Atlantis | Page 9

and
recounted a number of cases, of which Frederick had not known, in
which good had been repaid by evil tattle. "The people around
Plassenberg are not fit for men like you and me. Men like you and me
belong in America, the land of liberty."
Elsewhere, Frederick would have resented being placed in the same
category as this rowdy, for whom, he recalled, the police were
searching. But here he felt no indignation. On the contrary, he was
pleasantly surprised, as if by an unexpected meeting with a good friend.
"The world's a small place," said Frederick, passing over the theme of
ingratitude and the land of liberty, "the world's a small place. Yet I am
surprised to see you here. But I'm wet to the skin, and have to go
change my clothes."
On his way to the cabin, on the promenade deck, he encountered the
blond captain of the Roland, Von Kessel, who presented himself to
Frederick.

"The weather is not quite up to mark," he said by way of excuse for the
little mishap on the lower bridge. "If you enjoy standing in front there,
you'd better put on one of our oilskins."
Now that the vessel's movement was more accentuated, the cabin, in
which Frederick changed his clothes, was a problematical place of
abode. The light came from a round port-hole of heavy glass. When the
wall with the port-hole in it rose and turned inward like a slanting roof,
the sunlight from a rift between the clouds in the sky fell upon the
mahogany berth opposite. Sitting on the edge of the lower berth,
Frederick tried to steady himself, holding his head bent to keep from
striking against his upper berth, and frantically endeavouring not to
follow the receding movement of the wall behind. The cabin was
rolling in unison with the vessel's movement. Sometimes it seemed to
Frederick as if the port-hole wall were the ceiling, and the ceiling the
right wall; then again as if the right wall were the ceiling, and the
ceiling the port-hole wall, while the actual port-hole wall, as if inviting
him to jump, shoved itself at right angles under his feet--during which
the port-hole was wholly under water and the cabin in darkness.
It is no easy matter to dress and undress in an oscillating room. That the
vessel's motion could have changed so markedly within the one hour
since he left the cabin, astonished Frederick. The simple operation of
drawing off his boots and trousers, finding others in his trunk, and
putting them on again became a gymnastic feat. He had to laugh, and
comparisons occurred to him, which made him laugh still more. But his
laughter was not heartfelt. Each time he received a knock, or had to
jump to regain his balance, he muttered exclamations and instinctively
contrasted all this with the comfortable waking up from sleep in his
own house. Groaning and labouring, he said to himself:
"My whole personality is being shaken through and through. I was
mistaken when I supposed that I had already got my shaking up these
last two years. I thought fate was shaking me. Now, both my fate and I
are being shaken. I thought there was tragedy in me. Now, I and my
tragedy are bowling about in this creaking cage, and are being
disgraced in our own eyes.

"I have a habit of pondering over everything. I think about the beak of
the ship, which buries itself in each new wave. I think about the
laughter of the steerage passengers, those poor, poor people, who, I am
sure, scarcely have a gay time of it. My sousing was a treat to them. I
think of the rapscallion, Wilke, who married a humpbacked seamstress,
ran through her savings, and abused her daily--and I almost embraced
him. I think of the blond Teuton, Captain von Kessel, that handsome
man, somewhat too insipid-looking and too thick-set, who is our
absolute lord and whom we trust at first glance. And, finally, I think
about my constant laughing and admit to myself that laughing is a
sensible thing only in the rarest circumstances."
Frederick continued a conversation with himself in a similar strain for a
while, and cast bitter, ironical reflections upon the passion that had
brought him on this trip. He had actually been robbed of his will; and in
this condition, in that narrow cabin, surrounded by the ocean, it seemed
to him as if his life, and his foolish impotence, were being held up to
the rudest ridicule.
When Frederick went up again, there were still a number of persons on
deck. The stewards had fastened the steamer chairs to the walls, some
of them having slipped and left the occupants, ladies and gentlemen,
with the blue marks of