Sunday morning found many of Bente’s friends and their families at church. Meanwhile the Larsens were preparing for a very busy day. It all began with her mamma, who was busy cooking breakfast.
As Bente strolled downstairs, mamma greeted her.
“Ja, mamma.”
Bente returned upstairs and rustled her father from bed.
“Good morning, lazybones. It’s time to get up.”
“Good morning, Bente. Something smells very good. What is your mother cooking?”
“Smoked salmon sandwiches.”
“Then I had better hurry before it is all gone.”
Bente kissed her father lightly upon the cheek and went to her brother Erik's room. He was fast asleep. She gently nudged him, but he did not move. She grabbed him by an arm and tugged him out of his covers.
"Get up! Get up! Get up, lazybones!"
"I'm up! I'm up!"
"Good. Breakfast is almost ready. Get cleaned up and get downstairs."
Bente returned downstairs as father and brother prepared themselves for a long day.”
“It smells just fantastic,” said father as he joined Bente at the kitchen table.
Mrs. Larsen pulled the smoked salmon casserole from the oven. It was piping hot. Mrs. Larsen cut it into squares. The Jarlsberger cheese oozed over the sides of the spatula as Mrs. Larsen carefully scooped each slice onto a piece of grovbrød. Bente picked up the first sandwich just as her mother completed it.
"Ah-ah," exclaimed Mrs. Larsen, "wait for your little brother."
"But it'll get cold."
Mrs. Larsen went to the foot of the stairs.
“Erik!”
“Coming, mamma!"
Within moments, Erik rumbled down the stairs and joined everyone at the kitchen table. Everyone dug in as soon as Erik sat down, eager to enjoy a family favorite.
Ingredients spilled out of the sandwich and onto Bente’s plate as she took her first bite. The grovbrød's nutty whole-grain goodness perfectly accompanied the saltiness of the smoked salmon casserole.
"Bente, what are your plans for the day?" asked father.
"Maybe I will practice my violin and watch television."
"Nonsense," said her father, "you're coming with me to Bryggen.
Bente shrugged.
“What bout me? I want to go, too,” said Erik.
“Papa will be busy today. You will stay with me.”
Bente had been to Bryggen a hundred times before. Mr. Larsen talked to businessmen all along the wharf while she quietly stood next to him and acted pleasant. She found it quite dull and boring.
“I can stay home and babysit,” offered Bente.
“You are going with your father. You need to get out of the house anyway. Some fresh air from the North Sea always does a body good.”
Bente did not argue with her mother. Her father always found it quite enjoyable to have Bente along while he toured the docks, stopping by the stores and talking to merchants.
“Okay, I’ll go.”
“Good!” exclaimed her father, “We will have a good time. I promise you.”
Bente smiled politely as she took her dirty dishes to the sink and rinsed them. Afterwards, she put on some outdoor clothes and tagged along with her father, leaving Erik and mamma behind.
The road from the Larsen house to the wharf was nearly empty, since it was very early in the morning. The sky was slowly changing from midnight blue to early morning violet. Bente rolled down her window part of the way. A chill breeze blew across her face.
“What will we be doing today?”
“You go with me all the time. You don’t know?”
Bente shrugged.
“All sorts of things. I have to visit the fishmonger first. He’ll tell me the size of today’s catch. Then, I visit several shipmasters. They let me know how much space they have for cargo in their ships. They also tell me what kind of cargo they can ship. I organize the sale of that space to the fishmonger and other businessmen.”
Mr. Larsen pulled into a large warehouse.
“Hold my hand, dear.”
Bente walked hand-in-hand with her father across the warehouse floor. Forklifts zipped back and forth, moving large crates from one place to another. The action was very brisk.
The warehouse foreman and fishmonger greeted Mr. Larsen and Bente. The fishmonger pointed to several areas near the dock. Rows of crates sat in rows, waiting to be loaded into cargo ships.
“It’s a big load today,” said Mr. Larsen.
