Free The Discoverer by Jan Kjaerstad Page B

or no, she didn’t smile: she smirked. He felt such an idiot. He was on the point of collapse. She, on the other hand, still had her captain’s cap firmly on her head and was in complete command of the situation ; she loved this, Jonas could tell, enjoyed having control over tremendous forces, exploiting tremendous forces, the air, the water, because she was not sailing the boat, she was sailing the wind and the waves. Just as she was sailing his thoughts.
    If, that was, she wasn’t stark, raving mad. Because things were moving far too fast; he was scared, truly terrified. She was the sort of woman who was quite liable to live her life according to that old chestnut from Ibsen: ‘And what if I did run my ship aground; oh, still it was splendid to sail it!’ The sea was black, dark edged in white. It had been a big mistake coming out with her. She looked as if she was quite capable of hoisting the spinnaker. And more: Jonas had the impression that she was planning to make love to him as resolutely and passionately as she sailed her boat through the storm. The water seethed, the storm thundered all around him. From time to time he heard a crack from the sail, it made him jump, he thought disaster had struck. He was sure his heart leapt into his mouth each time the boat slammed down into the trough of a wave, its joints creaking and rigging groaning; he had never been quite so literally caught between wind and water.
    Despite being so afraid he could not rid himself of the thought that there was something epic, something mythic, about this voyage. He had the feeling that he was on a quest, that there was something he had to do, something he had to bring back: a golden fleece, a vital ice sample from one of the rings of Saturn. Or that this odyssey was a kind of training, a tempering process. And when he was most terrified, just when he had told himself: that’s it, we’re sunk, she would lean forward and kiss him, a hard, wet, salty kiss, more of a suck than a kiss, while at the same time, outwith the kiss, as it were, keeping an eye on the waves. And always with a sly grin hovering around her lips, as if this gruelling crossing was no more than a harebrained bit of teasing.
    It should be said, though, that even Julie’s face eventually began to show signs of worry. The wind must have grown even stronger. ‘We’ll have to shorten sail!’ she suddenly yelled, as if their lives depended on it. She bent down to Jonas, put her lips close to his ear and told him what to do, so clearly and precisely that he realised this was a very risky manoeuvre. ‘Slacken the main sail halyard when I turn into the eye of the wind,’ she shrieked, giving him a nudge which bordered on being a kick. He was scared out of his wits, more or less crawled across the deck to the mast, praying to God. The water churned around his feet. She turned into the wind. ‘Move it, dummy! Loosen the line round the starboard cleat! And watch out for the corner of the jib!’ she yelled as he fumbled about. The sails were flapping wildly, cracking like whips, frightening him so badly that he was almost shitting himself. At last, though, he managed to carry out her order. ‘Make fast the luff cringle. Christ, you’re slow!’ He could hardly hear what she was saying. He spotted the eyelets on the sail, grasped what she wanted him to do, slipped the eyelet over the hook. Even this simple action sent his mind off down another track entirely, so much so that, terrified though he was, he could not help wondering whatmight happen later, if they survived. She would make him flap and crack just like those sails. Or no: she would sail him until his timbers rent. ‘Come here!’ she bellowed as she tightened the reef line on the after end of the boom. He managed to scramble back down into the well, totally done in, ripe for a rest home. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ she said. ‘You look as though you’d seen Old Neptune himself.’
    The sail was well set, she