The Discovery Of Slowness. Sten Nadolny
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greater the longer its sails stood against the wind, and so work on the braces had to be fast. There were more such situations. John decided to memorise them in the course of time, like the tree from below.
Now it was up to Father. He had to write to Captain Lawford and see to it that his son would get a place as a volunteer. That he would do this was not very likely. There was still a second possibility: that Matthew would show up after all and take John along.
John was home again. Matthew continued to be lost. Nobody liked to talk about it, and did so only to dissuade John from going to sea. Just before the end of the summer holidays, the Franklins assembled round the large dining-room table. Father allowed the family to contribute to some decisions. He himself said the most important things, and the others said only as much as was required, giving the impression that they had said nothing.
‘To sea? Once and never again,’ Grandfather said in a firm voice. Of course, he had to be reminded that he had never gone to sea.
But John needed no support, because something unexpected had happened: Father had changed his mind. Suddenly – as the only one in the family – he was most enthusiastic about a maritime career for John and went over to his side. It also seemed that John didn’t have to convince Mother any longer. She looked so encouraging and cheerful; perhaps Father’s change of mind had been her work. She didn’t have to speak, anyway, not even in a family council. John was too confused for a time to be able to feel pleasure.
Thomas said nothing; he only smiled slyly. And his little sister Isabella wept loudly, why nobody knew. With that the matter was settled.
‘If you don’t understand an order at sea’ – Thomas spoke slowly – ‘then simply say, “Aye aye, sir,” and jump overboard. It would definitely not be wrong.’ John concluded that he didn’t have to think about such remarks.
He wanted to tell the news to Sherard. Sherard would be pleased about it, he knew that, but he couldn’t find him. The estate manager said he was working in the fields with his parents and other people from Ing Ming. He didn’t want to say where. He didn’t want any interruptions during working hours.
It had grown late. The coach was waiting.
Just one more year of school. For someone like John that was almost as good as nothing.
‘John’s eyes and ears,’ Dr Orme wrote to the captain, ‘retain every impression for a peculiarly long time. His apparent slowness of mind and his inertia are nothing but the result of exaggerated care taken by his brain in contemplating every kind of detail. His enormous patience …’ He crossed out the last phrase.
‘John is dependable with figures and knows how to overcome obstacles with unorthodox planning.’
The navy, thought Dr Orme, will be torture for John. But he didn’t write that down. After all, the navy was the addressee.
John knows no self-pity, he thought.
But he didn’t lower his pen to paper, for to be admired by a teacher rarely helps, and especially not in the navy.
Whether the captain would even read the letter before their departure … It was John himself who was determined to go to war. And he was too slow, and only fourteen years old … What could he write? Misfortune sits in its own shoes, he thought. He crumpled the letter and tossed it into the wastebasket, propped his chin on his hand, and began to mourn.
John Franklin lay awake at night and replayed the fast events of the day at his own slow speed. There were many of them. Six hundred men on such a ship! And everyone had a name and moved about. Then the questions! Questions could come at any time. Question: What’s your assignment? Answer: Lower gun deck and sail practice in Mr Hale’s department.
Sir. Never forget to say Sir. Dangerous!
All men aft for ex … exe-cu-tion of punishment. That should be pronounceable! Execution of punishment.
All hands to the sails!
Receive arms.
Clear for action: a hard job to grasp the whole picture.
All guns loaded, sir. Run in to gunports. Secure guns.
Lower gundeck cleared for action! Anticipate everything exactly without question.
Take that man’s name, Mr Franklin! Aye aye, sir – name – write – fast!
The red paint in the quarters below was supposed to prevent spattering … the spattering of blood. No, to make it inconspicuous. The sand spread on the floor was supposed to keep people from slipping on blood. All part of combat. Trim sails aft, and so forth, that much was clear …
Compliments of the captain, sir. Please come below deck. Sails: mizzen topgallant royal, main topgallant royal, fore topgallant royal. One sail farther down and there was already a hitch. He knew how to calculate the height of the stars at night, their angles of elevation – knowledge he didn’t need at all. That kind of thing nobody wanted to know. But which line belongs where? Where does the jib-boom fit on the martingale, or vice versa? Shrouds and backstays, halyards and sheets, that endless pile of hemp, mysterious as a spider web. He always joined others in lashing things where they also lashed them, but what if they were wrong? He was a midshipman; that meant he was considered an officer. Now then, once more: mainsail, topsail, topgallant …
‘Quiet,’ a voice hissed in the bunk next to him. ‘What’s all that whispering about in the night?’
‘Reefing-point,’ John whispered. ‘Gaff jigger.’
‘Say that again,’ said the other, very quiet.
‘Forestay, martingale, martingale guys, martingale stays.’
‘Oh, I see,’ growled his neighbour. ‘But that’s enough for now.’
He could do it with his lips closed: only his tongue moving behind them remained indispensable. For example, he visualised in this way how to get from the bottom of the foremast to the maintop by way of the foretop, the fore topmast cap, and the fore topgallant, by climbing up the ratlines and outside the futtock shrouds, because only that was considered proper seamanship.
Would he be able to notice mistakes? For example, could he discover why the ship lost momentum and stopped moving? And what would he do if part of the running rigging tangled up?
He also noted all the questions that had so far remained unanswered. It was important to ask them at precisely the right moment, and therefore they had to wait. A jib was something very special; why? They were moving against the Danes; why not against the French? He also had to recognise those questions that might be asked of him, John Franklin. Question: what’s your assignment? Or, question: what’s the name of your ship, Midshipman? The name of the captain? When they went ashore after the capture of Copenhagen, there’d be lots of admirals running about, perhaps even Nelson himself. HMS Polyphemus, sixty-four guns, sir. Captain Lawford, sir. Everything in order.
He had memorised entire fleets of words and batteries of responses so as to be ready with answers. In speaking, as in acting, he had to be prepared for anything that might come up. If he had to get it through his head first – that would take too long. If a question addressed to him became only a signal allowing him to rattle off the requested response without hesitation like a parrot, there would be no reprimand and the answer passed. He had done it! A ship, bounded by the ocean, could be learned. To be sure, he couldn’t run very fast. And yet the entire day was filled with running, transmitting orders, running from one deck to the other – all narrow passages! But he had memorised every route; he had even drawn them and had repeated them to himself every night for two whole weeks. Running was all right if nobody came at him unexpectedly.