I did as I had told Lou to do, using the last two spurts to rinse my body. The soapy lather lay in soft heaps on the floor by my feet. I quickly dried myself off. The towel was rough against my skin. It felt good, turning a light-brown color when I rubbed my arms with it, massaging away dead skin cells.

Then I took my clothes out of the bag. They were just as dirty, just as smelly. I would have to ask if we could wash them too.

Beneath the clothes were Anna’s and August’s passports. I picked up Anna’s and held it in my hand, as I had done so many times in the past weeks. The cardboard beneath my fingers was slippery. I opened it.

Anna wasn’t smiling in the photograph. It was black and white, making it difficult to recognize her. You couldn’t see that her hair had a golden tint. Or that there were green flecks in her eyes. Or that she had one of those quick strides, as if she were a bit busy. And cheerful, even when she was feeling the opposite.

But it was the only photograph I had.

I lifted the passport to my nose, sniffed it. It still smelled of smoke.

I was clean now. Had washed the fire off me. I had removed the memory of her when I washed the smell of smoke off me.

Abruptly I hugged the T-shirt against me, inhaling the acrid smell of smoke. She was still there, she and August. They were still here.

Chapter Five

Signe

I take a shower in the cubicle between the saloon and forepeak cabin, listen to the pump running, taking care not to splash too much on the bulkhead, directing all the water into the tub underneath me because there is no drain in the room. My body feels quick and agile as I soap myself—primed, as if I were twenty years old again. Afterward I fill up the tank with water from the faucet on the dock—it has to be completely full. I have to be able to stay away from land until they stop searching. To be on the safe side, I also fill up two twenty-liter jugs and stow them in the afterpeak, enough water to be out at sea for weeks, while they are searching, if they search. If they realize that I am responsible, they will perhaps search for me—people in the village have seen me, know Blue, know my story. They can put two and two together.

During the final hour before the sun goes down and people leave the quay, I just wait, seated on deck, having a cup of coffee and forcing myself to eat calmly—a few slices of bread with pepper mackerel. The food tastes better than anything I’ve eaten in a long time. I chew slowly, looking at my father’s old house. He lived down here by the harbor once upon a time, but now the house is empty. When he died, I sold it for a song to someone who wanted to use it as a vacation cottage. Apparently they aren’t there much. The windows are dark, empty squares.