Safe from the Sea (11 page)

“I’ll tell you what,” Olaf continued, “the look on the faces of those kids said as much as anything about the shape we were in. We’d been at it for years, right? Jan and myself and Joe? But these kids were just starting out, just finishing their first season. It was the first big blow any of them had seen. When Jan told them to put on their life vests and they took turns looking out the window into that wildness, Jesus, you’d’ve thought he was sending them right to hell.”

“But he didn’t send them, did he?”

“Goddamn,” Olaf said. “I sure as hell didn’t want him to. I thought it was a suicide mission.”

“But
you
had to cross it.”

“I did, later. But it was different when he asked me to go because I expected to. I was used to those responsibilities. These boys just wanted to go to bed. As it turned out, not sending them cost them any chance they might have had.” Here his voice trailed off again. Noah could practically see the parade of crewmates passing through his father’s memory.

“Anyway, Danny finally called, and Jan lit into him like I’d never seen. ‘Goddamnit, Oppvaskkum, I almost sent two boys across that
deck. Do you have any idea how dangerous that would have been? Do you realize ignoring calls from the captain—even in emergency situations,
especially
in emergency situations—is unacceptable if not outright insubordinate? We’re fighting a monster up here and you don’t have the time to heed my calls?’ ” Olaf was doing his best impression of a man with a much deeper voice than his own.

“But he was trying to contain the leak. It wasn’t his fault,” Noah said.

“You’re right, it wasn’t his fault that the line was leaking, but I can’t imagine what kind of trouble they were in—or how fast that trouble must have found them—to justify not responding to the bridge. We’re talking about one of the cardinal rules here.”

“So even if a guy’s up to his ankles in diesel in a place as combustible as that, it’s more important that he pick up the phone right away than figure out how to stop the leak?”

“The point is that by not picking up the phone, he jeopardized the whole order of things. Because he didn’t pick up the phone, two guys were about to be sent out into that storm. Because he didn’t answer the phone, the guy in charge of the ship was paralyzed, see?”

The line of reasoning was so familiar to Noah that he almost laughed. How many times had his father used the same hierarchical theory to make Noah paint the garage or shovel the sidewalk at their old house on High Street? “Aren’t there exceptions to the cardinal rules?” Noah asked.

“I’ve never seen one,” Olaf said. “And I’ve seen a lot.”

That was familiar, too, his father slapping down the trump card of experience.

“What did Danny finally say that made Jan send you across the deck?”

“Danny knew right away how serious the problem was. As far as I could tell—and I never knew for certain—the main fuel line had ruptured near the tank, which was in the forward half of the engine room where the coal bunker had been the season before. The leak was serious enough that the entire engine-room crew, including the porters and steward, were busy trying to clean it. It had to have happened so goddamn fast—gotten out of hand so goddamn fast—that there was no chance to even sound an alarm.

“When Danny finally got around to calling the wheelhouse, there was no question about what kind of shape we were in. I only heard one side of the conversation, but there wasn’t much doubt about our dire straits. Jan decided in an instant that we’d have to seek shelter, and his last words to Danny sent a hot chill up my back: ‘Double-lash anything that could cause a spark, and keep a couple of those boys at the ready with fire extinguishers, we’re going to come about.’

“Now, how’d you like to hear something like that from the boss’s mouth?”

“It’d scare the shit out of me.”

“Well, it scared the shit out of me, too. Jan and Joe and me got together in the chart room. Old Jan, he briefed us. We got our position figured out, and we decided to bring her around and head straight west for Thunder Bay, where the
Lachete
,
Prudence
, and
Heldig
were already at anchor.

“We had a little shelter from the worst of it, being as close as we were to the north shore, but it wasn’t like we could just tip our caps and wave good-bye to those seas. We were going to pay for it. The good news was that once we got around, the wind would have been behind us and getting to Thunder Bay would have come pretty easy. Anyway, it was the only option we had.

“Goddamn,” Olaf almost whispered, “I remember like it was yesterday. He had the engine going slow astern while he waited for just the right lull—it seemed like days—and as soon as he felt it, he ordered engines full ahead and the rudder full left. Everyone in the wheelhouse swayed and lurched and grabbed for a railing or something to hold on to as she slid down one side of a trough and up another. She listed bad for a second or two while a big swell washed over the length of the deck.

