The Ice

by Laline Paull

  ‘You, waiter, stay, will you,’ Redmond pointed at him, even more autocratic in his drunkenness. ‘Then no one’s got to break their neck on the stairs to find you.’

  Sean stared back at him for a second, imagining punching him off his chair. But this was the Lost Explorers’ Society, formed in the 1930s following the disappearance of Gino Watkins, legendary young polar explorer. He had pored over Gino Watkins’ fate, sitting on the curling carpet tiles in his school library. Now he was in the room with the actual people who got to see the real beauty of icebergs. Yes, he would fucking stay. He stepped back into the shadows by the door, and made himself disappear.

  Redmond got to his feet and in his booming pompous voice, announced a toast to Gino Watkins – Sean said it in his own mind. When they had downed their brandies – he could not believe how much they’d eaten and drunk – Redmond added that this was also the vetting of the prospective new member of the society: Thomas Walter Harding of Wickton, Kent, who would speak last.

  There was a drumming of fists on the table as that young man stood up, tall and handsome, with a disarming smile. He bowed to the assembled company, including, at the end, the waiter by the door. Caught by surprise, Sean reflexively bowed back, and Redmond spotted it.

  ‘Good man.’ He turned to his cohorts. ‘One anecdote, short and on a polar theme, in order of title which means I go first – yes, still me – new man last.’ He looked at Tom Harding. ‘Unless you have a title?’

  ‘Mister.’ Tom Harding smiled back at Redmond. ‘Is that a problem?’

  He sat back down too fast and Sean saw him grab the table for balance.

  ‘We move with the times,’ Redmond said magnanimously, then launched into his anecdote about his hero, Commander Peary. He was clapped – dutifully, Sean thought – and then the others took their turns, announcing themselves and emptying the bottles as they went. Most of them had some kind of title. Standing in the shadows, Sean forgot he was the waiter and revelled in hearing their stories. It was hard not to jump in and correct their frequent inaccuracies.

  And then at last it was the new man’s turn. Sean watched Thomas Walter Harding stand up, how he gripped the table. He saw him staring at the picture on the opposite wall, a stag brought to bay. He was clearly very drunk and for a moment it looked as if he would fall sideways, but then he started:

  ‘And now – I shall tell you – an extraordinary story – about – the Arctic.’

  Sean could see he was in a bad way. The slow-handclapping started.

  ‘A very – unusual – story,’ he gasped. ‘Shit, I’ve drunk a bit too much.’

  Before he could collapse, Sean stepped forward and pressed him back down in his seat, keeping one hand on his shoulder until he felt him steady.

  ‘I’ll speak for him. I have a story.’ He was astonished at himself.

  ‘What are you, his fag or something?’

  Sean looked at Redmond sitting in his chair, fat and florid in a few years’ time.

  ‘Want to step outside for the answer?’ he said. ‘Or shut up and listen? Because I’ve got an Arctic story better than anything I’ve heard tonight.’

  At the challenge to the leader, a frisson of delight ran around the table. Redmond grimaced a smile.

  ‘Love your pluck, waiter. Go on then, tell it.’

  Sean stepped into the light and looked around them all. Now he was going to do it, he felt different. They might be dressed up, but they were soft. He could take each and every one of them, if it came to it. They would listen.

  ‘This is the story of Jens Lund and Aksel Søren of the 1902 Kristianborg Expedition to the Greenland ice cap,’ he said, and as he did he stood straighter and taller, because whatever happened after this, for this one night he was part of the Lost Explorers’ Society. ‘And in 1902 there wasn’t any reliable data from the ice cap in the winter, but these two men had volunteered to gather it. They knew each other a little, but there was no psychometric testing or anything like that. In October their ship anchored at Daneborg, and the supply team accompanied them to their base, where they had ample provision until the return of the sun in February, when they’d be collected with their data. Then the two men were left alone.’

  He saw Thomas Harding drinking water, looking at him gratefully, admiringly. He could feel it, like they were already a team.

