I did not rise again until my tears were done, hanging like a cloud over my head. It was five o’clock. I knew this because hot water was called and there was movement from the berths as people rose to drink their tea. I ran my hands over my face, stumbled to the trestle and sat down, and those I knew from Kay blew on their mugs around me. I looked at their faces and said their names, and no one looked at me, no one responded.
I heard someone mention my mother. They were worried about her, they said. I turned and saw Magdalena rise from the bench, saw Elize Geschke pass her a cup. I followed Magdalena as she made her way to my parents’ bunk, hopeful uncertainty filling my stomach. Surely, they would recognise me. Surely, if I spoke their names again and again, they would eventually hear my voice.
Mama was on her side, curled around Hermine, who slept against her stomach, mouth open and cheeks red. My mother’s eyes were closed.
‘Johanne?’ Magdalena peered inside the bunk. ‘Johanne, would you like some tea? There is sugar in it.’
Mama stirred, attempted a smile. ‘No, thank you. I’m resting now.’
Magdalena perched uneasily on the side of the bed. ‘It’s been three days. I know you’re not drinking enough.’
Mama did not respond.
‘I’m not leaving until you drink this tea, Johanne.’
Mama rose onto her elbow then and reached for the tea. She took a small sip and winced.
‘Too hot?’
‘Very sweet.’
‘You need the strength.’ Magdalena watched Mama with careful eyes. ‘All of it.’
I watched Mama drink, her hand held beneath her chin as the liquid spilled. Hermine’s face pulled in waking distress, contorting in the silent beginning of a wail. Mama passed the mug back and lay down again.
‘Are you going to feed her?’ asked Magdalena, nodding at my sister.
‘Give her to that woman from Klemzig.’
‘Johanne, you need to feed your daughter. Come, now.’ I had never heard Magdalena speak so softly, and I realised that she loved my mother. She was trying to be gentle.
‘I will feed her soon. I’m just . . .’ Mama placed a hand over her face. ‘I’m just so tired.’
‘Shall I get Heinrich?’
‘No, no. He’s with the captain. Trying to sort out all this arguing. All this . . .’ She waved her fingers in the air. ‘This trouble with the doctor.’
I stepped closer. ‘Mama? Can you hear me?’ My voice sounded small.
Hermine was crying loudly now. People were turning from the trestle to look. I saw them glance at one another.
‘Well, then,’ Magdalena said, and she set the mug on the floor and picked up my sister. I moved out of the way as she stood, hoisting Hermine on her hip. ‘There now, little one. We’ll get you fed.’
‘Thank you.’ Mama spoke from under her hand.
‘Rest, then,’ said Magdalena. ‘If that is what you need. Sleep some. God be with you.’
Hermine’s wailing tapered off as Magdalena bustled down the rows of berths and passed her to a ruddy-faced young woman with light-brown hair. I did not recognise her. The woman looked surprised and then, as Magdalena gestured in Mama’s direction, sympathetic. She untied her blouse and set Hermine to her breast. I could see her own baby’s chubby leg hanging over the edge of her berth in sleep.
‘Mama?’ I sat down where Magdalena had been and placed a hand on my mother’s shoulder. I could feel her body lift and fall in breath. ‘Mama. I’m here. It’s Hanne.’
She did not respond.
‘Mama?’ My voice strained. ‘Please. I’m here, Mama. Look at me!’ She did not move. I was as air to her.
Anguish made my mind roil so that I could not grasp any single thought, could not think clearly. I returned to the bow. I did not know where else to go.
Anna Maria was asleep in Ottilie’s bunk, knees folded into her stomach, mouth open in exhaustion. I climbed in with Thea and eased myself under the blankets.
She stirred, lips moving. ‘Stay.’
I sat up, not trusting that I had heard her speak. ‘Thea? Are you awake?’
Her eyes were closed.
‘What did you say?’ I asked.
‘Stay.’
Relief lifted in me. I did not imagine it. She knew I was there. ‘Thea,’ I whispered. ‘Thea, Thea!’ I drew close to her and remained still, until all I could hear was her heart. I stayed there until I could feel the vibration of that dark pump in my chest, until I could imagine that her heartbeat was my own, and then I kissed her forehead. I did not care who might see me; I kissed her for my own comfort. To keep my own fear at bay.
I remained by Thea’s side for the next three days, waiting for her to speak to me again in her sleep. But she did nothing to show she felt me there, and I worried that I had imagined her voice. Anna Maria came every morning and night and wafted burning juniper over her daughter, and each time she studied the corner of the berth as I moved my hands through the smoke, trying to make it curl around my fingers.
‘Anna Maria,’ I whispered. ‘It’s Hanne.’
But she did not speak to me, only waved the juniper in my direction with an uncertain look.
I kept waiting to wake from my exile. I kept waiting for Thea to wake. I resumed life as I had lived it before my sickness, and for the next week I followed the grooves worn down by my earlier self and did as I had always done, ignoring all that was strange because to face it would have been unbearable. I was not ready to ask myself why everything had changed. When the other women in the bow woke and prepared themselves for morning services, I followed them above deck and joined my voice to the prayers. I sat down to breakfast and served myself when no one else served me, and although I could see the gruel at the end of my spoon it was like eating shadow. I tasted nothing. I washed my face and braided my hair and tidied my person. I did not know how else to behave; I did not know how else to be. I prayed all the time; my knees became bruised with supplication.
I distracted myself by watching over Thea. I willed her better. I left Anna Maria to bathe her and dribble liquid in the corners of her mouth, but every night I held her as she slept. I kept her in constant sight, in constant thought, and convinced myself that I was healing her through will and prayer alone. Thea slept the body of each hour, but with each passing day the fever weakened. The strength returned to her limbs. She started to make hoarse requests of her mother.
Water.
Always water.
I listened to Anna Maria tell news of the ship to her sleeping daughter. There were daily quarrels about the food, about too much being prepared, or too little. A wind had blown a fine reddish dust across the ship and it had stained the sails brown. The dust was from the deserts of east Africa. Friedrich had gathered some from a pile that had collected at the base of the hatches. Here – here was a vial full of it.
I watched the Wend turn it in her hands. I was lying next to Thea, sharing her pillow.
‘Show me.’
I turned. Thea’s eyes were open. She was looking at her mother.
Anna Maria startled. ‘Thea?’
‘Can I see it?’
My heart soared. I lifted myself onto my elbow, leaned over her. Please see me, I thought. Please. Please. I know you, of all people, see me.
‘How do you feel?’ Her mother was fighting tears.
Thea attempted a smile. ‘Better. Can I see it?’
Anna Maria closed her eyes, bending her head low until her face was hidden from sight. Her headdress shook.