Viator

—It’s happened much more slowly for you, Lunde said. And perhaps the rest of the story speaks to that. By the time we finished the repairs, the relationships among the five of us had become strained. It remained my intention to continue south to Panama. Despite having faith in the charts I’d drawn, despite my belief that Viator had influenced their creation, I refused to acknowledge that Viator’s will was of more consequence than my career concerns. I wanted that new tanker. None of the others agreed, however, and tensions were high. One morning I was in my cabin, preparing for the day, when Kameus asked to speak with me. My memories of what occurred thereafter are unclear, but I imagine I turned my back on him. The next I recall, I was lying on the floor, my head throbbing. Kameus was standing above me, shouting something about Viator. I lost consciousness again and didn’t wake until the mid-afternoon. Kameus had bound me and the sun was low before I managed to free myself. I took my side-arm and went searching for him. The ship was empty, the launch missing. They had abandoned me. I ran up to the radio room, intending to call for assistance, but Kameus had destroyed the receiver.

Lunde paused and Wilander heard a faint rapping that might have been the old man drumming his fingers on the desktop.

—I knew they must have made for Gambell on Saint Lawrence Island, Lunde said. It was less than a day from our position. But I have no idea how they managed to act together after being so thoroughly divided. No clue as to what informed their decision…or even if there was a decision. One of them may have taken control by force. At my hearing, they told the company I had gone mad and thrown them off the ship. How could I refute their story? They were four and I had run Viator aground. Those facts outweighed everything I said, anything I could have said. After I’d been stripped of my license, I telephoned Kameus and begged him to explain why they had done this, but he didn’t trust the phone and he refused to meet with me. All he admitted was that he had been afraid. You know what I said to him? I said, You should have been alone aboard Viator. Then you could talk to me about fear. He hung up on me. My friend had abandoned me again and this second occasion was more painful, because he was no longer influenced by Viator. He was serving his own interests. Lunde let out a sigh. I’d never been afraid of the sea. I understood, of course, that it killed men and ships, but I had long since come to terms with that. Yet alone on Viator, I was afraid. The weather continued to hold. If I steered due east, I would harbor at Gambell in a matter of hours. I had no reason to fear, but I was panic-stricken. Partly this was due to the feeling that I was a flea riding atop an enormous metal beast. The ship’s life seemed larger and more important than my own, and that of itself was frightening. But to this day I believe it was mainly Viator s fear I felt. The product of her understanding that she would not survive another storm. Her desperation to reach land…though not just any landfall. She had a specific destination in view, one defined by my charts. With the engines half ahead—I didn’t dare run them full—I steered north and east, bypassing Saint Lawrence and making for the Alaskan coast. Those next three days and nights, so much was going on in my mind, so many strange thoughts…of that time I can only clearly recall that I was afraid. I didn’t sleep, I ate little. I trembled before the prospect of death, living in a fearful delirium, surrounded by my enemy, the sea. Until the very end. Until I saw that green haven north of Kaliaska. Then I was deliriously happy. It was early morning, mist everywhere, but I knew where to aim the bow. I lashed myself to the pilot’s chair and ran the engines full ahead. To starboard, a fishing boat emerged from the mist, bearing straight for midships. There was a moment when my heart was in my throat and I feared we would be rammed, thrown off-course. But whoever was manning the fisherman’s wheel avoided a collision. Watching the shingle widen ahead, I grinned as if I’d won some great contest and had no thought that I was about to destroy my career. The hull grating across the sand sounded like the bottom was being ripped out. If I hadn’t secured myself to the chair, I would have been flung about and likely killed. And then the trees came up. Viator slewed and veered to port. I thought we would go over, but the boulders on either side kept us on an even keel. The noise…It might have been the end of the world. Groans, shrieks, concussions. A wall of boughs loomed close. I ducked my head as the windows exploded inward. We kept on plowing forward, smashing deep into the forest, chewing up towering firs as if they were papier-mâché. And at last Viator was still. There were settling noises, and then silence.