  ‘The winter intensifies everything. Both men were diligent in their duties and went out in any conditions to read their instruments, but inside the hut at their evening meal, Søren liked to talk, and read, and exchange ideas. Lund was quiet, and became more taciturn every day, and Søren’s cough before he spoke began to annoy him more and more. One day the cough and the questions and the talk became too much for Lund and he decided to go out with a tent alone for three days, and record from further into the ice cap. He completed his work and returned, looking forward to the hot meal he was sure Søren would be preparing.

  ‘At first he thought the hut had vanished, because there was no light on. When he found it, there was no vapour from the ventilation pipe and no friendly smell of cooking when he came in. He got angry because he thought Søren had copied him and gone out on his own research observation, but when he lit the lamp he saw him right there, sitting at the table.’

  Sean saw they were all transfixed, even Redmond. No one moved, or drank.

  ‘So Lund decided it must be his turn to make dinner, and made up some seal soup, with some of the dried herbs Søren used. While he was cooking it, he thought of the questions that Søren had asked him, and decided he would answer them over dinner, so he did. He ate his soup, and as Søren wasn’t very hungry, he ate his too. All his fears about what Søren would say or think of him were quite unfounded, and he enjoyed talking to him. Usually they took it in turns to cook or clear, but Lund was in such a good mood he said he’d do both, and Søren didn’t object.

  ‘In fact, Søren was enjoying himself so much he didn’t want to go to sleep, but Lund insisted and helped him to his bunk. Søren wasn’t well the next day, so Lund did both their work, but helped him up in time for the evening meal, when they carried on their conversation from the night before. Søren was such a good listener that Lund found himself remembering all sorts of things from his past, even telling jokes, and some personal things that had happened to him, but Søren never judged him. It was a shame he still didn’t feel very well, but Lund had energy for two. He told Søren when he felt better, he could get back to it all.

  ‘But after a week Søren was still not better, and Lund had noticed that at their evening meal, he was starting to look quite unwell, and letting his personal hygiene slip. Maybe it was too hot in the hut, and so he took Søren outside and made him a comfortable bunk in a snowdrift, quite near the hut. Søren was much more comfortable because when Lund brought him in for dinner the following evening, he sat up straight at the table, and their conversation continued. They went on like this all winter, and Lund grew extremely fond of his expedition partner, even though he was a bit lazy these days. But he brought out the best in him, like no one else ever had.

  ‘One day he noticed something upsetting. A paling of the darkness. When he checked the calendar, Lund saw to his shock that it was early February, and the ship would be coming back. He told Søren about it that night when he brought him in, but Søren refused to discuss it. Lund didn’t want other people invading their happy society and felt his old fearful nature coming back. When Søren refused to help with the dishes or even answer a civil question, he snapped and hit him. Søren’s frozen body fell to the ground with a strange sound.

  ‘Only then did Lund truly know what had happened, and that he could not go on bringing Søren in every night, because he was quite dead. He wept then, for the first time in his adult life – we know this because he said it later at his trial in Copenhagen. So he buried Søren outside – which was hard work, digging a grave in the frozen soil, but he did it. When it was ready, he did the thing he hated to do, that caused him all the trouble later. H
e took the axe and beheaded his friend, so that he could never come to dinner again. Then he buried the head and the body, piled the grave with stones, made a cross, said a prayer, and waited until the ship came.’

  Sean found himself at the head of the table: they had moved their chairs back, the better to see him tell the story. He saw Tom Harding gave him a thumbs up, eyes bright with triumph.

  ‘The ship returned with the sun and the supply team came to help pack up the cabin and support the two men. And of course when only Lund was there, they wanted to know what had happened. He explained Søren had died of his cough while he was away, and so he had buried him. That was the truth and he showed them the grave, but when they exhumed Søren to bring him back to his family in Denmark, they found his head had been cut off, and they didn’t believe Lund’s story. Søren was the popular one and Lund wasn’t, so they put him in irons and took him to court back in Copenhagen. Only then, in fear of hanging, did he tell them the whole story, which was written down and can be read by anyone with sufficient interest to find it, and check these facts.’ Sean looked around the table. ‘And that is the story of the Frozen Friend, and I tell it on behalf of that man there.’

