The Salthammer was a combined whaler and banker boat, and Ingrid was allocated a place on two layers of reindeer skin at the far end of the bait house next to a young mother, who cried as often as she drew breath, and four children, who didn’t cry. The scuppers were jammed with rags, burlap and old clothes, there was rime frost on them as well as on the outermost bulkhead, whereas the bulkhead to the galley gave off a little heat. On the inside lay two-year-old Ante and four-year-old Mikkel, next came the two girls Ellen and Sara, who were five and eight, also lying head to foot, and the weeping mother, Anja, while Ingrid had to lie on the outside, the husband’s place, he was the man who had been hoisted ashore when she came on board.

The family had been on the move for a week. Before that they had spent three months in a turf hut on the vast Finnmark plains, until, at around Christmas time, they could endure it no longer and walked down to a German garrison, convinced that they would be shot. Instead they were loaded onto a lorry and driven the three hundred kilometres to Hammerfest, which had been razed to the ground, whereafter they were put on board the Salthammer. None of them had had their clothes off for a month, until three days ago, when they were up in Risøyhamn, where they had all been allowed to have a bath in a military camp.

Ingrid asked whether there was a shower.

Anja nodded.

This was where her husband had his first breakdown, children always cope, she said in her rough dialect with its stress on every syllable, it is worse for us grown-ups. They were also given a delousing in Risøyhamn, and hot food. She said it was strange lice didn’t freeze to death when humans did, and started to cry again, and consoled Mikkel, who had poked three fingers out of a hole in his mitten so he could chew them as he smiled at Ingrid.

Ingrid noticed a foul smell and asked if she was going to change him. Anja said it wasn’t Mikkel, he was clean, but Ante, who messed himself twice a day, and she didn’t have a change of nappy with her – didn’t dare to ask for help either, the others on board would have nothing to do with her.

Ingrid said she would change the two-year-old.

Anja said it was too cold.

Ingrid said she would do it all the same.

The boy’s crotch was burning red and he had caked shit all up his belly and back, but gazed at them with large, black eyes and said nothing. Ingrid asked if Anja had used the rags which were stuffed into the scuppers. Anja said yes. Ingrid said there was salt in them. Anja didn’t understand.