Jens Bjørneboe, “Hollenderen”, excerpt from The Sharks (Norwich: Norvik Press, 1992). Translation of Haiene (Oslo: Gyldendal Norsk Forlag, 1974). © 1974, 1995 by Gyldendal Norsk Forlag A/S. Used by permission. English translation ©1992 by Esther Greenleaf Mürer.
Pat had come down to my cabin with tea. He set down the mug and the cups and regarded me with alert, curious eyes.
“He's one of the ocean's evil spirits, Pat. The Flying Dutchman is homelessness and unrest. He bodes misfortune to all who see him. In a sense he's every seaman's fate. Why do you ask, Pat?”
“The steward said he'd seen him.”
“Oh.”
“Mister, can't you tell about the Dutchman.”
“You see, it's also bad luck to talk about him. If you speak of him, you risk seeing him, and the sight of his ship of death brings storm and shipwreck and mishap. Old seamen never mention him. Some have seen him two or three times and survived the shipwrecks. It's not a good idea to tell about him, Pat.”
“Yes, but mister! Where does he sail?”
“In all the oceans. He's been seen in the North Sea and in the North Atlantic too, but he mostly keeps to the waters around the Cape of Good Hope. There's often rough weather in those parts.”
“Like around Cape Horn?”
It struck me how fast Pat had changed of late; he was much more alert, caught up in the things around him—though of course he was still unstable and easily frightened.
“No,” I said; “it's not so stormy as off Cape Horn, but it can be very bad there too. There are many sou'westers, and if you're coming from the Orient, it's often hard or almost impossible to round the Cape. With the ships they had back then, there were certainly times when they couldn't, or they'd tack in the head wind for weeks without leaving the spot.”
“Back then?” said Pat: “I thought he was sailing today.”
“He sails today too.”
“But why did you say ‘back then,’ Mr. Jensen?”
“Because the Dutchman became the Flying Dutchman a long time ago. He's been sailing for four hundred years now.”
“Four hundred years!”
“And he'll go on sailing as long as there's a sea, as long as there's brine to sail in.”
“That means forever, then.”
“Not forever, but a long time,” I replied.
“And he's sailed for four hundred years already. Why's that, mister?”
“Because it's four hundred years since it happened.”
“Since what happened?” he persisted.
“He cursed God,” I said.
Pat stared at me, deeply shocked.
“He cursed God?”
“Yes.”
“Why did he do that?”
“Well, you see, the Dutchman was a very rich captain who owned the ship he sailed. He had made many voyages to the Orient, sold goods there and bought valuables in India—gold and precious stones and fine cloth and carpets. Spices were also immensely rare and costly in those days, and back home in Holland he sold them at a huge profit. All his life he had been sailing and trading, and had amassed a great fortune.”
“So he had no reason to curse God?”
“No.”
“What was his name?”
“Vanderdecken.”
“But why did he do it?” Pat was one big question-mark now. “Why did he do it, mister?”
“Well, you see: Vanderdecken had again been to India or China, and had his ship filled with valuables. She was laden with spices and with treasures—several hundred tons. Enough to make everyone on board rich. His ship had cannons to defend herself against pirates and the Portuguese, for there was a war with Portugal.”
“Were they attacked?”
“No.”
“What happened, then?”
“Vanderdecken had such great treasures on board that he knew this would be his last voyage. He didn't need to sail anymore, he had enough wealth to settle down peacefully on shore and eat, drink, and be merry. At home he had a wife and a son, and he didn't need to work anymore.”
“And still he cursed God?”
“Yes.”
“I don't understand, mister.”
“The ship was coming from the Orient, and when they came to round the Cape of Good Hope, things went the way they do at Cape Horn; you know that ships can tack against the sou'westers for weeks on end. There are ships which have plied against the storm for six or seven weeks, until the crew hadn't the strength to go aloft anymore. Until all the men were exhausted.
“South of Africa Vanderdecken hit a storm from the southwest, and he couldn't get past the Cape. This was four hudndred years ago, Pat.”
“Yes?”