  It took a few seconds for the Lost Explorers’ Society to realise the tale was told. They stamped and roared and called for more, and more drink to go with it, but the proprietor came up to turn on the lights and kick them out, frowning at his waiter as he did so. Sean’s tiredness was gone, he was electrified by his performance, by the story, and he was trembling with his daring. He collected plates and glasses, glad to disappear from view, retreating back into himself, collecting his wages, going back to his room where he lay in bed, smiling in the dark. The world had changed.

  The following day he found a note in his pigeonhole at Hertford College. It was on headed Christ Church College notepaper and from Tom Harding, who had traced him. He wanted to thank him in person at the earliest opportunity, and would be in the King’s Head pub around the corner, that night. PS He had something to ask him, involving Greenland.

  The next depot is – nowhere. Gone, vanished – used for dog-feed. We have already marched as far as we thought to go today, but when we fixed the length of our day’s journey we were still in paradise, and never dreamed of any serpent. But now all is changed, the empty tins grin devilishly at us out of wide gashes cut by the axe – we must get in at once, for, in our certainty of finding food here, we have made deep inroads on our stock. It was but a pound a day in all – but it was yet too much; the depot here laid waste speaks ill for what may await us at the next.

  It is stern work now: a feverish race with death – the grim death of hunger, and we wonder often as we toil along which is to win in the end.

  Lost in the Arctic: Being the story of the ‘Alabama’ Expedition, 1909–12 (1913)

  Captain Ejnar Mikkelsen

  19

  Angela Harding was next to take the stand. She asked, on behalf of the family, for as much information as possible.

  ‘If we know,’ she said, and her voice was small but strong, ‘we can stop imagining. I don’t enjoy that, I’m better with facts. Don’t think you’re sparing us by not saying.’ She went back down to her seat, and then the coroner called Inspector Pal Brovang of the Sysselmann’s Office, Svalbard, in the Kingdom of Norway.

  Sean twisted round as Inspector Brovang came in, a quiet-looking man in his fifties with close-cropped grey hair, the lean compact frame of a much younger man, and a light tread. He and the coroner nodded to each other as equals. Mr Thornton thanked him for making the time to attend this inquest, then Brovang took the oath in fluent English, a skill in Sean’s experience shared by 100 per cent of Norwegians.

  Though he had been in contact with Brovang before, in every sense, Sean had never been conscious and in the same room. This was the first time. The thought of his own hands, cold and frozen, in that man’s warm armpits, was embarrassingly intimate.

  ‘Inspector Brovang,’ commenced Mr Thornton, ‘you attended both the aftermath of the accident on the Midgardbreen glacier, during which Tom Harding is believed to have lost his life, and also the subsequent discovery of his body in June of this year, by the cruise ship Vanir.’

  Brovang nodded. ‘A sad coincidence, but it meant I was well placed to help.’

  ‘If you would please summarise the events of the accident to us?’

  ‘Certainly.’ Brovang looked out across the court. ‘But first may I offer my condolences, and that of my whole team, to all Tom’s family. We greatly regret we were unable to recover his body for you at the time.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sean knew the small clear voice of Granny Ruby.

  ‘So then. Late on the twentieth March 2015, the day of the solar eclipse, the coastguard received emergency calls made from the buildings now known as Midgard Lodge, by Miss Martine Delaroche and Mr Danny Long.’ Brovang’s eyes searched the court before he continued. ‘She reported there had been an accident at the Midgardbreen ice-caves and said that two people – Sean Cawson and Tom Harding – were still inside, and there had been an internal collapse. Three people had managed to get out because they did not want to go so deep and had stayed near the entrance. These were Miss Delaroche, Miss Young, and Mr Kingsmith. Mr Cawson and Mr Harding wanted to go in to see the feature that was known as the Great Hall.’