“We took a couple more waves before we got on course, but we
did
manage to get turned around. We were looking at two and a half hours,” Olaf mused. “Two and a half, maybe three. That’s nothing. It’s the amount of time it takes to play a baseball game or drive from Duluth to Misquah. It’s
nothing
.”

“But it was too long,” Noah said.

“A half hour would have been too long,” Olaf concluded, making to stand up. He planted his slippers two feet apart, rested his elbows on his knees, lifted his head from beneath his drooping shoulders, and straightened at the knees, still bent at the waist. As he labored, a spasm of pain must have shot through his stomach because he fell back into the chair clenching his guts.

Noah jumped from the sofa and found himself standing over the old man with his hands out. His father’s face was frozen and gnarled in pain. “What can I do?” Noah asked. “Can I help?”

Olaf took a deep, tremulous breath and rolled his head back. “It’s cold in here,” he said. “I was going to put another log on the fire.”

Without a word Noah opened the stove and put a heavy piece of wood in among the embers.

“I need a pillow for my back,” Olaf said. “Could you get one?”

Noah went into the bedroom and grabbed one of the down pillows from his father’s bed.

“Here,” he said as he helped his father forward, pushing the lumpy, uncovered pillow down between the chair and his father’s lower back. “Do you want some aspirin or ibuprofen?”

“Nah,” Olaf wheezed.

“A glass of water?”

Olaf looked up at him. “I could use a glass of water.”

Noah brought him the water. “Lift your head,” he said.

When Olaf did, Noah took the afghan from behind him. The old man’s head fell back and rested on the chair again, and the soft, white, wrinkleless flesh of his neck was exposed in the lamplight. Noah stopped and stared at it. He wanted to touch it, to feel it, to confirm that it was as delicate and velvety as it looked.

“What?” Olaf asked, rolling his eyes up to look at Noah.

“Here,” Noah said, handing him the glass of water and putting the afghan over his father’s lap. “How often is that sort of thing happening?”

“Not often,” Olaf said. “Not often at all.” Again he waved his hand. “Grab that book over there.” He pointed at the bottom shelf of the chest-high bookcase next to the sofa.

“Which book?” Noah asked.

“I forget what it’s called. The black one.”

Noah pulled a book from the shelf. “This?”

“Let me see,” Olaf said. He took the book and thumbed through to the back of it. “This is the one, it’s got transcripts of the radio contact between Jan and the Coast Guard and the other boats in the vicinity.”

“Dad, we don’t need to talk about this anymore. I mean, maybe you should get some rest.”

“I’m all right.” He handed the book back to Noah, who opened it to the first transcript, a communiqué between the
Ragnarøk
and the U.S. Coast Guard station in Gunflint.

“Read that,” Olaf said.

Noah did:

22:15

Captain Vat:
Pan-pan, pan-pan, pan-pan. All stations, this is SS
Ragnarøk,
SS
Ragnarøk,
SS
Ragnarøk.
Our position is
[pause]
48 degrees 10 minutes 7 seconds and 88 degrees 20 minutes 7 seconds. Repeat, 48°10′ 7″ and 88° 20′ 7″. We are in heavy seas, wind gusts up to 78 knots, sustained winds 45 to 65 knots. Wave size variable to 20 feet. Report a major diesel leak in main fuel line. Repeat, major fuel leak in main line. Bearing 268° for Thunder Bay. Wish to alert any vessels in the area and U.S. and Canadian Coast Guards of our situation. Have a crew of 30 men; cargo 12 tons of taconite. This is the SS
Ragnarøk,
over.

U.S. Coast Guard:
SS
Ragnarøk,
this is U.S. Coast Guard station Gunflint, change to channel 68, over.

Captain Vat:
Roger.

Coast Guard:
SS
Ragnarøk,
do you copy?

Captain Vat:
Roger, we copy.

Coast Guard:
SS
Ragnarøk,
do you require assistance?

