Chasing the Light

by Jesse Blackadder

  Don’t be surprised if you feel rather strange, Freda had written. God knows, it can be more depressing getting back from an adventure than not going in the first place. You’ll find me in the usual chair at the club, but hurry. I’m going back to Australia in the spring. Oh yes, and I found a quote I thought you might like. Your Miss Earhart said in the papers ‘I want to do it because I want to do it. Adventure is worthwhile in itself.’ I liked that.

  ‘Madam?’

  The conductor had come up the steps so quietly she hadn’t heard him and at the sound of his voice she jumped and brushed at her cheeks to hide the tears.

  ‘Madam, I’m sorry, but the last car is leaving.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, swallowing. ‘Thank you. I’ll be down in just a moment.’

  He stepped back and left her. She strained for one last view of the ship as the clouds rose and fell. Yes, there she was. Lillemor knew the lines of her like a lover.

  She’d take Freda some cigars from Cape Town, she thought, as she turned to head back down the path.

  CHAPTER 50

  The brown envelope was heavy in her hands, covered with stamps, addressed with a firm hand. Mathilde turned it over. It was from Lillemor. She cut it open and a sheaf of photographs slid out like something from another world.

  On top was the image Anton had snapped of the three of them leaving Cape Town, just before Thorshavn had pulled away from the docks. Mathilde’s face was thin and drawn, and the fear in her eyes was writ large. Lillemor was obviously delighted, and Ingrid just seemed confused. But for all that, it was an innocent photo, before any of them knew what was to come.

  The next image showed Ingrid and Mathilde standing on the deck as the ship sloped alarmingly and a wave washed over behind them. They were blurred, but obviously smiling. Then a shot of Thorshavn tossing in heavy seas, which made Mathilde feel unsteady. It had taken a month for the ground to finally stop moving under her feet after she’d arrived back in Norway, and she wasn’t taking dry land for granted.

  Lillemor had included a photo of Lars and Ingrid standing in front of the cairn at their landing site at the foot of Klarius Mikkelsen Mountain, but it was so blurred it was nearly impossible to make out. There was a shot of Mathilde and Hjalmar standing near Qarrtsiluni. He was pointing up at it, describing something to her, and she was smiling at him. She hadn’t known Lillemor was taking that shot. She felt exposed, and flicked past it.

  Then there was a picture of her holding a penguin, taken on the way home. She was smiling down at the penguin, and her hands on it were tender. The photo reminded Mathilde of the weight of its firm, round body and the smooth slickness of its feathers. She wondered where it was now.

  The final image Lillemor had taken as Thorshavn approached Cape Town. Hans Bogen, Lars and Horntvedt lined up along the veranda, flanking Mathilde and Ingrid in the centre.

  Another photographer might have tossed that photo, but Mathilde understood why Lillemor had included it. Lars had his hands behind his back and was staring out into the distance. Ingrid’s eyes were shut and her arms hung awkwardly by her sides. There was something terribly vulnerable in her face, caught just before she’d readied herself. Mathilde was staring at the camera, her own face solemn, her eyes seeming to hold the whole story of their journey.

  Mathilde flicked back to the start, pulled out the first photo and held the two of them together. The person in the final picture looked like someone else, Mathilde thought, not the woman who’d left Cape Town for Antarctica as if going to her own execution. By the time of her return, she was someone not to be trifled with.

  That was what Ole and Gerd had seen when they came to the docks at Oslo to meet her. They’d been disappointed. Their smiles had wavered slightly when they caught sight of her disembarking. Their upraised hands had faltered a little.

  The children had responded instantly to the change. They came running across the dock to meet her, screaming in delight, and had thrown themselves on her. She’d crouched down and wrapped her arms around them and for a long time the three of them had been one large tangle of arms and hands and lips. It was a homecoming of something else altogether.

  When she finally stood up and approached Gerd and Ole and their fixed smiles, Mathilde knew her suspicion at the start of the voyage was true. They hadn’t wanted her to recover. They’d have preferred she came back worse than when she left. They could have kept the children for themselves and put her quietly away somewhere.

