Читаем The Blue Ice полностью

He held up his hand. 'You forget,' he said, 'Herr Jorgensen is a very powerful man. We are like you people. We are hardworking, honest and law-abiding. But when a thing is a matter of high politics and big business — then-' He hesitated. 'Then it is best left in the hands of those who understand it. Come. We will go and have a little drink with our coffee, and we will forget all about this, eh?'

We had our coffee and drinks in the Kiellands' sitting-room.

Sunde sat himself next to Mr Kielland. I had no opportunity of getting him alone, and after our coffee, Kielland insisted on taking the four of us round the station. He took us through the boiler-rooms where the steam for the oil vats was generated and on into a roofed-in space piled high with the rotten-smelling remains of whalebone. There were great sections of backbone steamed out so that they were like huge loaves of aerated bread, as light as a feather. This refuse scraped from the bottom of the oil vats was being crushed and packed in sacks as guano for agriculture. Then we went down into the main part of the factory where the vats stood like huge blast furnaces, six a side in two long lines. We walked down the narrow space between them. The heat was terrific. On each side of us a scalding hot gutter carried a thin, yellow stream of whale oil to big, open tanks. 'From these tanks it goes to be cooled,' Kielland said. 'Then it is packed in oil drums. It goes all over the world — for soap, candles, cosmetics, margarine.'

I tried to show interest, but I was impatient to get back to Sunde before Lovaas had a chance to talk to him alone. But Kielland's life was the whaling station and he was determined to show us everything. He took us to a vat that was being cleared of slag, all the oil having been extracted. Two men, stripped to the waist, were hauling out the filth with iron scrapers from an open door at the base of the vat. It piled up on the floor. a mass of decayed-looking rubbish that might have been the sweepings of an incinerator. 'More guano,' Kielland said. 'It is all money. Every little bit of whale is money. Nothing is waste. Even the finners are used. They go to England to be made into brushes. Come. I show you how we cut and pack the meat.' We went out on to the flensing deck. The sun was hot and bright. The steam saws, hummed. The men slid along the slippery deck with great, star-shaped sections of bone: all that was left of the great monster we had seen being dragged up the slipway that morning was a long, ragged, bleeding backbone. The meat had all been cleared. They were hosing down the deck. Kielland noticed our surprise and said, 'We do not waste time, eh?' I have forty men here and we can handle three whales a day if necessary.

'Three whales a day!' Curtis said. 'But that never happens, surely. You've only three catchers.'

'Oh, not early in the season,' Kiel land answered. 'But later the whale comes south. In September we may be catching them just off the islands. Then quite often we have all three catchers in day after day. It is hard work. But we do not mind. It is good money for everyone then.'

We crossed the deck and went into the packing sheds. Whilst Kielland was talking to the others, I strolled through on to the quay. And then I stopped. Captain Nordahl's Hval To was lying there, but there was no sign of Hval Ti. I turned back. 'Kielland,' I called. 'Where's Lovaas's boat?'

He turned, a large hunk of whale beef in his hand. 'Hval 'I'll He should be there.'

'It's not there,' I told him. 'Has Lovaas gone back to the whaling grounds, do you think?'

But he shook his head. 'No. He has to have water and fuel. Perhaps he has gone to Bovaagen.' His eyes creased to a twinkle. 'He has a girl at Bovaagen. And the mate has his wife staying at the Skjaergaardshotelet. Most of his men have a woman of some sort there. I think you will find he has gone to Bovaagen. He has more whale than the other boats. He is in no hurry. Also it is no good out in the Norskehavet now — Hval Fern reports bad fog. Now look at this, Mr Gansert. What do you think of this for meat, eh?' He held the slab of red meat out to me. It looked like real beef. 'Not all of the whale is like this, you know,' he went on. The meat is all graded. This is the best. This will go to Bergen or Newcastle for the restaurants. Then there is other meat which goes to make sausages. The worst meat goes for the foxes. We have big fox farms here in Norway.' He tossed the piece of beef back on to one of the packing shed shelves and glanced at his watch. 'Now we go up to the house, eh? There is the radio at four and then, after, we have tea — just a cup, but it is very good because my wife always insists on a little drink with it.' He chuckled and patted my arm as he led the way back across the flensing deck.