“Vanderdecken was a hard man and a stubborn man, and he feared neither God nor the saints. For nine weeks the ship fought the wind off the Cape of Good Hope, and the captain cursed and blasphemed and swore. The sails blew out of their bolt ropes, but he bent new sails, and he swore that he wouldn't give up though he should stay there tacking till the Last Day, till the hour of Judgment. And when Vanderdecken had made up his mind, no one could budge him. He was not old, so he was a strong man, used to having his way. He drank his beer, sang foul songs, and said to hell with everything. One of the masts went overboard, but Vanderdecken didn't give in.
“The storm rose to a hurricane.
“The crew was exhausted, and begged him to fall off and seek a haven till the storm subsided. But the captain refused; he cursed and swore that neither God nor the devil nor any storm at sea should cow him. When the crew tried to talk him over, he killed the first mate. He knocked him down and threw him overboard. Then he went up to the afterdeck and swore by the Holy Cross which his wife wore around her neck that he should conquer the storm and heaven and hell, even if he must tack south of the Cape for all eternity. Meanwhile the hurricane grew, and the sea was a hell of foam and breakers and darkness and flashing lightning. All the spars went overboard, and the lifeboats were pounded to matchwood. And amid it all Vanderdecken drank his brandy and sang his ungodly songs.”
“Was he mad, mister?” Pat broke in.
“In a way he certainly was. We all have attacks of madness now and then—and in Vanderdecken it expressed itself like that.”
“Go on!”
“Vanderdecken placed himself on the afterdeck with a pistol in hand to intimidate the crew, and there he began to mock and curse God and the Savior. He cried: ‘Jesus—Satan! God in hell! The devil take you! To hell with God! I curse Thee, God! I curse Thee! I curse Thy Son, and I curse the Virgin Mary! I damn you all to Satan and to Hell!’”
“But mister, why did he curse them?”
Pat had drawn up his legs under him and sat far inside the bunk, leaning against the bulkhead.
“Because he thought God had sent the hurricane to keep him from getting home to Holland with his treasures and his riches.”
“Then what happened?”
“The crew came again and begged him to fall off. ‘Captain,’ they said: ‘We must turn, we must come about. If you keep trying to round the Cape, we are lost. We shall surely founder, and we have no priest on board to absolve us of our sins.’
“But the captain only laughed and sang his terrible songs, songs which blasphemed God and life. And he drank beer and brandy and smoked his pipe just as calmly as if he'd been sitting in the inn back home in Holland. ‘To hell with God!’ he cried; ‘I curse both Him and His Son, and God's mother too! To hell with everything!’
“Then the sky split open with a great crash, and the lightning lit up the night, so that they could see the waves and the foam-crested breakers high above the ship—and down from the sky came a huge figure and alit on the afterdeck. Everyone on board was numb with terror, but Vanderdecken calmly went on smoking his pipe.
“‘Captain, thou art a stubborn man,’ said the figure.
“‘And thou art a scoundrel!’ shrieked the captain: ‘Who the devil wants a peaceful voyage! Not I! I want nothing from thee, so begone ere I blow off thy head!’
“The figure—who was Almighty God himself—didn't reply.
“Vanderdecken cocked his pistol and fired, but instead of hitting the mark, the bullet pierced his own hand. Then he tried with his other hand to strike God in the face, but his arm was palsied and without strength. In his impotence he could only use all the worst oaths he knew, which was no small number—and curse God again and again.
“Then the figure spoke to him:
“‘Henceforth thou thyself art accursed, doomed to sail till the Last Day without anchorage or haven. Glowing iron shall be thy meat, and gall thy drink. Of all the crew only the cabin boy shall remain to thee, and horns shall grow on his brow, and he shall have fangs and claws like a tiger and a hide which is rougher than a shark's.’
“The captain laughed loudly.
“‘Always shalt thou watch, and never sleep. And thou shalt be a curse to all seamen, since it pleases thee to torment them. For thou shalt be the ocean's evil spirit. Thou shalt ply up across all latitudes without peace or rest, and thy ship shall bring ill to all who see it! And thou shalt neither live nor die.’
