Out of the Ice

by Ann Turner

  Near the Hägglunds, Travis had assembled drysuits – which were like heavily insulated full-body wetsuits with attached hoods and booties, to keep the body dry and protected while swimming in icy water – and scuba gear. Kate and I methodically checked the tanks and breathing apparatus. All seemed in order.

  We tried on the drysuits and chose our gloves.

  ‘Good to go,’ I called when we were ready, and Travis bounced over from where he’d been discreetly waiting in the corner of the shed, his back turned to us.

  ‘I won’t forget this,’ I said. ‘And remember, not a word to anyone.’

  ‘You’ll get me into trouble one day, Doctor Alvarado.’ He was beaming.

  We headed off, waving goodbye to him.

  • • •

  Fredelighavn sparkled in the sunshine. The air was fresh and clear and there was no wind; it was silent as our skis whooshed along the icy road to the sea – Kate towed a sled, on which our scuba tanks and gear were strapped. The House of the Carvers glinted with icicles dangling from its eaves and windows, like it was winking to me.

  When the harbour came into view we both stopped. It was the most intense blue I’d ever seen and it was glass calm.

  ‘Wow,’ said Kate, dumping her backpack on the ground, extricating herself from her skis and ripping off her clothes. ‘Super wow. That’s the best sea ever. Let me in there.’

  I grinned from ear to ear as I stripped off too, hoping there were no surveillance cameras on this stretch of beach. The water lapped quietly along the rocky shore. Further up the coast the Adélies were screeching happily, thousands of little black and white birds going about their business. In the other direction, near the hulking skeleton of a ship, elephant seals basked lazily in the sun, taking no interest in us.

  With tanks in place, we both checked the quick-release latches on our weight belts. If we got into trouble we’d need to come up fast. They were working smoothly.

  We carried torches and cameras in bags clipped tightly to our belts.

  At the shoreline we put on flippers and gloves, and spat into masks that would cover our faces, dipping them in a little seawater and swirling the mix around to ensure they wouldn’t fog up underwater.

  ‘Ready?’ I asked as I fitted the breathing apparatus into my mouth and bit down on the rubber ends, taking a deep breath that felt easy and clean like a fresh breeze.

  Kate gave me two thumbs up.

  Checking our masks were firmly attached, we walked backwards into the sea and submerged once it was deep enough. The feeling was sublime. The water was crystal clear and visibility stretched for miles. Colours were vibrant. The rusting hulks of nearby ships were brilliant orange, the water a translucent blue. Our drysuits blocked any sense of how cold the ocean was, although I knew from experience it was freezing. Once a season, in a popular Antarctic ritual, we would cut a hole in the ice, strip off our clothes, tie a rope around ourselves and run like mad from the hottest building to leap into the water like maniacs. Then we’d scramble out as fast as we could. The water was truly frigid – and without protection, you could go into cardiac arrest and die in minutes. Which is what made the Polar Plunge such exhilarating fun.

  I signalled with my hand to move off. Kate took my other hand and we swam away from shore. I checked my watch and I could see Kate doing the same – we had air in our tanks for two hours. Long strange fish darted about us: mackerel icefish. As we swam further out, huge submerged icebergs came into view, their sculptured, multifaceted walls glowing eerily, like deep green glass and blue quartz. Their jagged, pointed bases, the inverted image of the smaller above-water shape, were hundreds of metres below us, engulfed in shadow. I glanced down and experienced a dizzying vertigo at the upside-down mountains of craggy ice; we took care to keep a wide berth. Suddenly the water churned into millions of swirling bubbles as we were bombarded by Adélie penguins jumping from the nearest iceberg into the water, propelling themselves at speed out to sea. Kate tapped me on the arm and gave a thumbs up, grinning. These penguins weren’t remotely interested in us, which was as it should be. Their little black and white bodies shot past, some turning and giving a fleeting look as they pelted through the water. On land, the Adélies could seem awkward as they waddled about. Down here, they were graceful and strong, sleek bodies cutting through the sea like bullets.