  But the children were holding her hands as though they’d never let her go again, and when Mathilde stopped in front of Jakob’s parents, she felt a moment akin to triumph. Let them try to take her children!

  Mathilde flicked back through the photographs again. There was one of her alone, sitting on the wooden deck, smiling up at the camera as though she was a woman with no care at all. It was happiness blazing out of her, no doubt of it, though she hadn’t known at the time. She couldn’t remember when Lillemor had taken it, or what part of the voyage it had come from. Surely she would have remembered such a moment?

  There was more in the envelope. She slid her hand inside and withdrew a book, and a page clipped from a newspaper. She unfolded the clipping. The headline said ‘By wireless from the Discovery, written specially by Sir Douglas Mawson’. Lillemor had circled a passage towards the end of the article.

  A PLEASANT SURPRISE

  On one occasion, emerging from a belt of sparkling pack, we came upon two vessels lying side-by-side, coaling in a calm ice-girt pool. This prosaic business provoked little interest but as we drew near enough to distinguish those on board, much astonishment was excited by the dramatic appearance on their decks of three women attired in the modes of civilization. Theirs is a unique experience, for they can make much merit of the fact that they are, perhaps, the first of their sex to visit Antarctica.

  Surely Lillemor would have written? Mathilde felt in the envelope again for a letter but couldn’t find one. She picked up the book and saw there was a bookmark. She opened to that page. Lillemor had underlined a sentence.

  In my own marriage I paid such a terrible price for sex-ignorance that I feel that knowledge gained at such a cost should be placed at the service of humanity.

  Mathilde turned back to the title page. The book was Married Love by Dr Marie Stopes.

  She found herself smiling. ‘Oh, Lillemor,’ she said out loud.

  At the sound of her voice, Babyen thumped his tail. Then he cocked his head, jumped to his feet and barked.

  ‘Mama!’ Ole came thundering down the hall. ‘He’s coming!’

  Mathilde put the book down. ‘Really?’

  Aase was close behind him. ‘He’s nearly at the gate!’

  Mathilde stood and smoothed her skirt. She’d barely thought of him on the trip, not really. But once she was home, the summer afternoons seemed long and she found herself walking to the gate and looking down the road when she was sure no one would notice. Five weeks had gone by and he hadn’t come.

  She took off her apron, closed the book and slid it back into the envelope. She carried the photographs over to the mantelpiece and propped them up.

  ‘He’s at the door!’ Aase squealed.

  ‘Stay in here,’ Mathilde said. ‘Hold Babyen.’

  She walked the length of the corridor. The front door was open to let in the summer breeze and she could see his silhouette. He was wearing an open-necked shirt and his face was pleasantly tanned. He had a bundle tucked under his arm and a nervous expression on his face.

  ‘Mr Lund,’ she said, and she couldn’t stop herself smiling. ‘It’s been some time.’

  He looked straight at her. He really did have very nice eyes. ‘I thought you’d need some time to settle in,’ he said. ‘After your big adventure.’

  ‘I’m quite settled now, thank you,’ she said.

  He extended the bundle in her direction. ‘I brought you some fish.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  Hans stood still, his arm out
stretched. ‘I wondered. Perhaps you and the children would like to come for a swim? It’s such a hot day.’

  A muffled squeal came from the kitchen, instantly hushed.

  ‘We’d like that very much,’ Mathilde said.

  A smile started to spread across his face.

  ‘And when we get back, perhaps you could fillet that fish,’ Mathilde said. ‘It would make a nice dinner.’

  CHAPTER 51

  The afternoon was so long and light that she could almost have been back in Antarctica, if it weren’t for the warmth. Ingrid threw a raspberry into the bucket, pushed her hair back from her forehead and stood up, putting her hand in the small of her back to ease the ache. Faint shouts and laughter drifted her way from lower down the slope, where the younger children were eating more raspberries than they were picking.

  A voice said her name, familiar but at odds with the setting. It took Ingrid’s mind a moment to make the connection. He was standing with the sun behind him when she turned, and she blinked in the brightness.

