Afraid? I afraid? No, say, Hahaha!——
Kneirtje.
[Staring straight ahead.] Yes, yes, if the water could only speak.
Clementine.
Come now, you tell a tale of the sea. You’ve had so much experience.
Kneirtje.
A tale? Ach, Miss, life on the sea is no tale. Nothing between yourself and eternity but the thickness of a one-inch plank. It’s hard on the men, and hard on the women. Yesterday I passed by the garden of the Burgomaster. They sat at table and ate cod from which the steam was rising, and the children sat with folded hands saying grace. Then, thought I, in my ignorance—if it was wrong, may God forgive me—that it wasn’t right of the Burgomaster—not right of him—and not right of the others. For the wind blew so hard out of the East, and those fish came out of the same water in which our dead—how shall I say it?—in which our dead—you understand me. [A pause.] It was foolish to think such nonsense. It is our living, and we must not rebel against our living.
Truus.
Yes, I know how that is.
Kneirtje.