  I felt weightless, the sound of my breathing was loud and rhythmic as I relaxed into the dive. As we headed out into the bay a huge elephant seal surged past, making me jump and let go of Kate’s hand. I could see her eyes wrinkled in laughter as she took my hand again. More Adélies swam past, untroubled. There was nothing amiss, no sign yet that Travis and his friends had caused any damage to the wildlife underwater when they dived.

  I signalled to Kate to turn right. I wanted to head up the bay towards the Adélie rookery. Sunlight pierced the water in light green shafts. Two huge Patagonian toothfish swam towards us, and we let go of each other to let them pass between us.

  Suddenly I was surrounded by a pod of humpback whales, their song rising and falling, a high febrile sound, soulful, vibrating through me. I grinned, treading water, flapping my hands gently around, a surge of happiness rising as I inspected their tail flukes to see if I recognised any of them. These were new to me. I hooked out my camera and photographed. A large mother humpback with a baby in tow looked at me. I tipped my head to one side and she swam closer, doing the same. I reached out and touched her as she moved past, wishing I could take off my glove and feel her silky black body. Her calf swam past and nudged me playfully, and I was reminded of Lev. The mother swam to the surface and broke through, her back twisting above me as she rolled, then her white belly flopped back into the water.

  I watched mesmerised as she rolled again, putting on a show. The baby came back and looked at me. I reached out a hand as he swam past, and he rubbed his body against it. The mother was still rolling above me, breaching the surface and flopping around. Bubbles shot everywhere, like the sea was boiling. Sunlight shone through, giving the feel of a magical forest.

  As the mother swam off and the calf followed, I turned to Kate – but she wasn’t there. I looked around. Somehow we’d become separated. I tried to keep calm. I swam on, turning three-hundred-and-sixty degrees as I searched the water. There were bubbles from the retreating whales, and more Adélies torpedoing past. But Kate was nowhere to be seen.

  I stopped, treading water and telling myself not to panic as I fought an adrenalin rush of fear. A diver must never lose their buddy underwater; it was the first and most fundamental rule of diving. As I swam on I tried to ascertain where I was. Everywhere around me were the sleek, inverted mountains of blue–green icebergs. I had come to a channel and there was only one logical way through. I swam much closer than I would have liked, knowing the underwater mass of icebergs could move rapidly, even in this calm water.

  As I swam on, I realised I was heading towards a wall of ice along the shore. I decided to go up to the surface, to get my bearings and to see if Kate had done the same. I was about fifteen metres down and had to rise slowly so that I wouldn’t cramp.

  Eventually I broke through the water with ease. I was a distance from land and although the water was still calm, a wind was rippling tiny waves into small white peaks. I looked everywhere, visibility perfect. But no Kate. I went under again and began to swim down, wanting to retrace where I’d been, but I hit a current. I tried to swim against it. The rip was too strong; I had to swim across it instead. When I looked around, nothing seemed familiar. I kept treading water, bubbles blowing frantically from my mouthpiece, echoing in my ears, rising to the surface in a thick chain. The current was pulling me along and for a moment I didn’t fight it. I was tiring quickly. A white mass of ice came into view: I was rushing towards it. With all my strength I swam to the surface. Further up I could see the jagged outline of a cave in the icy cliff. I waited until I was close and then swam into the broad entrance.

  A whole new world opened up. Thousands
of icicles dangled from the clear white ice of the ceiling. A vivid blue light emanated further back in the cave. There was a thick layer of ice around the seawater, forming a ledge. I hauled myself up and looked around in wonder. It was the biggest cave I’d seen in Antarctica, stretching far into the distance, its roof undulating with soft, sculptural folds of ice. It was easily high enough for me to stand up in. I took off my flippers and laid them down carefully, then pulled off my mask, mouthpiece and tank, trying to calm down, trying to catch my breath. I placed the tank so it was clearly visible in the cave entrance, and peered out to sea, desperate to find Kate. The air in the cave was cold but not freezing, naturally insulated by the dense blanket of ice. I was warm in my drysuit and my face tingled. I took a step back and glanced into the cave. Somewhere deep inside there must be a funnel travelling up to the surface, because light was pouring in. I stopped in shock.

  Behind an icy wall, clear and translucent, stood a boy, tousled dark hair, huge brown eyes, skinny arms raised high. He was calling to me through the ice, trapped like an insect in amber.

