Chasing the Light

by Jesse Blackadder

  Ingrid turned for a last glimpse of Norvegia but she was already almost invisible in the blowing snow. She found herself instead looking into Mathilde’s iceberg eyes.

  ‘After you,’ Ingrid said, gesturing.

  ‘Oh, really?’ Mathilde said, and passed her. Lillemor followed without a word.

  Lars came beside Ingrid and took her arm. ‘Home, now. I think it’s time, don’t you?’

  Antarctica’s wind slapped her in the face. Ingrid blinked and the ice on her eyelashes blurred her vision.

  ‘Try to make friends with them,’ he said. ‘It’s a long way back.’

  The Antarctic gloom was still there the next morning, the mist obscuring the heights of the ice barrier. Ingrid leaned on the railing alone as Thorshavn sliced through the brash ice as if it were a woman’s white thighs parting.

  The first woman to see Antarctica. Perhaps. Even aside from Olga, that claim would always carry the recollection of how she’d treated Mathilde during the voyage. The ruthlessness she’d found buried in herself was unnerving, a discovery she couldn’t leave behind.

  A movement caught Ingrid’s eye and she turned her head. Mathilde was on deck, but she’d stationed herself near the front, her hood pulled tight around her face.

  Ingrid knew if she walked away now, any hope for reconciliation was probably lost. Perhaps she could patch something like a friendship together again. She took a breath and set off across the snow-slicked foredeck. As she approached, she saw Mathilde was holding one of Hjalmar’s puppies beneath her coat.

  ‘Mathilde?’

  Mathilde turned her head slightly. ‘Yes.’

  The one word said it all, like the ice barrier looming before the ship, impenetrable.

  ‘Please,’ Ingrid persisted.

  Mathilde didn’t deign to answer.

  ‘The three of us are still the first women to see Antarctica,’ Ingrid said.

  ‘What about Olga?’

  ‘She’s just a sailor’s story.’

  Mathilde turned to Ingrid. ‘I really don’t care. I just want to go home and get my children back. If you have any compassion at all, don’t try and stop me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ingrid asked, confused. ‘Why would I try and stop you?’

  ‘Please, don’t pretend,’ Mathilde said. ‘I know why Ole asked you to take me.’

  ‘Because he was worried about your children?’

  ‘Because he wants my children, as you well know!’ Mathilde snapped. ‘I can forgive you most other things from this trip, Ingrid, but I’ll never forgive you for helping him.’

  Ingrid stared at Mathilde as everything she’d understood about her during the voyage shifted perspective. When Mathilde started to turn away, Ingrid reached out and put a hand on her arm.

  ‘I know nothing about that. All I know is he wanted you to have a rest and feel better.’

  Mathilde whipped her arm out of Ingrid’s grasp. ‘Give me one good reason why I should believe you!’

  Ingrid hesitated. It was true, she’d betrayed Mathilde more than once on this trip, but not the way Mathilde thought.

  Mathilde was looking back at her, framed by the ice behind her rising in fantastic jumbles. She gave a grim smile.

  ‘Exactly. Now if you don’t mind, I want to be alone.’

  Ingrid backed away. Something had changed in Mathilde in the past days, and she felt sure that she and Hjalmar had been lovers. What else could account for the new strength within her?

  She walked away. There were degrees of cold and degrees of freezing. She was learning more of them than she had imagined existed.

  The brush caught in Ingrid’s hair and she pulled it hard to clear the tangle. She’d washed her hair, and its drying was a slow matter. She leaned forward to examine herself in the mirror. The first flecks of grey were starting to show through the long red strands and her heart sank at the sight of them. How long till she was an old woman, grey all over, invisible?

  She heard Lars at the door and tensed. Lars hadn’t forgiven her for taking the flight without him and Ingrid thought they’d carry that tight knot of resentment back to Norway like a thing conceived out here, not the child he’d hoped for but something that would develop and grow and perhaps one day thrust them apart.

  Instead of turning to greet him she glanced into the mirror and found his reflection. She saw at once that something had happened. Ten years seemed to have come off his face and she hadn’t realised how disappointment was etched there until she saw its absence.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  He came to her side and picked up a necklace, fiddled with it, let its links run through his fingers.

  ‘Hjalmar has radioed,’ he said. ‘He’s flown over Lars Christensen Land and Klarius Mikkelsen Mountain.’

