The Blue Ice

'Three whales a day!' Curtis said. 'But that never happens, surely. You've only three catchers.'

'Oh, not early in the season,' Kiel land answered. 'But later the whale comes south. In September we may be catching them just off the islands. Then quite often we have all three catchers in day after day. It is hard work. But we do not mind. It is good money for everyone then.'

We crossed the deck and went into the packing sheds. Whilst Kielland was talking to the others, I strolled through on to the quay. And then I stopped. Captain Nordahl's Hval To was lying there, but there was no sign of Hval Ti. I turned back. 'Kielland,' I called. 'Where's Lovaas's boat?'

He turned, a large hunk of whale beef in his hand. 'Hval 'I'll He should be there.'

'It's not there,' I told him. 'Has Lovaas gone back to the whaling grounds, do you think?'

But he shook his head. 'No. He has to have water and fuel. Perhaps he has gone to Bovaagen.' His eyes creased to a twinkle. 'He has a girl at Bovaagen. And the mate has his wife staying at the Skjaergaardshotelet. Most of his men have a woman of some sort there. I think you will find he has gone to Bovaagen. He has more whale than the other boats. He is in no hurry. Also it is no good out in the Norskehavet now — Hval Fern reports bad fog. Now look at this, Mr Gansert. What do you think of this for meat, eh?' He held the slab of red meat out to me. It looked like real beef. 'Not all of the whale is like this, you know,' he went on. The meat is all graded. This is the best. This will go to Bergen or Newcastle for the restaurants. Then there is other meat which goes to make sausages. The worst meat goes for the foxes. We have big fox farms here in Norway.' He tossed the piece of beef back on to one of the packing shed shelves and glanced at his watch. 'Now we go up to the house, eh? There is the radio at four and then, after, we have tea — just a cup, but it is very good because my wife always insists on a little drink with it.' He chuckled and patted my arm as he led the way back across the flensing deck.

I was in a hurry to get back. I wanted to see Sunde. Mrs Kielland was alone in the sitting-room. She put her knitting down as she rose to greet us. 'Well, has Albert shown you everything?' She took hold of Jill's hand. 'You poor dear. I think you are very brave. The smell is something you have to get used to. But did you see the meat?' Jill nodded. I think she was quite exhausted with whale. 'What did you think? Is it good? Is it like your ox beef, eh?'

'Yes. Very.' Jill folded up quietly into a chair.

'Where's the diver?' I asked.

Mrs Kielland turned. 'Mr Sunde? That is very strange. I have not seen him since middag.'

'Probably he has gone to Bovaagen to help his partner with that equipment,' Kielland said.

'Ah yes,' his wife agreed. 'That is it. I'm sure that is what he will have done. Why? Did you wish to speak with him?'

'Yes,' I said. 'I–I wanted to know more about his diving methods. If you'll excuse me, I'll just take a stroll round and see if he's about.' I nodded to Curtis and he followed me out.

'He wouldn't have gone to Bovaagen surely,' he said as we closed the door. 'Not with Lovaas there.'

'He might have gone first and Lovaas followed,' I answered. 'We'll just see if he's on the station.'

Curtis, who knew quite a bit of Norwegian from his service in the country, questioned everyone we met. But the only person who seemed to have seen anything of Sunde since the midday meal was the steward. He'd seen him going down behind the station towards the cutting where the sea swept in. We walked down to it across the bare rock. The sun was slanting behind the iron chimneys of the station and the rock was a warm, golden colour. We reached the cutting. It was narrow and the sea ran out through it fast as the tide fell. We crossed a bridge and continued on. Men's boots had blazed a trail through the years that led like a white path to the crest of a jagged shoulder of rock. From the top we could see the white spire of Bovaagen church standing like a bright spearhead against the pale, burnished blue of the sky. And in a little backwater to our left a rowing boat lay tied to a rock. It was the sort of boat you find everywhere in Norway — a development of the coracle, pinched out to a point at bow and stern, a miniature Viking's craft that had survived down the ages even to its fixed wooden rowlocks. From a neighbouring rock, a length of rope trailed in the greasy water.