Captain Vat:
Negative. I only wanted to make you aware of our situation. The leak is bad, I’ve got a dozen men working on it, and the heavy seas aren’t helping, but we should be okay. We’re heading for Thunder Bay—speed of 7 knots. Should be sheltered by 0:30. Over.

Coast Guard:
Roger, SS
Ragnarøk.
We’ll keep an eye on you.

Captain Vat:
Roger that.
[Pause]
Are there any other vessels in the area?

Coast Guard:
Negative,
Ragnarøk,
you’re alone.

Captain Vat:
Roger. Out.

Coast Guard:
Out.

Noah saved his page in the book with his thumb. “How far were you from Thunder Bay?”

“The last position I charted we were twenty-four nautical miles from the entrance to Thunder Bay. That’s what, about twenty-eight miles?”

Noah opened the book and scanned the page. “And how fast is seventy-eight knots?”

“Seventy-eight knots?” Olaf closed his eyes to think. “About ninety miles per hour.”

“That’s like a hurricane.”

“It was blowing, no doubt about that.”

Noah shook his head in disbelief. “So you make the pan-pan. Then what?”

“Then Captain Vat made the decision that saved my life. In the chart room behind the wheelhouse, he ordered me and a crew to the stern in order to assist Danny. He told me to take three guys, one of whom he wanted at the phone the minute we got to the engine room. The rest of us were to help out any way we could.”

“Why’d he send you?” Noah asked.

“I was pretty good with mechanical things,” Olaf said. “I guess he thought I could help.”

Noah paused, sure the question he wanted to ask was the most delicate so far. He put himself in the position of being ordered across an icy deck with winds gusting to ninety miles per hour. He thought about Lake Superior exploding across the deck. He thought about getting to the engine room, where thousands of gallons of diesel fuel were smeared across so many combustible engine parts. He thought of the nearly eight hundred feet of water beneath the keel of the ship. And he knew he would have been terrified. “Were you scared?”

Olaf looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t remember being scared, no. But I sure wasn’t excited about what we had to do.”

“Why didn’t you use the tunnels?” Noah asked.

“The
Rag
didn’t have a tunnel.”

“But you could have just walked on top of the ballast tank.”

Olaf smiled. “I forget how well you knew those boats. The
Rag
’s ballast tanks didn’t have square tops. They were slanted to meet the bulkhead without any straight angles.

“The object of the design,” Olaf said, “was twofold. First, it was made to make cleaning the cargo hold easier. Without a straight ledge to sweep, we would save a half hour’s labor every time we changed cargos. That adds up over a season. It was also an engineering concept that allowed more of the ballast-tank water—when the ballast tanks were full—to sit lower in the bulkhead, creating a lower center of gravity with less water. This way it would take less time to pump the water out. The idea was a flash in the pan, and no other boats I ever knew were built the same way.

“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway. We got across the deck fine. It’s what we found when we got there that was the problem.

“I stopped in my berth and changed into some dry clothes before I gathered the men to come with me. I stripped out of my damp pants and socks and shirt and put on my union suit and dry pants, fresh socks and a turtleneck. I grabbed my pea jacket, my mittens, and hat, and when I was all bundled up I topped myself off with the raincoat and the orange life preserver that had sat for years in the wooden basket above my desk.

“For some stupid reason I checked the four porthole windows in my cabin,” he said. There was surprise in his voice, like it was a memory that had only come back to him then, all those years later. “I wonder why I did that.

“Whatever the reason, it gave me the minute I needed to remember my watch. Your mother had given it to me the Christmas before. It was on a sterling chain in my desk. I kept it there for safety.

“When she gave it to me she told me it’d bring me luck. I decided I wanted to have it with me when I died. In fact,” Olaf said as he dug into his pocket, “here it is.” He handed it to Noah.

It was beautiful, a tarnished nickel-silver pocket watch with an analemma on its face. The movement was visible behind a rear crystal, and when Noah flipped it open he saw the name of the watch company engraved on the bezel.
UTVIKLING URMAKER—KRISTIANIA
1920.

“I’ve never seen this before,” Noah said.

Olaf was settling stiffly back into the chair. “It needs to be polished,” he said.

“So you put the watch in your pocket?” Noah asked.

“I did.”