  He paused again and Ingrid waited, her knuckles tight on the hairbrush. When it seemed he would say no more, she recommenced brushing with long, firm strokes.

  ‘The ice has opened up and there’s a wide, clear lead going in. We could be there by morning.’ He put the necklace down. ‘There could be a chance to land.’

  Ingrid kept brushing. ‘I’m glad. You deserve a landing.’

  He put his hand over hers and stilled the brush. ‘It means nothing to me unless you come. Do you still not understand that?’

  Ingrid stared at their reflections in the mirror. For a moment she felt ashamed of herself in the face of his generosity. He didn’t understand why she’d needed to go alone in the plane, but he was willing to put it behind him.

  ‘We must do this together,’ he said, and then let go of her hand. ‘Unless you don’t want to.’

  She saw the flash of fear in his eyes, as if he thought he’d lost her. She reached for him. ‘I’m amazed you can still bear to take me.’

  He shrugged. ‘I thought I wouldn’t. I was angry with you. But this is the last chance and I want us to take it.’

  ‘Just one thing,’ Ingrid said. ‘We all go. Enough of this nonsense of first and second. It’s irrelevant now.’

  Lars stepped back, his smile fading. ‘For once on this trip, I’d like something just for you and me. You had your flight. This is our moment, Ingrid. Can’t it just be us?’

  Ingrid hesitated. This was a fragile peace between them and she was wary of shattering it. But she was resolute. ‘Mathilde and Lillemor and I all come, or none of us.’

  She could see in the mirror that Lars had clenched his fist, but when he spoke, his voice was calm.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Whatever you want.’

  She smiled at his reflection. ‘Thank you.’

  He didn’t return the smile. ‘I’m going up to the bridge.’

  Ingrid had planned to ask Lars about Ole, but it wasn’t the right time. She’d talk to him later about the bargain he and Ole had struck over Mathilde, she decided.

  And she wouldn’t tell Lillemor and Mathilde about this landing. She’d let it be a surprise. The lead might close after all, a blizzard might blow in, any number of unexpected dangers might arise before morning and there’d been enough disappointment already. Mathilde seemed to care nothing for it and Lillemor cared too much. It was better they didn’t know.

  CHAPTER 44

  The engines dropped to idle speed and hollow thunks and clunks, the sounds of ice against the hull, echoed through the cabin. Lillemor raised herself on one elbow to look at the time on her wristwatch in the half-light.

  ‘What is it?’ Mathilde’s voice came from the other bunk.

  ‘We’ve stopped.’ Lillemor got up and crossed the floor in her bare feet to twitch aside the curtain. She couldn’t see anything unusual, and let it drop back.

  The knock at the door made them both jump.

  ‘It’s one in the morning for God’s sake,’ Lillemor said. ‘What passes for the middle of the night round here.’ She wrapped her dressing gown around herself as she went to the door. ‘Yes?’ she asked, without opening it.

  ‘It’s Ingrid.’

  Lil
lemor glanced over at Mathilde. She’d just as soon not open the door to Ingrid. She felt like ignoring her and going back to bed. She’d drunk too much at dinner with Norvegia’s captain and her head throbbed.

  ‘May I come in?’

  Lillemor sighed and opened the door. Ingrid stepped inside, heavily dressed in outdoor clothing and dusted with snow. She pushed back her hood and smiled.

  ‘Well, ladies,’ she said. ‘Our moment has come. There’s an open lead in the ice and we think it runs all the way to Klarius Mikkelsen Mountain. It’s time to try for our landing.’

  Lillemor stared. Her first impulse was to push Ingrid back outside and slam the door. It was too late, now, for the three of them. Didn’t Ingrid know that?

  ‘Don’t you want to go alone again?’ Mathilde asked from her bunk.

  ‘I want us all to go together,’ Ingrid said.

  Lillemor thought she saw a faint tremble in Ingrid’s lip. ‘It’s a bit late for that now, isn’t it?’

  ‘Once we land, the rest doesn’t matter any more,’ Ingrid said. ‘It’s one of life’s great experiences. I’d really like us all to go.’

  ‘And what you want, you usually get,’ Lillemor said. She walked back to her bunk, twitched open the curtain again, peered out into the grey light and let it fall, trying to gather her thoughts. She felt like getting back into bed, pulling the covers over her head and shutting the whole thing out.