'Perhaps there was another boat there,' Curtis suggested. 'He may have rowed down to Bovaagen.'

'Possible,' I said.

'Or he may have walked,' Curtis added, gazing towards the little wooden church on the distant hill. 'It can't be so very far if the men walk it every day.'

'Far enough,' I said. 'Anyway, their houses are probably this side of the village. Come on. We'll take Diviner down there.'

We turned back then and walked towards the sun. As we crossed the wooden bridge that spanned the cutting, we met some of the men starting home. They were a small, dark lot with dirty clothes and almost every one of them carried a dripping hunk of red meat. They smiled at us in a quiet, friendly way and said, 'God dag,' as they passed. Curtis spoke with one or two. Most of them had houses much nearer than Bovaagen. 'Bovaagen they said, was over an hour's hard walking.

We got back to the Kiellands' in time for tea and a drink. Immediately afterwards we excused ourselves and went down to the ship. As we walked through the almost deserted station, Jill said to me, 'If we don't find Mr Sunde at Bovaagen, we might try Nordhanger.'

'Einar Sandven's cottage?' I asked.

She nodded. 'There's a road to Nordhanger from Bovaagen.'

As we passed through the dark cavern of the packing sheds, a ship's siren reverberated through the low island hills. I stopped, listening to the sound of it dying away. Then it came again, a deep, hollow sound. Curtis, who was ahead, ran out on to the quay. Then he turned and called to us. 'It's Lovaas,' he shouted. 'He's coming in.'

The slanting sunlight sprawled the shadow of Hval To across the quay. Curtis was pointing across the catcher's bow with its deadly harpoon gun. Through the gap between the islands steamed another catcher. Its siren-puff of steam still hung like a white wreath astern of it. Across the still water came the sound of the engine-room telegraph. The catcher began to swing as it manoeuvred in to the quay. The golden sunlight caught the side of the bridge. HVAL 10. 'Come on,' I said to the others. 'We mustn't appear too interested.'

We went on along the quay, past the pile of fifty-kilo cases of whale meat awaiting dispatch, past Hval 2, whose men were all on deck watching Lovaas come in, until we came to Diviner. Her deck was deserted. The varnish of her bare masts shone warm in the slanting sun. We climbed aboard and went below. Dahler was sitting alone in the saloon. 'Where's Carter and Wilson?' I asked him.

They have gone to look over Hval To, and to have a little drink, I think.' He smiled. A bottle of whisky and a half full tumbler stood at his elbow. 'I am glad you have returned. It is very dull down below here. But I do not wish to look at the factory.' He reached for the bottle. 'Have a drink,' he said. 'Everybody come an' have a drink.' He suddenly crashed the bottle down on to the table top. 'I do not wish to look at the factory, I tell you.' He pushed the bottle quickly away and raised his withered arm. 'Why you bring me here, eh?' he demanded of me. 'Why did you bring me here? Was it to torture me? Do you think I like to be here — marooned in your damned yacht — knowing that if I go up on deck I shall be face to face with the factory — my factory. Ever since you went to lunch with Kielland I have been down here. And I have been thinking. I have been thinking about the ships I owned and the tankers — and Knut Jorgensen.' He slammed his claw-like hand down on to the table top with a violence that shook the room. 'I do not like to think about such things,' he cried. His voice was slurred and hysterical. 'It is not good to think about them.' He stopped and his eyes narrowed cunningly. He leaned towards me. 'What would you do in my position, eh?' And suddenly violent again, he shouted. 'You'd do what I'm going to do. There is no justice — no God. I have lived through two wars. I have seen evil flourish and the good have been mown down. I tell you — there — is — no — justice.' Then, speaking faster, so that the saliva was visible at the corners of his mouth: 'But I will make my own justice. I will fight them with their own weapons, do you understand?'