He smiled and shook my hand, and it was a warm, firm handshake. He told me that I was in cabin six, and my roommate was Betty Freeman. (I already knew that, of course.)
I went to my cabin and saw that my luggage was already in place and on the bunk nearer the door, so I decided that was mine. My bunk bed resembled something I had slept on during summer camp, except that this one was much sturdier and bolted to the floor. The room had one window, but we were right at sea level, so I saw nothing but water spraying against the heavily paned porthole. Each of us had a cupboard. One-half was shelving and the other for hanging. On the top shelf was a life vest with instructions that we were always to have it on when we left the ship. In one corner was a small desk, a chair, and a reading lamp. I have no idea why they called it a reading lamp. It had about twenty-five watts of light. The overhead light was just about bright enough so I could read. The toilet was outside our door on our left with the shower on the right. The ship had two dining rooms, each seating about twenty-five people.
The ship pulled out exactly at four thirty. Most of us scurried to the top and watched the ship navigate through the generally calm waters of the Beagle Channel. I went to my cabin, unpacked, and then explored the ship. Because of its modest size, that didn’t take long. This was no Carnival ship, and we had no casino, restaurant, disco, stage, swimming pool, shops, TV, newspapers, or any outside communication. This was exactly what we had expected.
Betty Freeman and I shared the bathroom with the occupants of four other cabins—but we were the closest. We never had anywhere to go except the dining room on our floor, the lecture room down one flight, the bar up one flight, or the navigation bridge. To get alone during the days at sea, I realized there would be only one place to go: I walked up to the top deck, where the wind whipped me from all directions. Shivering with cold and occasionally facing pelting snow, I walked. I would rarely have company.
Twila chose the Amundsen Suite for herself—the one luxury cabin on the entire ship and at a cost of slightly under $8,000. That kind of luxury wasn’t typical of Twila, but I understood the reason.
I had agreed to meet Twila twenty minutes later so we could watch the ship move out of the dock. It would have been uneventful except that several dusky dolphins followed us.
Twila loved the movement and the noise and the cold and the wind. I let her enjoy it. I watched her carefully. She insisted she was in no pain and told me in her firm-but-nice voice, “I did not bring you to be my nurse.”
I apologized, but I didn’t stop watching after her.
I wish I had watched more closely.
Six
We had tea about five thirty while we listened to all the announcements and ended with a lifeboat drill. We had to report on the deck with life vests. We lined up in two rows. I paid no attention to anyone around us, but as I put on my life vest, I must have taken a step backward and somehow lost my balance. Strong arms grabbed my shoulders.
“Easy.”
“Thank you,” I said without turning around. I knew who stood behind me.
I heard none of the lecture, because I wondered if Burton focused on me or if he noticed that I had cut my hair shorter. Why should he notice?
Do you really care? I asked myself.
I chose not to answer my own question.
Instead, I asked myself, Am I destined to run into Burton like this for the entire cruise? One of my colleagues at the mental health center always insisted that we unconsciously attract what we want—good or bad. I hoped she was wrong.
The drill finally over, I stepped forward. Betty had brought along a small bag and dropped it at her feet (although we had been told to bring nothing). In my haste to get away from Burton, I tripped over the bag and started to plunge forward.
Strong arms grabbed me in mid-fall.
“You’re good at falling,” the voice said. “This is the best fall you’ve done since we met on Palm Island.”
“That time it was deliberate,” I said before I could stop myself.
“I know,” he said and chuckled.
I made it a habit to get to the dining room early—earlier than Burton. The dining room was really two rooms, separated by a wall. The passageway led directly to the left dining room, and we had to walk a few feet to enter the room on the right. I went there where it was less crowded.
To his credit, Burton sat in the other room. I wondered why.
I must be crazy, I thought. I don’t want him around me and I don’t want to talk to him, yet if he doesn’t show up, I feel slighted.
I sighed and thought about what I’d say to a client. I’d say it more diplomatically, but in essence, my message would be, “Get over him.”
That’s what I’ll do, I thought.
I looked around the dining room. One cook was Russian and the other was Finnish. They came out before every evening meal and told us how wonderfully they had prepared for us. They stood in the doorway between the two rooms so everyone could see them.
Every midday and evening meal started with soup with exotic names and strange flavors, but I liked them all. We had a choice of meat, chicken, or vegetarian. Sometimes fish replaced meat. We selected our choices at breakfast by checking a posted list. Simple enough.