  All I could hear was the gentle splashing of waves, but I could see his mouth open wide in a yell. ‘Help me!’ He pounded his hands against the ice. ‘Help!’ Then, as quickly as he appeared, he was gone.

  I blinked, stunned, and quickly made my way along the ledge to where he had been. But there was no sign of him, and the ice looked a clear white–blue. Confused, I pulled out my camera and photographed the wall, replaying the images, not trusting my eyes. There was nothing in the ice.

  A voice roared behind me. ‘Thank God you’re here!’ I dropped my camera in fright and turned to see Kate hauling herself up out of the water, taking off her tank and putting it beside mine.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ she said. ‘What’s wrong, you’re as white as a ghost.’

  ‘This is going to sound crazy, but I thought I saw a boy.’ I looked around again. ‘In the ice. Just here.’ I walked right up to the wall and slapped my hand against it, then put both hands against the ice and peered in. There was just more ice. But as I looked further I thought I could make out the form of a ghostly cavern, a mirror image of the one we were in.

  Kate hurried up beside me. ‘You’re right, that’s crazy.’ She put her face close to the ice and sucked in her breath, surprised. ‘Is that a cavern back there?’

  ‘He was calling for help. He was desperate.’ I shivered, remembering his face filled with fear, the urgency of his movements.

  ‘But what would a boy be doing down here?’ said Kate. ‘It’s unlikely. If not impossible.’

  The ice wall was metres thick, and now just translucent white, with hints of blue. I couldn’t get the image of the boy out of my head. His huge brown eyes, dark hair framing an impish face. I knew who he reminded me of. My first husband, Cameron Stewart.

  ‘Alvarado, do you think you might have a case of Toast?’ said Kate.

  Perhaps I had been down in the ice too long and was getting ice fever – growing increasingly removed from the world, spending too much time in my head, starting to imagine things.

  ‘How old was he, this boy you claim to have seen?’ Kate walked around, checking to see if she could find a way through the ice into the cavern.

  ‘About twelve,’ I said and my voice cracked. The age my boy would have been; the baby I’d lost. If Hamish had lived, he would have looked like that. I broke into a sweat. My mind must be playing tricks. It had been a strange time at Alliance and Fredelighavn and I’d been unnerved, separated from Kate. And I had been down in Antarctica longer than usual.

  ‘There’s no way in,’ said Kate. ‘And now I’m not even sure there is a cavern through there.’ She took out her torch and swung it around. Reflections bounced everywhere. ‘Do you think it might have been your own reflection? An optical illusion. The more I look, the less I think that is a cavern. It’s just thick ice, Laura.’ Kate paced along the ledge, bending down and rising up on her toes, trying to view the ice from every angle.

  I took more photographs, then turned to movie mode, recording everything again. ‘It’s so weird. I could have sworn there was a boy.’ Why was I even saying it when I knew that it was so unlikely?

  Kate stared at me. ‘How did we get separated, anyway? One minute you were there, the next you were gone. I was going to scream the crap out of you for heading off without me. Is this just a ploy so I don’t get angry?’

  ‘It was the whales.’

  ‘What whales?’

  ‘Humpbacks. A mother and her calf came really close to me.’

  ‘I didn’t see any whales,’ said Kate, her voice a mixture of concern and impatience.

  My head started to spin. I took deep breaths as images of the boy flashed faster and faster in front of me. It was Hamish. My little son. Grown tall and strong with his father’s face.

  I rubbed my eyes. Hard. Trying to concentrate. Trying to pull myself back to reality. I had never, in all these years, let my imagination run this far. Grief poured through my body like a rushing tide. Everything I’d held back surfaced in a howling yearning.

  The boy’s face swam before me. The dark eyes. Hamish, my Hamish, had come back.

  ‘Laura?’ Kate’s voice sounded far away, as if she were calling down a well.

  I leaned against the ice where I’d seen Hamish in the white-blue cavern. Was it his ghost, starved of oxygen? I slapped the stupidity of the thought away. I was losing my mind. Panic bubbled up. We were in an ice cave far away from land. Or was there another way out? I suddenly raced towards the back, to the light. I heard Kate following. She had no way of knowing what I was thinking – I’d never told her about Hamish.