  ‘Hjalmar,’ she said automatically, as though nothing had happened. She felt a rush of embarrassment and wished she’d greeted him more formally.

  But he said ‘Ingrid,’ the same way, like a person in a strange country who had found someone from home. He looked haggard, she saw, when he stepped to the side and the light fell on his face, picking out areas of tender pink skin where frostbite had caught him. He’d lost weight; his cheeks were gaunt and his clothes hung loosely.

  ‘When did you get in?’ she asked.

  ‘This morning,’ he said. ‘You know my news, of course.’

  She nodded. ‘Terrible, Hjalmar. I’m sorry.’

  Word had come as they were on the way from Cape Town to London. Norvegia had set Hjalmar and Nils down on the ice for a sledging run along the coast, with an arrangement to pick them up in another location. But they’d sledged onto a loose ice shelf that broke away. All the dogs had been lost, along with most of the gear. Hjalmar and Nils had survived, but it had been a near thing.

  ‘Lars will be glad to see you,’ Ingrid said. ‘He was terribly worried.’

  ‘It will be good to talk to him,’ Hjalmar said. ‘It makes all the difference that he’s been there and knows how easily disaster can strike. We still managed some mapping from the plane. It wasn’t a total loss. I’ve a plan for the next expedition.’

  ‘I thought you nearly died,’ Ingrid said. ‘Would you go again?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, and for a moment the old Hjalmar was looking at her with a boyish grin. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  It was true, she realised. ‘Yes, I would.’

  She didn’t want to tell him that the chance wouldn’t come again. Locked in a legal case with Unilever over the purchase of the season’s oil, Lars was considering pulling out of the whole whaling business. He’d made a settlement offer, a closely guarded secret, to sell Unilever his whole fleet at a knockdown price. Ingrid hated to think how they’d live in Sandefjord if such an offer became known, let alone if it became a reality. Bjarne Aagaard champion of the whales, was perhaps the only one in Sandefjord who would be pleased with that outcome. She’d managed to avoid reporting back to Bjarne so far, but she knew she couldn’t put it off much longer.

  ‘Will you stay for dinner?’ she asked instead.

  He looked at her steadily. ‘I’d like that.’

  The moment lengthened between them and Ingrid was aware of the sun beating on her face. ‘I know some things changed down there,’ she said, and stopped.

  He reached out and put a hand on her arm, and she felt a shiver that she hoped he didn’t notice.

  ‘It’s in the past,’ he said. ‘But there’s one thing I need to tell you.’

  In the field below the children were absorbed in picking and eating. If they saw Hjalmar, there’d be a stampede, and no chance for them to speak privately.

  ‘Let’s go down to the beach,’ she said.

  He carried the berry basket for her, eating a few along the way. She led him around the edge of Ranvik’s sloping lawn, not wanting Lars to see them from his study. He followed her down the steps and onto the sand.

  ‘Take your shoes off,’ she said.

  ‘Bare feet. What a thought.’ He bent down, unlaced his shoes, slid them off and pulled off his socks. Then he stood up and his face changed.

  ‘My God!’ he said, staring.

  A line of Adelie penguins was waddling towards them. They’d taken up residence on the beach and seemed quite happy in their new home.

  Ingrid took her own shoes off, hitched up her dress and waded into the water. The penguins threw themselves into the tiny waves and porpoised behind her, hopeful of fish. Hjalmar gave a short laugh and followed.

  ‘Incredible,’ he said. ‘It’s good to come back to summer. Although I’d love a long, dark night.’

  He’d have that soon enough, she thought. ‘Have you seen Mathilde?’ she asked, as though she’d just thought of it.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I went around this morning.’

  Ingrid felt a rush of jealousy, almost as strong as it had been on the ship, that he’d gone to her first.

  ‘She has the last of my dogs,’ he said. ‘I need to see if he’s worth breeding from. Mathilde looks very well, I thought. She said she’s happy.’

  ‘I must invite her over,’ Ingrid said. ‘Would you like her to come tonight?’

