I liked the glimpses Adam II was giving me of a Cook who was far more complex than the quiet man I saw in Aunt Serena’s kitchen. Cook’s kitchen.
When I got home, bearing the usual package of cookies, there was a letter from Adam waiting for me. I took it off to read in what Rob calls privatecy.
Dear Vicky,
I need to take a break from preparing for my next Spanish literature lesson. I’m pretty fluent in Spanish—my best friend in high school was Puerto Rican. But my street vocabulary is very different from that of the great writers, and it’s not as easy as I thought it was going to be. I comfort myself by thinking that brushing up on Spanish before my trip is a good idea, though I’m not sure why. I’ll be in Vespugia only a night or so, and everybody at the station will be English-speaking and most of them will be American. Aunt Serena says the Puerto Rican accent and the Vespugian accent are very different, but she thinks I could get along if I was dumped alone in the middle of Vespugia. It’s an interesting country, but right now politically troubled.
Hope all goes well with you. Did you say Suzy was taking Spanish? My favorite non-science course is Shakespeare. I think my parents are right, and that I need to keep my horizons as wide as possible. I guess these are our “salad days, when we are green in judgment.” That’s from Antony and Cleopatra. One of the men on my hall has a good Shakespeare book of quotations and I enjoy leafing through it.
I’ll see you Thanksgiving weekend, and I look forward to that.
Love,
Adam
That was a really nice letter. I put it carefully in my school copy of Hamlet. I’d look up some quotations to send to Adam when I answered his letter.
Suzy came home then, and I was glad I’d read the letter from Adam in privatecy and put it away before she could see it. She began talking about the next school dance, the Christmas dance, in mid-December. I had Adam’s friendship. That was more important than any school dance.
John came home on Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and I was amazed at how glad I was to see him. I no longer felt put down or overshadowed by my big brother. It was snowing lightly, but he suggested, “Want to go for a walk with Rochester and me?”
“Sure. Love to. Let me get my boots.”
We struck off across the field and then went into the woods, where it was protected enough from the snow that we could sit on the stone wall, with Mr. Rochester lying beside us, lowering himself a little arthritically so he could put his head down on John’s feet. John bent down and scratched between the big dog’s ears.
I asked, “What do you know about South America?” Adam was going to expect me to be a lot more literate than I was about Vespugia and all the places he was going. Adam II’s journal had helped fill me in, but I still needed to know more.
“Not much. Lots of unrest. Lots of problems. Why?”
“Adam’s going to be there.”
“Antarctica isn’t South America. It’s another continent, and a big one.”
“Aren’t a lot of the South American countries interested in Antarctica?”
“The whole world’s interested in Antarctica. We’re running low on fossil fuels. We’re going to need another source of energy. Messing around with Antarctica would be a bad idea. Just because it’s nearly empty is no reason to think of it either as an untapped mine or as a potential dumping ground. Adam’s written me about it. Have you heard from him?”
“I had a letter. And he’s phoned a couple of times.”
“Don’t let him be too important to you, Vic. You’re too young.”
Too young. How I hated the way everybody rubbed that in. “I’m sixteen.”
“You’re still too young. You don’t want to be like the girls who get pregnant and married and drop out, do you?”
“It takes two to get pregnant or married.”
“Good. I’m glad you realize that.”
I asked, “John, have you seen Izzy?”
Izzy Jenkins is my friend Nanny’s older sister, and she and John used to see a lot of each other. She goes to the local branch of the university in Clovenford. John moved his foot from under Rochester’s head, then bent down to scratch the grizzled muzzle. “Yes.”
“And?”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but she’s dating some guy from Clovenford, and we didn’t have much to say to each other. It happens.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. Nanny used to be my best friend in Thornhill, and now she’s pretty much my only friend, but it isn’t the way it used to be.”
“Things change. Going to M.I.T. has changed me. The year in New York changed you.”
“But everything around Nanny just seems to be going on and on, the way it always has.”