  She sat down on the edge of the bunk. ‘Do you think Scott felt it was one of life’s great experiences when he was the second to reach the Pole?’

  Ingrid was silent. Mathilde got out of bed, came over to Lillemor and put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘You’re not Scott,’ she said. ‘You’re not Hurley. You’re a person who’s come across the world to see something. Don’t ruin your chance. Go with Ingrid and be glad of it.’

  ‘I just feel like a tourist.’ Lillemor felt a wave of frustration and pounded her fist on the bed. ‘Just a silly bloody tourist. I hate it.’

  ‘You’ve fought to get here,’ Mathilde said. ‘That’s enough. Now go.’

  ‘Please, Lillemor,’ Ingrid said. ‘Now there’s no question of going first and we can all go together.’

  The appeal on Ingrid’s face seemed genuine, Lillemor thought, and she had a sudden flash of Freda. She wouldn’t sit sulking in the cabin. She loved to climb and she climbed whenever she had the chance. Lillemor knew what Freda would ask her: did she truly want to land, or only want to land first?

  ‘Oh, all right, I’m coming,’ she snapped, and stood up. In spite of herself, Lillemor felt a flutter of excitement. Her lips twitched as she fought back a grin, not wanting to look too eager. ‘We’d better get dressed, I suppose?’

  Mathilde went back to her bunk and got into it. ‘Not me.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Lillemor demanded. ‘After you’ve gone all wise-woman and talked me into it.’

  ‘I never wanted to go to Antarctica in the first place. As Ingrid knows. So why should I join your nice little landing?’

  Lillemor was taken aback. When had Mathilde become so assertive?

  Ingrid looked at Lillemor and shrugged helplessly. ‘We’re casting off in twenty minutes,’ she said. When no one answered, she walked out of the cabin, closing the door behind her.

  Lillemor marched over to Mathilde’s bunk. ‘What’s going on?’

  Mathilde rolled over. ‘Ingrid only wants us to come so she can say something good about Antarctica when she gets back. She saw it first because I was drugged and locked up. She flew over it first because she refused to let anyone else on the plane. Neither of those things look good for her. Now that she’s not the first woman to land, she wants to report that we all landed together, as friends. As though everything is all right now. Well damn her.’

  ‘Now it’s your turn to listen to me,’ Lillemor said. ‘What would your children think of you? That you can’t be bothered to get out of bed to see Antarctica? You’ve persuaded me, and now I’m telling you. The three of us are going, just as Ingrid’s offered. So get up.’

  Mathilde sat up. ‘Oh, all right then.’ Then she smiled. ‘Lillemor, of course I’m coming. I just wanted Ingrid to suffer a little. She’s too used to getting her own way.’

  It took Lillemor a moment to understand. ‘Do you mean you were making a joke?’

  Mathilde threw back the covers and got up. ‘I suppose I was.’

  Lillemor grinned broadly this time. ‘My my, Mrs Wegger. Aren’t you coming along?’

  They came out on deck into the biting cold. Lillemor could see three dark mountain peaks over the top of the ice. It was impossible to gauge their distance in the dim pre-dawn light. The cloud was heavy over their heads and a light snow was falling. A group of people stood on the lower deck above a lifeboat that had been lowered into the water.

  A deep rumble boomed across the water as she and Mathilde reached the group.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Horntvedt was saying. ‘Very poor conditions.’

  ‘It’s not far, Captain,’ Ingrid said. ‘Just across the water.’

  ‘It’s four nautical miles away,’ he snapped. ‘A very good distance if something goes wrong.’ He turned to Mathilde and Lillemor. ‘Ah, the rest of the ladies. Are you two willing to risk your lives for this?’

  Lars smiled at the captain. ‘Now Horntvedt, don’t worry yourself. We’re going with Atle, who’s the best first mate of the whole fleet. I have total faith in him.’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with faith!’ Horntvedt said. ‘It’s dangerous.’

  Lillemor couldn’t bear one more disappointment. She drew herself up taller. ‘Let’s get going.’

  ‘Suit yourself, Mrs Rachlew,’ Horntvedt said. ‘You’re braver than I. Or more foolish.’