  The opening high above was tiny. The light expanded as it filtered in, forming a pool of phosphorescent blue. I walked through, watching the skin on my hands turn a lurid sapphire colour. I couldn’t remember taking off my gloves. My heart raced in lunging bursts. I peered up through the jagged shaft and could just make out the sky far above.

  ‘There’s no way out here,’ said Kate, resting a hand tentatively on my shoulder. ‘Are you okay? Do you feel up to swimming? We should get back.’

  ‘I’d like to stay here a while,’ I said, my voice breaking. How could I tell her that I couldn’t leave? Hamish might return. I knew my thoughts were irrational but they kept pouring in. My Hamish. Down here.

  Ignoring Kate’s worried face, I strode back to the wall where I’d seen him. I shone my torch through. There was nothing but ice. And now I couldn’t discern a cavern. I slumped down on the ground, exhausted and confused.

  ‘If there was a boy,’ I mumbled, ‘he needs our help.’ Tears pricked my eyes and I started to weep, gasping sobs like hiccups as I struggled to take in air. Calm down, I told myself, to no avail.

  ‘Laura, get a grip. You’re scaring me.’

  I nodded, ‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.’ The sound of my own voice, distant, foreign, made me cry more, thoughts of the birth drowning my mind. Blood everywhere. Hot, boiling. A vivid scarlet, so red it looked unreal, like jam. Thick blood, viscous and flowing. Washing my tiny baby into the ice in Antarctica.

  Kate sat beside me and put her arm around me, wrapping me into her warm body. ‘It’s okay, you’re just a bit toasty,’ she said gently. ‘Deep breaths. It’ll pass. Just let it pass.’ I could feel her intake of air, rapid but steady. I tried to think of that and not Hamish. I pushed Cameron’s face, puffed and swollen with grief, out of my mind.

  Finally, my breathing started to slow. I blinked at the wall of ice. It was just a solid white wall, tinged blue, with a layer of pale mint-green.

  ‘Ok-ay,’ said Kate slowly. ‘Shall we head back? Do you think you’re up to it?’ She looked deep into my eyes and I could see her fear.

  ‘Yes,’ I said reluctantly.

  ‘And this time we keep hold of each other, no matter what,’ she said firmly. I murmured agreement as I picked up my camera and took several more shots of the wall and the cave. I found my g
loves further along the ice ledge and put them on, realising my hands were frozen, even though the rest of me was hot and clammy in the drysuit.

  At the water’s edge we put our tanks, flippers and masks back on, bit into our mouthpieces and submerged into the sea. I tried not to notice the weightlessness that now reminded me of Hamish in my womb. Panic rose, but I fought my fear. I wasn’t going to drown out here. What if there had been a boy, in spite of the odds? He needed my help. The boy the same age as Hamish, who had his face.

  8

  On the beach we stripped off our drysuits, towelling sweat from our bodies and putting on warm clothes. There was a slight wind that chilled bone-deep as soon as it came into contact with bare skin.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ Kate’s face was full of concern.

  ‘Fine. Thanks. Let’s dump the gear in the Hägglunds and then get the penguin.’ I quickly helped Kate pack the sled, then put on my skis and left. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened. I was still lost in my own world, and my feeling that I had seen a boy calling for help was growing stronger. I would have expected, now I was back on land, that I’d be even more certain I’d imagined it. Yet I still felt I’d seen him. My mind raced with possibilities as to who he was and what he was doing there. Argentinians brought families to their Esperanza base, in Graham Land on the Antarctic Peninsula; so, too, did the Chileans, at Villa Las Estrellas – The Town of Stars – a research station and civilian settlement on their President Eduardo Frei Montalva base on King George Island. Unlike the British, Australians and Americans, they were keen to normalise existence in Antarctica and for years had experimented with having children accompany their parents down here. Both bases were relatively close to South Safety Island, the Chileans to our west, the Argentinians to our south-east. Perhaps I’d been right that the Argentinians were coming into Fredelighavn. Or the Chileans. Maybe there was a way down into the ice at the end of the village near the Adélie rookery. It would explain the behaviour of the penguins if children had been allowed to play there.