A small shower of snow fell through the branches onto Rochester’s nose. He jumped. His ears went down and he growled, then sighed, and went back to sleep. But John stood and stretched. “How about some hot cocoa?” he suggested.
Adam II’s unmailed letter that had upset Cook stayed stuck in the corner of my mind. I almost told John about it, but it was Cook’s private letter. I couldn’t just out and out ask Cook what was in the letter that shook him so I thought he was going to pass out right there in the kitchen. I was sure it had something to do with Antarctica, and maybe at least a hint of why Adam II had gone out in his Zodiac and never come back. But that might well have been my usual imagination exaggerating everything. Whatever it was, it was important enough to upset Cook in a way I’d never seen before.
I made hot cocoa for John and me, and then Suzy and Rob came in and wanted some, so I made more, and John got the fire going and we relaxed, and I stopped thinking about the Adams and Antarctica.
When we were all sitting together in the living room before dinner, Mother handed me a letter. “This came for you this morning, Vicky, and I thought it appropriate to save it till this evening.”
I opened it. I had won second prize in that poetry contest. I sputtered, “But—but—”
Everybody laughed. “Your teacher had a letter, too,” Mother said, “and she called me in great excitement.”
“Congratulations!” John applauded.
I knew I was blushing. “I’m totally surprised.”
After the excitement had died down, we talked about school. The best I could say was how much I liked my English teacher. Suzy raved on and on about Mr. Neddocks. The Spanish classes were boring. “Our teacher comes from Vespugia and he has oily black hair. But he and Ned are good friends and talk a lot.”
I wanted to know more about Vespugia, and that gave me an opening. “Who’s the president of Vespugia?”
“It doesn’t have a president,” Suzy said. “There’s a Generalissimo Guedder, who’s going to take Vespugia into the twentieth century—that’s what Señor Tuarte says.”
Daddy remarked, “Generalissimo Guedder took over the country in a bloody coup.”
“Señor Tuarte says that doesn’t mean he isn’t interested in progress.”
I wanted to get from Vespugia to Antarctica, so I said, “Adam’s going to go through Vespugia on his way to Antarctica. Isn’t there a lot of interest in developing Antarctica?”
Daddy looked up. “I don’t think ‘developing’ is the right word. A lot of countries want their share, and more.”
Suzy said, “Ned says it should be made into a global park. He says it would be a real disaster if people started dumping their waste there.”
“What kind of waste?” John asked.
“Anything. Ned says that it’s terrific that so many countries are dismantling nuclear weapons, but then all the stuff they’re made of is still dangerous and has to go somewhere.”
Ned says. Ned says. We were all getting a little tired of hearing Suzy quote Ned. But at least I’d managed to get some information. Suzy was a lot less politically illiterate than I, and so was John.
Daddy went for Aunt Serena about five o’clock on Thanksgiving afternoon, when dark had come. We had an applewood fire blazing in the
big fireplace, and the house smelled marvelous, applewood and turkey and spices.
John handed me a package. “Here’s my present. I think it’s pretty apt.” It was a Thesaurus, a really nice one. Suzy gave me a paperback dictionary of quotations, which would be good for looking up Shakespeare to send Adam. I was truly pleased, and that pleased Suzy. My parents gave me a fountain pen, the kind that’s all the rage at school, and a new backpack that was lightweight but would hold a lot of books.
Daddy said, “And we’ve added a bit to your college fund.”
I flung out my arms as though to embrace the entire room. “Thanks a million, everybody!” Then I put my poem into Aunt Serena’s lap, and she looked down, and I could see her reading it quickly.
“I’ll read it properly at bedtime, and treasure it. It’s been a long time since anybody’s written me a poem. Thank you.” She had brought a large reticule—I think that’s what it would be called—and she pulled out a brown manila envelope.
“Here, Vicky, happy birthday.” She handed the envelope to me.
Inside were airline tickets. I looked at them curiously: to Miami, Florida. To San Sebastián, Vespugia. To Santiago, Chile. To Punta Arenas, Chile. There were some other, larger tickets. “Wh—what—?” I gasped.