  ‘Fine,’ Lillemor snapped. She looked at Lars and Ingrid. ‘Are we going to stand around talking about this or are we going to do it?’

  Another long, low rumble reached their ears.

  ‘What’s that?’ Mathilde asked.

  ‘Let’s find out,’ Lillemor said. She moved closer to the basket that was to lower them into the lifeboat and gestured to Ingrid. ‘We’ll follow you.’

  Ingrid nodded, seeming to understand Lillemor’s sudden urgency. Lars helped her into the basket and waved up at the bosun in the crane. The basket carrying Ingrid rose into the air and then over the side of Thorshavn and down into the lifeboat below.

  Snow began falling thickly, piling on the deck. As the basket came swinging back for Mathilde, Lillemor wondered why the light was so gloomy. The sun must have been below the horizon, she thought, or the cloud cover very thick. Mathilde climbed into the basket and it rose, leaving Lillemor standing by Lars.

  ‘It seems you’re going to get your wish, Mrs Rachlew,’ he said.

  ‘And you,’ she replied.

  ‘I’d like my wife to step from the boat first.’

  Lillemor shrugged. ‘It means nothing now.’

  ‘It means something to me. You’ll have your chance at landing and you’ll have to be content with that. Do I have your word?’

  The basket landed on the deck in front of them and Lillemor put her hand on it to climb in. ‘My word is a strange concept in such conditions.’

  She passed the camera to Lars, clambered over the edge, sat down, and put her hand out for it. ‘They’re still unsure who really was the first man to land on Antarctica,’ she said as he handed it to her. ‘On Bull’s expedition, they say Alexander von Tunzelmann, a junior seaman, jumped from the landing boat to hold it steady and thus snatched the honour of the first landing from his superiors.’ She waved at the bosun. ‘Luckily we needn’t concern ourselves with such things, as the matter is irrelevant now.’

  The basket lifted her up and if he answered, she didn’t hear him. She shook her head. She couldn’t help herself baiting him, but she’d probably regret it.

  The deep roar came across the water again and this time she could see what caused it. A slab of ice was falli
ng from an iceberg, the slowness of its descent betraying its size. It hit the water and even at a distance she could see the wave rolling out from the impact. She glanced down at the lifeboat. Such a wave, close by, could swamp them. But it was too late to go back now.

  The basket bounced into the lifeboat and someone helped her out. She couldn’t see who it was until the person tilted his head back and she realised it was Hans. He dropped his hand from her arm as though it burned and his cheeks were red even through the snowstorm.

  Of course the historian would be coming; it made sense. She hadn’t said a word to him since their night together and it had taken on the quality of a dream. She wondered why she’d thought sleeping with him would make him write something different about who landed on Antarctica. What a foolish reason to throw away her own fidelity. She’d make sure she was never alone with him again.

  She settled herself where indicated in the front of the little boat. Six men were holding oars to row them ashore and a small sail flapped from the boat’s mast. It was a long way to go in such a small vessel.

  The basket was coming down again with Lars, the last one to board. He clambered out of it and took the seat next to Ingrid. There was no shelter and they were packed tightly together. There was a yell as the basket rose. The men cast off from Thorshavn and bent their backs to the oars. The sail flapped and filled and the little boat began to move.

  CHAPTER 45

  Ink-black water. The splash of oars, rattling in their rowlocks. Shards and chunks of brash ice scraping the boat’s hull.

  The gloom and the falling snow and the rhythmic dip of the oars stilled any urge to talk. Snow fell, soft and silent, transforming them into white-coated figures. A spell seemed to have fallen over them, a trance in which the six crewmen would row forever.

  A splash in the water nearby startled Ingrid. A sleek, glossy back arched and disappeared. A moment later a head popped up and round dark eyes stared at them curiously before the seal slid underwater. Five penguins passed them, diving in and out of the water in an effortless, streamlined motion.

  Ingrid pulled her hood close and wriggled her fingers and toes to stave off the chill. Thorshavn was too comfortable, she thought. She’d grown soft. She was shivering already and they hadn’t even landed. It would be better to explore on a ship like Norvegia where your resilience couldn’t be eroded by luxury. She adjusted herself on the hard bench. Her bottom hurt, her toes were starting to ache with the cold, her nose was streaming and freezing. She could hear the faint cries of seabirds as they moved deeper into the ice.