“‘Amen!’ shouted the captain, and roared with laughter.
“‘And on Doomsday thou shalt belong to Satan.’
“‘Hurrah for Satan!’ yelled Vanderdecken.
“At that very instant the figure and all the crew disappeared, and the captain was alone with the cabin boy, who had already grown horns and fangs and claws like a devil.
“Since then the Flying Dutchman has ploughed all the seas, but mostly the waters around the Cape of Good Hope. He brings bad luck, shipwreck, and death to every ship he meets, runs them onto submarine reefs, and chases them into the surf by rocky coasts. He makes the provisions moldy and the wine sour. And little by little he has gathered a new crew: the ghosts of all the criminals, pirates, and murderers who have died unsaved at sea—the ocean's lost souls.
“For four hundred years he has sailed thus, and he'll go on sailing till Judgment Day.”
Pat sat still, with his knees drawn up under his chin.
“The steward has seen him,” he said.
“I don't believe it,” I said: “After all, he also saw the fiery chariot coming on the clouds to get the first mate.”
“Mr. la Fontaine has seen the Dutchman,” he repeated, and thought for a long time. Then he looked up:
“Is there more about him, mister?”
“Yes, there's a legend that if Vanderdecken's son can find his father and go aboard the ghost ship with the crucifix which his mother wore around her neck and which the captain swore by, and if Vanderdecken can kiss the cross and pray for peace and forgiveness, then he'll be released and can finally die.”
“Do you think his son has found him?”
“I'm afraid he's still sailing.”
“Yes, but he could have found him, mister.”
“Then at least the steward couldn't have seen him!”
“No, that's true.”
Pat leaned his head against the bulkhead and closed his eyes. He was thinking. He sat thus for a time, then he smiled—a long, contented smile with his lips compressed—and opened his eyes once more:
“Mister?”
“Yes?”
“At bottom you're a Flying Dutchman,” he said softly: “Because you always and forever plough all oceans and latitudes, and wander the world with no home and no peace.”
I was rather taken aback by Pat's train of thought.
“There's something in that, all right,” I replied.
“You live on all the seas,” he went on; “without anchorage or haven, like you told in the story. Are you doomed to sail till the Last Day?”
“It may look like it.”
“Have you cursed God, mister?”
“I daresay.”
“Why did you do that, mister?”
“Because there's so much wrong in the world.”
Pat paused, thinking it over very seriously; then he said, slowly and gropingly:
“But now you aren't mad at him anymore?”
“No,” I replied; “now I've forgiven God.”
“That's good,” he went on, with a contented smile; “then I won't have to be a cabin boy and grow horns, and claws and fangs like a tiger and skin like a shark.”
“It's a good thing for both of us that we're not sailing with that unlucky ship.”
“Happily we're sailing with Neptune.”
“Yes, at least this isn't a ghost ship. You can take hold of Neptune and feel her; she's a solid craft.”
“Mister? Is the Dutchman a real ghost?”
“He can't be, because he can't die.”
“But if he's not a ghost, then what is he?”
“A sort of half-ghost, neither dead nor alive. A kind of spirit, and evil spirit.”
“But his crew—they're ghosts, mister?”
“Yes, they're the shades of dead murderers and scoundrels.”
Pat sat for awhile in thought.
“Do you think there are spirits or ghosts on board the Neptune, mister?”
“No, I don't think so.”
“Yes, but the first mate, Mr. Cox—don't you think his ghost could appear?”
“No, certainly not. He harmed no one, so he won't walk again.”
“Hey?” Pat looked very thoughtful: “I feel sorry for the cabin boy who must sail with the Dutchman till the Last Day, looking so awful. But he hadn't done any wrong.”
“No.”
“Then why was he punished too?”
“I don't know, Pat. But it often happens that the innocent must suffer evil.”
“That's not fair!”
“No, there's much injustice in the world. That was why I cursed God back then.”
“Will it be like that always?”
“No, one day all will be different.”
Pat rose, picked up the tea jug and cup, and betook himself up to his kindly superior, Tai-Foon, to do his work and earn his bread.