  ‘Was?’ asked the coroner.

  ‘Since this accident we put warnings against exploring ice-caves everywhere on the archipelago. The stability of the permafrost is compromised in many places; houses and mines are also collapsing. In Greenland too, and in Russia.’ Inspector Brovang looked out at the silent courtroom. ‘In the Arctic the weather can change very fast, and this is what happened that day, all over Svalbard. We had many incidents of people in difficulty.’

  ‘Is Miss Delaroche testifying today?’ The coroner consulted notes. ‘I see, Wednesday. Very well. Please go on.’

  ‘Also at the location of the cave – not inside it, but at a vantage point higher up the glacier – Mr Long and Mr Bjornsen had been standing bear watch. But because of the rapid change in the weather they were already heading down to the cave when the three got out. Then because of the fast-approaching storm, they made the decision to get the three visitors back safely rather than further risk all their lives. Our phone records show that the storm had stopped their phones working. The best satellite technology is no match for Nature.’

  Brovang poured some water from the jug on the stand and drank. Sean realised he was holding his breath. He knew this story like a fable: the solar storm that knocked out all the satellite phones, the collapsed cave, the blizzard. Then they all went back to Midgard Lodge and left him and Tom under the ice.

  Brovang’s eyes found his. ‘You know they had to do it: they could not clear a collapsed ice-cave with their bare hands, and a storm coming in. They acted with sense, but they were very distressed when they got through on the telephone.’

  Sean nodded, to show Yes, of course. They had to abandon us.

  ‘We had many emergencies on Svalbard over this period, and because of the storm and the fog it was impossible to travel to Midgardbreen for four hours after we received the distress calls. Fog is the most dangerous condition if you want to render aid, because you risk also having an accident and … compounding? – compounding, the first crisis with a new one. We had to wait until it was safer to fly, then locate the entrance to the ice-cave. It was difficult because of all the new snow.’

  He turned to the coroner. ‘Whenever there are high numbers of visitors to Svalbard, we see a corresponding increase in the need for the emergency services. This was the case on the day of the solar eclipse. It is sadly ironic that my department had already called upon the search and rescue facilities offered to us by Midgard Lodge, for use in other incidents. It is possible that without the arrangement Mr Cawson had with the Sysselmann’s office, aid would have come sooner. But it is my opinion that, because of the storm, the outcome of the situation would have been the s
ame.’

  Brovang’s eyes now found Tom’s family. ‘It is normal for the family to want to know everything. I would be the same. So I will tell you that, by our records, from the time of the phone call from Miss Delaroche, to the time we arrived, it was nearly seven hours since the cave system collapsed. The fact that the other three members of the party survived is because Mr Long and Mr Bjornsen got them back to Midgard Lodge. Then it was night and we could not continue searching. We sent the three survivors back to Longyearbyen for medical support; we stayed on at Midgard Lodge, and in the morning by first light we resumed the search for Tom and Sean.’

  Sean felt a peculiar pang at how Brovang had changed to his first name. He had a fleeting fantasy of Brovang as his older brother. He had that quality; someone you could lean on and trust, who would make the thugs think twice before taking him on.

  ‘We called reinforcements from Longyearbyen,’ Brovang continued. ‘Some of the search and rescue staff from Midgard Lodge had also returned to help. But it was impossible to open up the cave without further risk of life. We had to accept the strong chance that both men were lost. Then we had news of another storm coming in, so we had a maximum thirty to forty minutes more to search. It was during this time that I discovered Sean in an old polar bear den. In the Arctic, we say you are not dead until you are warm and dead, and so I did that: I warmed him.’

  Brovang stopped. In the silence everyone heard Angela Harding sobbing quietly. Another mother’s son found, and hers lost. Sean didn’t know it was a den. He thought he had burrowed that hole himself. Explorers did that, he knew. That was what he’d said in the interview, that was what he remembered. A polar bear den was a much better story, and it was even true.