  He shook his head. ‘Remember what it’s like when you first get back?’

  She did remember. Everyone asking how the trip had been, everyone wanting to know what Antarctica was like. Too many people at once, all of them too loud, the whole thing too much. She and Lars had shut themselves in for the first weeks and seen as few people as possible.

  ‘What is it you want to tell me?’

  He ran his hand through his hair. ‘After we left you, there were good conditions for two days, so I did as much flying as I could.’

  She nodded. ‘I remember. When you radioed us about the lead in to shore.’

  ‘Right. I also made another flight over Ingrid Christensen Land. I was able to go fairly low and I saw where the Mikkelsens landed.’

  He paused. ‘It was on an island, Ingrid. Four or five kilometres offshore.’

  She didn’t realise what he meant at first, and looked at him quizzically.

  ‘Your party was the first to land women on the continent itself,’ he said. ‘For what it’s worth.’

  Ingrid laughed. So far from Antarctica the notion seemed ridiculous. After a moment, when she didn’t stop, Hjalmar joined in. They stood facing each other in the water, shaking with laughter.

  ‘Oh dear.’ Ingrid wiped her eyes. Then she grew serious. ‘Hjalmar, don’t tell anyone.’

  He sobered. ‘But you’re the first woman to land on Antarctica. Presuming you got off the boat first.’

  ‘Oh, I did,’ she said. ‘But I don’t care for it. Caroline thinks she was the first; Lillemor is heartbroken that she wasn’t the first. Don’t stir it all up again.’

  ‘Your husband might have a different idea about it.’

  ‘Don’t tell him either.’

  ‘You don’t mean that.’

  She waded closer to him. ‘I do, Hjalmar. It’s finished. I don’t want to be drawn into a public discussion of who got off where, how many hours earlier, and how many miles closer or further away. Leave it there.’

  ‘Don’t you want your moment of glory?’

  She shook her head. ‘If it had been Lillemor off the boat first, I wouldn’t mind. She’d be thrilled. But this will just upset her more.’

  He shook his head. ‘If that’s what you want.’

  ‘Promise?’

  ‘Promise.’ He looked down at his feet in the water. ‘I’d best see your husband. There’s lots to discuss.’

  ‘You go up,’ Ingrid said. ‘I’ll stay here a few more minutes.’

  She watched him dry his feet on the grass, climb the stone steps and set out across the lawn barefoot
, his shoes dangling from one hand. Let Lars tell him there’d be no more voyages on Norvegia. He was already planning to sell the little ship to shuttle tourists to Svalbard for bear hunting.

  Ingrid waded out of the water and walked across the sand to the rocks. She clambered up, hand over foot, to the top of the low headland. The afternoon sun was starting to slant over the fjord as she sat down, facing south.

  The ground had stopped rocking under her feet, though it took a few weeks. Day and night were circling around and coming back into alignment in a way her body understood. But some inner compass was still spinning, and Ingrid wondered if she’d ever find equilibrium again.

  The house was full of Antarctic memorabilia. The penguins that hadn’t survived the voyage had been stuffed and mounted and were ready to go to the Whaling Museum. The rooms downstairs were crammed with samples for the University of Oslo.

  Ingrid had put the foetal whale in its glass canister inside her wardrobe while she decided what to do with it. Lars had been kind, assuring her he quite understood if she didn’t want it in the house, and he’d send it to the museum for safekeeping.

  ‘It’s only fair other people should see such an extraordinary thing too,’ he’d said.

  But Ingrid wasn’t ready to give it up yet. When she looked at the creature, bobbing in its sleep as if still in the amniotic waters of the womb, the smells and the sounds and the cold of Antarctica came back in a rush. She remembered the embrace of her bunk as the ship rose and fell, how that seemed at times the only place she could surrender to it, held safe in the ship’s belly as Thorshavn battled the sea on her behalf.

  There was nothing sleeping in the fluids of her own belly. She hadn’t fallen pregnant. She was relieved, and strangely, it seemed Lars was too.