The gloom of the past days had disappeared. Antarctica felt almost friendly, Mathilde thought, as they weaved through the icebergs. Reflecting the sky and the ice, the water was benign blue and white instead of the inky black it had been near the factory ships. The air was so warm that the passengers had gathered on the catwalk in the morning sunshine instead of on the bridge to look out for the second factory ship, Thorshammer.
Mathilde stationed herself upwind from Hjalmar and closed her eyes. The smell of his pipe had made her want to gag. She’d never heard that cigarettes could make one ill the way alcohol did, but she felt as if poison was running through her veins. Ingrid looked pale too, while Mathilde could swear that Lillemor looked better than usual, as though she thrived on the things.
The men bantered with each other cheerfully, shielding their eyes and looking ahead, trying to be the first to spot their destination. Mathilde squinted at the brightness around her and glanced over at Hjalmar. He seemed a different person away from the miasma of the factory ship, standing bareheaded in the sun, puffing on his pipe and looking around in pleasure. He had a strong jaw, just right for holding a pipe in his mouth, and his hat was on a jaunty angle.
Mathilde half thought she had dreamed the previous night’s conversation. If she remembered correctly, thanks to Lillemor’s pushing, her half-formed thought of an affair with Hjalmar had been discussed as though it was a real possibility. But the idea now felt distant with the advent of morning and sobriety. She wouldn’t really have an affair with him, she wouldn’t know how, but the sense that it was possible left her invigorated.
She’d considered sleeping with him so he’d take her on Norvegia and away from the factories, but she knew, sneaking a glance at him, that it was more than that. She liked him. She chided herself for being such a simple woman that the mere thought of an affair could wipe out the horror of the factory ship.
It would be better not to get further involved with a man as charming and likeable as Hjalmar. Surely she could cope? They’d finished with one factory ship and had two more to go. Away from the stink, the memory of it was losing its potency.
‘Not one but two sunny days,’ Hjalmar said, smiling. ‘Make the most of it, ladies.’
Mathilde smiled wanly.
‘There she is!’ Nils, with his keen eye, pointed to a dark smudge in the ice.
As the men looked in the direction he was pointing, Ingrid gave Mathilde a rueful glance and squeezed her arm. ‘Are you all right?’ she mouthed.
Mathilde rolled her eyes. ‘I wish it wasn’t so bright,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, come on!’ Lillemor, of course, had overheard and she stepped in between them and linked arms with both. ‘You should have both had a big cooked breakfast.’
‘I wish you’d told us the cure beforehand,’ Mathilde said.
The three of them laughed. The capering for Discovery and their frank talk the previous night seemed to have altered something between them, Mathilde realised. She’d needed the chance to drink alcohol and laugh, even if the evening had ended rather strangely. Now, at least until the next factory ship, she could enjoy the sight of the icebergs in the sun and the way the water sparkled and how pleasantly cold and fresh the air was on her face. Perhaps she’d be able to forget the sight of the flensed whale, hanging high.
She stepped forward with Lillemor and Ingrid to join the men at the railing. The breeze of their motion was fresh and smelled of ice and brine. The sun turned the water a deep royal blue and the sky was azure at its zenith, lightening at the horizon.
Thorshammer took shape in front of them and as they drew nearer, Mathilde’s nose wrinkled with the first hint of the smell, the same as it had been at Solglimt. The factory ship was lying quietly. There were no whales on the flensing deck and no catchers to be seen. Horntvedt blew a welcoming blast on the ship’s horn that made them all jump and Mathilde could see the crew gathering on Thorshammer’s deck to greet them. She glanced again at Hjalmar. He was staring intently out to the port side.
‘What are you looking at?’ Ingrid asked him.
He turned quickly. ‘Ah, Mrs Christensen. Just that big iceberg. I think there may be a seal on it.’
Mathilde peered in the direction he was pointing, but could see no sign of a seal. His voice sounded oddly formal. He and Ingrid didn’t seem to banter in the way they had earlier in the trip, she thought.
‘Lars says you have a better chance of finding land near here,’ Ingrid said.
‘Some of the catchers have reported shallower depth soundings than any we’ve taken,’ he replied. ‘I hope we’ll find land close enough to take you ladies ashore.’
His expression had become bland. From below on the deck came a shout and they all looked down. Several of the ship’s crew had come out to see Thorshammer and one of them was pointing out to the port side.
