The wondering souls of sailors

The Wall in 1991

A year before the freighter Pluto was laid up, I was her master and sailed with her for six months in European waters. After that, I was more or less jobless. Starting in the summer of 1991, I became a skipper on a ferry owned by a family company based in Helsinki. The job and the route were nothing but driving non-stop, from morning to evening, between the outer bastion of the island of Suomenlinna and the inner harbour of Helsinki. I spent many boring days aboard, carrying tourists and bicycles, steering the wheel all day long.

There was another skipper aboard. He was called Ali and was in his fifties. He wore a navy-like blue suit and kept his hair combed and slick. He had served before as an air pilot on the MHK company. I didn't very much care for his talk - I knew he had never been at sea like a real sailor. The owners of the ferry made daily visits to us. They were an elderly couple and their oldest son, and they were always worried, inquiring whether we had seen any maritime inspector boarding the ship or if any problem had arisen aboard. The summer went that way and was sunny. Later that summer, in August, the change came over, and then there was the rain. It was almost the end of August when I was off and was going to take a trip to Estonia. It was a rainy and windy day; the quayside terminal was full of embarking passengers. Upon entering the terminal, I saw Turk. His blond head towered above the crowd, and I could see at once, he was drunk. In no time, he discovered my entry and began his drunken bellowing: "Nice to seen and kill old fella.