“Antarctica.” Aunt Serena smiled at me. “I’m sending you to Antarctica.”
“But, Aunt Serena—” I looked at my parents, and I could see that they were as startled as I was. Even Suzy was struck dumb.
Aunt Serena smiled at us all. “No, I’m not out of my mind. I knew that if I tried to plan it with you, I’d meet with all kinds of resistance.” She turned to my parents. “Cook is going to the Falklands in January to visit his twin brother, and he will be an ideal chaperone for Vicky. He will be with her until they reach Port Stanley. Then, while Cook and Seth have some time together, Vicky can continue on to the Antarctic peninsula on the Argosy. It’s a pleasant small ship, and Cook knows several of the lecturers, so she’ll be properly cared for. She’ll see Adam, of course, when the ship anchors off Eddington Point, where LeNoir Station is. Then when it comes back to South America, Cook will meet Vicky when she disembarks, and they can fly home together.” She paused, quite breathless.
I was breathless, too. Speechless.
John had been studying Aunt Serena. Now he looked at me. “It’s a great opportunity, Sis.”
“Oh, wow!” Suzy’s tongue was loosened. “If you don’t want to go, Vicky, I’ll go.”
Rob said, “And she’ll be okay, won’t she?”
“Of course.” Aunt Serena smiled at him. “The Argosy has an ice-hardened double hull, especially prepared for moving through ice.”
My parents seemed to have been struck as speechless as I was, but now Daddy said, “It is a generous and beautiful gift, Miss Serena, but much too large for us to think about tonight. Let’s just relax and enjoy our Thanksgiving dinner. We have much to be thankful for.”
Aunt Serena said, “I won’t enjoy Thanksgiving dinner if you’re going to deny me this pleasure.”
Daddy said quietly, “If it’s at all possible, we won’t deny you the pleasure, but it’s a major trip, and we’ll need to discuss it.”
I still felt as though I’d been kicked in the stomach. Me? Antarctica? I looked around the room, at the familiar comfortableness of home. Mother had chamber music playing softly in the background, something of Dvoák’s, I think, music she played a lot. I looked at the table set with a white damask tablecloth and our best china and silver, and I knew I wanted to leave it all and go to Antarctica more than I’d ever wanted anything.
John said, “My vote is for Vicky to go.”
Suzy said, “I s’pose. Mine, too.”
Rob, always anxious about separation, asked, “Is Antarctica safe?”
Aunt Serena said, “As safe as any place in the world, Rob.” She looked at my father, and I thought of Adam II going out in his Zodiac and never coming back.
John said reassuringly to Rob, “Just think of all the postcards of penguins Vicky can send you.”
“Polar bears?”
“That’s the Arctic. No bears in Antarctica. But there are penguins.”
“And seals,” Suzy said.
Aunt Serena changed the subject. “My! What wonderful smells coming from the kitchen. And how lovely the table looks.”
Mother said, “I use the linen cloths for Thanksgiving and Christmas. They take forever to iron.”
At dinner Aunt Serena was seated at my father’s right, and I was next to her. I whispered, “Aunt Serena, I’m so stunned, I—I can’t quite take it in.”
“That’s all right, my dear. I know your parents need to discuss it before they’re willing to let you go off on such a long trip. However, I think they will. I’d go myself if I could. But since I can’t, the next best thing is to send you.”
My parents did discuss it with Aunt Serena, at length, and with Cook. Cook, as usual, was calm, but positive. “Madam’s heart is set. The trip will be an education for Miss Vicky, and she’ll make the most of it.”
By Sunday of Thanksgiving weekend no decisions had been made, but I had the feeling that my parents were going to give in to Aunt Serena’s determination.
John left to go back to M.I.T., and Adam came to take me to Clovenford. He gave me a big hug and swung me around. “So you’re going to Antarctica! Terrific!”
Mother said quickly, “It’s not decided yet.”