“It sure is,” said the fishmonger, “biggest of the season.”
“I’ll have to make some calls, but we can offload this by the end of the morning.”
“Good. We’ll get everything ready.”
Mr. Larsen shook hands with the men before returning to his car while Bente followed closely behind. They drove out to the service road and zoomed to the far end of the pier, farthest from the sea.
One of the cargo ships accepted a full load of pine and spruce as Mr. Larsen parked his car. Bente recognized the bright blue ship cargo ship with bright white letters “MOELVEN”. It was the same timber supplier her father had worked for before his ship-brokering job.
“God Morgen, Bente!”
“God Morgen, Mr. Bratvold.”
Bente had known Mr. Bratvold as long as she could remember. Mr. Bratvold was Moelven’s ship dock foreman, responsible for making sure the ships were loaded safely and correctly.
“Henrik, trenger 45000 kubikkmeter lasterom for fisk.”
“Ja, ja. Jeg har neg lasterom.”
Mr. Larsen asked for 45,000 cubic meters of cargo space for fish and Mr. Bratvold had it and plenty more. Mr. Larsen patted Mr. Bratvold on the back as he thanked him. Now, Mr. Larsen would return to the fishmonger and give him the good news.
“Father, why don’t you just call these men and save time?”
“I could, dear, but part of my job is also to make sure the customers are happy. I visit them personally because they are friends and colleagues. My personal relationships are important for my job and my company.”
Bente went with her father back to visit the fishmonger. They talked and laughed with the fishmonger for quite some time. Bente didn’t mind, though. She knew it was her father’s job.
“What now?” asked Bente.
“One last stop.”
Mr. Larsen visited an oil exporter. He shipped oil and oil products overseas. In return, he needed equipment for his oil wells. This had to come from other countries, like China, Japan, and the United States. Mr. Larsen organized that, too.
Afterwards, they visited the shops of Bryggen.
Bryggen faced the bay. Beautiful wooden houses sat so close together, they might as well be hand-in-hand. Each house was four-stories high, had a pointed roof, and was painted its own distinct color. Inside the shops, merchants sold imported goods. They were from all over the world, too. Bente stopped in front of a picture window. Ceramic toy dolls stood in the window. Bente pressed hr hands to the glass and peered inside.
“Can we go here?”
Mr. Larsen nodded.
There were stacking Matryoshka dolls from Russia, princess dolls from Paraguay, Chinese porcelain dolls from Beijing, and Barbie dolls, too.
“Which one would you like?”
“There are so many. I want them all.”
“How about we just choose one?” said father.
“May I have a princess doll?”
Father nodded. Bente took off her mittens and held the doll in two hands. She combed her fingers through the princess’ long black hair. Bente loved that the most, since her hair was strawberry blonde and most of her friends were either redheaded or blonde.
“Are you hungry?”
“I guess,” said Bente.
“Then let us sit for lunch.”
“Okay.”
Giant stockfish, nearly three meters long, hung from boughs at the edge of the pier. One of the chefs was drying and curing them for meal plates. Bente and her father passed the curing rack and went into one of the merchant houses. Inside, there was a restaurant.
“Hello, sir, may I take your order?”
“I think we’ll just have two lutefisk sandwiches and two glasses of milk.”
Bente and her father relaxed inside the comfy restaurant on the wharf, watching shippers work briskly while tourists and locals mingled lazily on all along the wharf.
“So, did you have a good time?” asked father.
Bente nodded.
“I think we shall do this again soon.”
“Fine by me,” said Bente.
“I can hardly wait,” said father.
Bente did truly enjoy her day with father. Until then, she never truly knew what his work was all about. She just watched, but never truly observed. On the way home, Bente rested her head against the passenger’s side window. It was cold to the touch. Bente exhaled softly as she watched the ships coming and going from Bryggen.
And, as far as her returning to Bryggen sometime soon, Bente could hardly wait, either.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment