oar.
He undoes his shoe, feels his aching toes, and rubs them gently with his fingers. They might be broken.
Around him the last of the blocks are unloaded from the boat, and the loaders jump over the gunwale to finish sorting them out down in the hold.
Johan Almqvist follows them. Nils stays in the boat with the little boy who was bailing.
“Kant!” LassJan is up above him, leaning over the gunwale.
‘Get up here and give us a hand!”
m
“I’m injured,” says Nils, surprised at how calm he sounds, when in fact an entire squadron of bombers is screaming into action like furious bees inside his head. Equally calmly, he places his hand on his oar. “I’ve broken my toes.”
“Get up.”
Nils gets up. It doesn’t actually hurt all that much, and Lass Jan shakes his head at him.
“Get up here and start loading, Kant.”
Nils shakes his head again, his hand closing around the oar.
The bombs are falling now, whistling through the air inside him.
He undoes the oarlock and lifts the oar a fraction.
He swings it slowly backwards.
“Broken his toes …” Another of the loaders, a stubby broad shouldered lad whose name Nils can’t remember, is leaning over the gunwale next to LassJan. “Better run off home to Mummy, then!” he says scornfully.
“I’ll take care of this,” says the foreman, turning his head toward the loader.
This is a mistake. LassJan never sees Nils’s oar come swinging through the air.
The broad blade of the oar hits the back of his head. LassJan utters a long, drawnout “Hooooh,” and his knees give way.
“I own you!” yells Nils.
He balances with one foot on the side of the boat, and swings the oar again. This time he hits the foreman across the back, and watches him fall over the gunwale like a sack of flour.
“Bloody hell!” shouts someone on board the cargo ship, then there’s a loud splash as LassJan falls backwards into the water between the rowboat and the hull of the cargo ship.
Shouts echo from the shore, but Nils takes no notice of them.
He’s going to kill LassJan! He raises the oar, smashes it down into the water, and hits LassJan’s outstretched hands. The fingers shatter with a dry crack, his head jerks backwards, and he disappears beneath the surface of the water.
Nils brings the oar down again. LassJan’s body sinks in an eddy of swirling white bubbles. Nils raises the oar with the intention of continuing to hit him.
Something whizzes past Nils’s ear and hits his left hand; the fingers crunch even before the pain almost numbs his hand. Nils wobbles and is no longer able to hold the oar; he drops it into the boat.
He closes his eyes tightly, then looks up. The loader who was making fun of him is standing up by the gunwale with a long boathook in his hand. His eyes are fixed on Nils, terrified but resolute.
The loader draws the boathook back toward him and lifts it again, but by this time Nils has managed to push off from the hull of the ship with his oar, and is on his way back to the shore. He leaves the loaders on the ship and LassJan on his way to the bottom of the sea, and fixes the portside oar back in the oarlock.
Then he rows straight for the shore, the broken fingers of his left hand throbbing and aching. The little boy who does the bailing is crouching in the prow like a trembling figurehead.
“Get him out of there!” someone shouts behind him.
He hears the sound of splashing and shouting from the cargo ship across the water as LassJan’s limp body is hauled over Wind’s gunwale. The foreman is lifted to safety, the water is forced out of his body, and he is shaken back to life. He’s been luckyhe can’t swim. Nils is one of the few in the village who can.
Nils has his gaze fixed much further away, on the straight line of the horizon. The sun has found gaps in the cloud cover over there, and is shining down on the water, making it gleam like a floor made of silver.
Everything feels fine now, despite the pain in his left
He undoes his shoe, feels his aching toes, and rubs them gently with his fingers. They might be broken.
Around him the last of the blocks are unloaded from the boat, and the loaders jump over the gunwale to finish sorting them out down in the hold.
Johan Almqvist follows them. Nils stays in the boat with the little boy who was bailing.
“Kant!” LassJan is up above him, leaning over the gunwale.
‘Get up here and give us a hand!”
m
“I’m injured,” says Nils, surprised at how calm he sounds, when in fact an entire squadron of bombers is screaming into action like furious bees inside his head. Equally calmly, he places his hand on his oar. “I’ve broken my toes.”
“Get up.”
Nils gets up. It doesn’t actually hurt all that much, and Lass Jan shakes his head at him.
“Get up here and start loading, Kant.”
Nils shakes his head again, his hand closing around the oar.
The bombs are falling now, whistling through the air inside him.
He undoes the oarlock and lifts the oar a fraction.
He swings it slowly backwards.
“Broken his toes …” Another of the loaders, a stubby broad shouldered lad whose name Nils can’t remember, is leaning over the gunwale next to LassJan. “Better run off home to Mummy, then!” he says scornfully.
“I’ll take care of this,” says the foreman, turning his head toward the loader.
This is a mistake. LassJan never sees Nils’s oar come swinging through the air.
The broad blade of the oar hits the back of his head. LassJan utters a long, drawnout “Hooooh,” and his knees give way.
“I own you!” yells Nils.
He balances with one foot on the side of the boat, and swings the oar again. This time he hits the foreman across the back, and watches him fall over the gunwale like a sack of flour.
“Bloody hell!” shouts someone on board the cargo ship, then there’s a loud splash as LassJan falls backwards into the water between the rowboat and the hull of the cargo ship.
Shouts echo from the shore, but Nils takes no notice of them.
He’s going to kill LassJan! He raises the oar, smashes it down into the water, and hits LassJan’s outstretched hands. The fingers shatter with a dry crack, his head jerks backwards, and he disappears beneath the surface of the water.
Nils brings the oar down again. LassJan’s body sinks in an eddy of swirling white bubbles. Nils raises the oar with the intention of continuing to hit him.
Something whizzes past Nils’s ear and hits his left hand; the fingers crunch even before the pain almost numbs his hand. Nils wobbles and is no longer able to hold the oar; he drops it into the boat.
He closes his eyes tightly, then looks up. The loader who was making fun of him is standing up by the gunwale with a long boathook in his hand. His eyes are fixed on Nils, terrified but resolute.
The loader draws the boathook back toward him and lifts it again, but by this time Nils has managed to push off from the hull of the ship with his oar, and is on his way back to the shore. He leaves the loaders on the ship and LassJan on his way to the bottom of the sea, and fixes the portside oar back in the oarlock.
Then he rows straight for the shore, the broken fingers of his left hand throbbing and aching. The little boy who does the bailing is crouching in the prow like a trembling figurehead.
“Get him out of there!” someone shouts behind him.
He hears the sound of splashing and shouting from the cargo ship across the water as LassJan’s limp body is hauled over Wind’s gunwale. The foreman is lifted to safety, the water is forced out of his body, and he is shaken back to life. He’s been luckyhe can’t swim. Nils is one of the few in the village who can.
Nils has his gaze fixed much further away, on the straight line of the horizon. The sun has found gaps in the cloud cover over there, and is shining down on the water, making it gleam like a floor made of silver.
Everything feels fine now, despite the pain in his left
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