covered in bites. Bed bugs. I look at the little girl next to me, asleep and sucking her thumb. She’s incredibly dirty and her hair is crawling with lice. Even in the grey light of dawn, I can see them moving.
    As quietly as I can, I get up, slip on my dress and pick up my shawl. No one stirs. Lene and her husband Søren are sleeping in one double bed, both snoring, the two eldest sons in another. The baby’s asleep in his crib.
    I open the door almost noiselessly and creep out barefoot into the dunes. The sand is damp from last night’s rain, and sticks to the soles of my feet. I decide to explore and