Adam sounded wheedling. “You’ll really make Aunt Serena unhappy if you don’t let Vicky go. And hey, congratulations on winning that poetry prize, Vicky!”
Mother beamed, and I blushed and said, “Thanks.”
“Aunt Serena showed me the paper with the winning poems. I thought yours was much better than the one that won first prize, and so did Aunt Serena.”
Actually, the first-prize poem was pretty bad, and that made me wonder about the caliber of the judges, and if maybe my poem wasn’t very good, either. I’d mentioned my suspicions to my English teacher, who’d told me that my poem was excellent, and it was recognized as such, and not to worry about anything else.
Adam said, “We’ll be off, Mrs. Austin, and I’ll have Vicky home by ten o’clock.”
“At the latest,” Mother said. “The school bus will come tomorrow morning as usual.”
When we drove down the road, Adam said, “If I had to bet on it, I’d bet they’re going to let you go.”
“You could have knocked us over with a feather. All of us.”
“When Aunt Serena makes up her mind to anything, she doesn’t budge. You do want to go?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll write you and let you know what it’s like, give you a preview.”
“Thanks. Geography’s never been my major interest.” Now that there was the possibility that I’d be heading down to Antarctica, too, my interest level had risen radically.
Aunt Serena had the photograph albums open to pictures of a city. “You’ll like San Sebastián,” she assured us, “although there’s not a great deal of the colonial city left and the pollution is appalling. I do think you’ll enjoy the side trip to the pyramids.”
“It’s not exactly on the required list for marine biologists.” Adam grinned. “But I’ve read about the lost cities in South America, and I don’t want to miss my chance to see one.”
“San Sebastián’s the capital of Vespugia, and it’s an interesting country, though I gather life is far more difficult there than it used to be, now that they’ve lost their democracy and are under a dictator.”
“Medex Guedder,” Adam said. “I’ve gone to the library and looked up some stuff. The last president, El Zarco, was evidently a really good guy, progressive and innovative, but after his death there was a coup. The old General Guedder was assassinated by his son, Medex Guedder, who took over.”
I said, “Suzy’s Spanish teacher says he’s going to bring Vespugia into the twentieth century.”
Aunt Serena looked sharply at
me. “I suppose that depends on how one defines the twentieth century. I hope he’s not teaching Suzy Spanish with a Vespugian accent.” Then she looked back at the album, turning the pages until she came to some pictures of rather weird-looking pyramids, not smooth like the Egyptian ones, but going up in rough steps. “You’ll be in Vespugia just long enough to get to the pyramids. They’re more like the ones in Tikal, in the jungle of Guatemala, than those in Egypt.”
Adam said, “Too bad Cook’s not leaving till January. It would be fun if Vicky and I could do the first part of the trip together.”
“I think Vicky’s parents would take a dim view of her being away over Christmas,” Aunt Serena said. “This gives them a little more chance to get used to the idea.”
“True,” Adam said. “This time next week, I’ll be seeing icebergs.”
“You’ll pave the way for Vicky.” Aunt Serena and Adam were taking it for granted that I was going to go. “And if your path and Cook’s don’t converge, at least you’ll have a chance to meet Seth while you’re in Port Stanley. He and Cook still look very much alike, though Seth has scars from the time the seal went after him.”
She turned the page to pictures of what looked like a small, old-fashioned village. “Port Stanley, the capital. The Falklands get an unduly bad press,” she said. “Granted, it’s usually raw and rainy, but the landscape has the wild beauty of the Scottish wilderness.”
Adam grinned. “I wouldn’t bad-mouth the Falklands in front of Cook.”
Aunt Serena agreed. “Not even the weather, which is rather like March here. Cook never seems to feel the cold. The people of the Falklands are still reacting to that attempted takeover by the Argentineans, and they want the world to know they are British, not Argentinean.”
I didn’t want to seem stupid, but I asked anyhow, “Why did the Argentineans want the Falklands if the weather’s so bad and everything?”
Troubling a Star Page 5