‘Ah,’ said Lars. ‘There’s a little humpback, I think.’
Mathilde’s heart sank as she realised what it was Hjalmar had been looking at. Against the glassy surface of the sea it was easy to see the whale’s back break through and its breath blast high, hanging in a mist on the air. Next to it, a second whale rose and spouted. A few moments later a tail emerged from the water and crashed down, sending spray in all directions. Raised voices came from the deck below them; an argument over who had spotted the whales first and could thereby claim a tip if a gunner eventually shot it. Mathilde looked down to see a couple of sly punches thrown, but the men were quickly pulled apart by the rest of the crew.
‘I heard a lot about the humpbacks on the catcher,’ Lars said. ‘They’re much smaller, so the gunners don’t favour them, but they’re often to be found when there aren’t any blues around. They’re quite friendly, apparently.’
The whales surfaced again, closer now, and one rolled slowly to its side, lifting an absurdly long, slender pectoral fin and slapping the water. The crew over on the factory ship started pointing too. The underside of the dark fin was white. Beside it, a strange black shape emerged from the water and Mathilde realised it was the other whale’s head, as it manoeuvred upright on its tail. She could make out the barnacles on its skin, mottled white and grey.
‘Do you think it can see us?’ Mathilde asked.
‘Of course,’ Hjalmar said, and she could hear the tension in his voice.
Another shattering blast issued from Thorshavn’s horn and the whale lowered itself below the surface. Mathilde expected the noise would send them fleeing, but moments later both whales blew again, apparently unconcerned.
Thorshavn’s engines went into reverse as it came close to Thorshammer. There were no dead whales to buffer the two ships and Horntvedt was leaving plenty of room to spare.
‘Here comes the catcher,’ Lars said.
Mathilde gripped the railing. The engines of the two big ships idled while the catcher came steaming in, dragging its haul of five blues by their tails. From both Thorshavn and Thorshammer came raised voices and gesticulations in the direction of the two whales, which continued to play off the stern.
‘Will they try for the humpbacks?’ Lillemor asked eagerly.
Mathilde watched the whales with a fixed gaze, praying they would flee.
‘Which one is it?’ Lars said, shading his eyes as the catch was offloaded. ‘Ah, it’s Torlyn. Andersen’s boat. He won’t pass up such an easy kill.’
‘Why don’t you have a go at this one?’ Hjalmar said and Mathilde turned to him in astonishment. ‘It looks like an easier shot than your last one.’
Lars laughed. ‘Indeed.’
‘Did you shoot a whale?’ Ingrid asked him.
‘Tried to,’ Lars said. ‘It’s a damn sight harder than it looks. You’ve got to aim exactly at the waterline as the whale starts to go down. Mine went too high by a mile. The gunner was kind enough to say anyone who hits a whale the first time is just lucky.’
‘So why don’t you try again?’ Hjalmar said. ‘The catcher’s just here. It’s only a humpback.’
Mathilde stared at him, perplexed. He refused to meet her eyes. She turned to Lars, who was scanning the decks below. All of the factory ship’s crew, and Thorshavn’s own, were on deck, some three hundred men who’d be watching keenly. Suddenly she thought she understood. Lars was far less likely to succeed than an experienced gunner like Andersen. Hjalmar wanted the humpbacks to escape too.
‘What about you, Lillemor?’ Mathilde said desperately. ‘I thought you wanted to have a turn?’
Lillemor laughed. ‘I’d like a few practice shots before I try in front of an audience. But I’d love to see how they do it. Here they come.’
The catcher chugged around the edge of Thorshavn’s bulk, swinging past the bow and emerging into clear water. The humpbacks surfaced and blew lazily, unaware of the danger. There was no escape now, Mathilde thought. She watched the narrowing distance between the catcher and the round patch of clear water marking where the whales had dived. Both the large ships had cut their engines, and the only sound was the throb of the catcher, pumping black smoke from its funnel as it crept forward. The gunner stood by the harpoon gun at the prow, its pointed tip clearly visible, the line attaching it to the boat coiled in precise loops at his feet. On Thorshavn’s deck below them the men watched in eager silence, leaning over the railing. The crew of the fuel tanker had few such excitements.
Mathilde’s hangover expanded and blossomed, and the pressure behind her eyes increased. She felt Ingrid’s hand on her arm.
‘Don’t turn away,’ Ingrid said, close to her ear. ‘All these people will think Lars was wrong to bring us down here.’
The catcher slowed to a halt. Not a voice spoke as they strained to see where the whales might rise. Then Mathilde heard an incongruous sound above the ticking of the idling engine. At first she couldn’t make it out.
‘I’ve heard of this trick,’ Lars said.
On the back of the catcher, one of the crewmen crouched close to the waterline, his arms around something. As a plaintive sound travelled across the water to them, Mathilde realised he was playing an accordion. She recognised the haunting refrain of ‘Gjendine’s Lullaby’, the song that Norwegian mothers sang to put their children to sleep.
That they could use such a song to lure the whales to their deaths!
She didn’t make the decision consciously; her body reacted on its own. Her mouth opened and the sound emerged. Her voice, silent for so long, had returned.
At first her singing was soft, a plea. The men below looked up with astonished faces, and over on the catcher the accordion player leaned closer to the water, drawing out his notes and playing louder. By itself, her voice rose too, louder than the song needed or demanded, loud enough to be a warning, an entreaty to the whales to swim far and fast, to ignore this spell.
Like two great fists punching up out of the water, both whales broke through the surface with explosive breaths. There was a terrible pause. The whales arched their backs to dive and the crack of the harpoon gun shattered the air.
The accordion player broke off and Mathilde’s voice trailed away. The whales dived down, their backbones arching, the vertebrae rippling. Down, down, but too slowly. The rope whistled as it uncoiled, the harpoon flew true. It struck with a concussive thud that made Mathilde gasp. Ingrid put her hand over Mathilde’s on the railing and squeezed, in comfort or warning, she didn’t know.
The line pulled taut as the whale dived. A second, deeper thud signalled that the harpoon head had exploded inside its body. The line went slack and then the whale surfaced. The catcher went hard into reverse, dragging the creature backwards, pulling the line tight as the whale thrashed and the water began to run red. The gunner was loading another harpoon.
‘A bit low, I think,’ Lars said. ‘If the harpoon goes off in the lungs, it should kill the whale almost at once.’
The whale’s tail rose in the air and came down in a sickening blow, crashing on the water. A red spray spouted from its blowhole, forming an eerie mist. Mathilde gripped the railing, the only thing holding her upright. Until this moment she’d thought the hanging whale on Solglimt would be the most monstrous sight of the trip. But at least that creature had been already dead.
The gunner fired the second harpoon. The blow was more sickening this time now that Mathilde knew what was coming and she gasped aloud, feeling a sharp pain in her own entrails. The whale lunged against the two lines pinning it and made a terrible sound, a mixture of groan and shriek. It heaved back and forth, lay motionless for a moment, then shuddered violently, gave a final red spray from its blowhole and was still.
Thorshavn’s crew began yelling like madmen, jumping and shaking their fists. Lars smiled down at them.
Mathilde felt far removed from the scene before her. The bloody water, the catcher coming up to the carcass of the whale and beginning to pump its belly with air so the pleats expanded and distended in a grotesque balloon of flesh. She’d tried to warn the whales off, but failed, and now she was trapped in the middle of this crowd, mad with bloodlust. Norwegians had always been hunters, but she’d thought of it as an unpleasant necessity and presumed others did too. She’d been wrong. There was a fierce, violent joy in the kill that she could never share.
Once the dead whale was secure and inflated, the gunner waved in their direction.
‘Give him a wave!’ Lars said. ‘A job well done, and not easy with an audience.’
Ingrid’s grip tightened and she prised Mathilde’s hand free of the railing and raised both their arms. Mathilde was trapped in the forced gesture, but she refused to smile.
‘Will they go for the second one too?’ Nils asked.
‘They say a male won’t leave a female, even if she’s dead, but a female will leave a dead male, so it depends which one they got,’ Lars said.
Mathilde freed her hand from Ingrid’s grasp. Hjalmar was scanning the horizon and she saw his face relax.
‘I expect the other is far away now,’ Ingrid said.
‘I expect so,’ Hjalmar answered, and pulled his pipe from his mouth. It had gone out.
‘Well,’ Lars said, looking around at them. ‘That was a bit of excitement. Let’s have a drink with Thorshammer’s captain, shall we? He’s just preparing to come on board. Ladies, after you.’
Lillemor stood back to let Mathilde go past first. Below their feet was some scattered clapping.
‘They like your singing,’ Lillemor said to her.
To Mathilde’s horror she realised the applause was for her.