The meals on the ship were excellent. We had choices of two entrées at lunch and three at dinner, and could have seconds if we wanted. Even for the five vegetarians the chef always came through—although I wouldn’t attempt to explain some of the odd combinations. We later marveled that we still had fresh lettuce and only moderately ripe bananas on the last day at sea when there were no places along the way to get provisions. The cooks had developed a system to keep fresh produce stored in such a way that it didn’t ripen too quickly.
It was easier to focus on ripe bananas than to wonder what was going on inside Burton’s head.
“Stop it!” I told myself.
I wished I could obey my commands as well as I could throw them out.
Around midnight on our first night, we entered the open sea. We had heard about the dreaded Drake Passage that separates South America from Antarctica and had been told it is the roughest sea in the world. After we went through the passage, I don’t think any of us doubted the accuracy of that statement. I slept fairly well that night because once the ride became bumpy, I packed clothes and luggage around my body and lay in the shape of a banana. I didn’t get knocked around very much. Many passengers wore ear patches or took Phenergan for motion sickness—and I’m not sure they did much good. The next day I heard from at least two people that they had received shots for motion sickness. The ship rocked so hard that at times most of us felt as if we were being tossed from a horizontal position to a ninety-degree angle in our beds. The doctor had given me a few Phenergan tablets in case I needed them. I didn’t.
I loved showering the next morning. I held on to a steel wall post with one hand while I washed with the other. It was impossible to walk across the small cabin (perhaps eight feet by twelve) without holding on. Maneuvering the short hallways tested our walking ability. As long as we held on to the railings, we were all right.
Few passengers showed up at breakfast. Other than seasickness, nothing exciting happened the first three days as we went across the Drake Passage. If we wanted to go outside, we could see any number of albatross, especially the magnificent wandering albatross and the southern giant petrels. Mickey Brewer spotted two minke whales and Donny Otis yelled when he saw a humpback. I raced to the spots, but they just looked like big globs of brown or gray in the water. It was cold, windy, and wet on the deck, so I spent most of my time on the bridge. It was an excellent lookout spot, and the captain or some excited passenger would point out the wildlife.
Our ship plowed through seas so rough that at times no one was allowed on deck. We had to hang on to tables or walls to keep from toppling over when we walked. All of us spent a lot of time in our bunks and slept a lot the first two days. I read two books during that rough travel—after I insisted on a
larger bulb in the reading lamp.
One of the crew members lectured on “The Early Discovery and Exploration of the Frozen Continent.” I found it fascinating, but fewer than thirty of us attended.
This is boring stuff, I know, but it’s important to explain all of this—especially after we had our first two landings. That’s when the cruise was no longer just an Antarctic trip.
We spotted land at the end of the third day. Almost everyone raced up to the decks. I started up and discovered Burton just ahead of me. I turned and went back to my cabin. I’d see a lot of land soon.
The next day, before we made the first landing, Captain Robert briefed us on the dos and don’ts of Antarctica. By international agreement, the continent must remain undeveloped, with no damage to ecosystems. For example, visitors must haul out their own trash. We were not to touch any animals or come close enough to make them wary or fearful.
It became quite a task for me to avoid Burton. He didn’t stalk me—he isn’t the type—but he seemed to be around no matter where I went on the ship and when we landed.
Or was my colleague correct that I sent invisible vibes through the atmosphere to attract him? I usually laughed when she talked that way. Now I wondered.
A few hours later, we received an announcement about twenty minutes before the first of four motorized rubber rafts (called Zodiacs) left the ship. That was our signal to put on our heavy “landing clothes” as I called them. The captain also told us of weather conditions—no matter how he stated his report, it was always cold.
We had instructions on how to get into the Zodiacs, which were large, heavy-duty inflatables with flat bottoms that allowed them to land directly onto the cobble and ice-strewn beaches.
The first time I held back until Burton had gotten into a Zodiac and it had shoved off. To be honest, it was stressful. If only I’d felt indifferent to him or hated him, I wouldn’t have been so stressed over seeing him. Each time our eyes met, I looked away and wished I had not come along on the cruise.
I lined up for the next Zodiac. We had to have both hands free to get on and off. We women left our purses and personal items on the ship. Those with cameras slung them over their shoulders or, if they were small enough, tucked them inside their enormous parkas. We were told to step carefully and quickly from the launching platform and to accept the assistance offered by the crew. We were not to hold the helper’s hand but instead to use the sailor’s grip (grab each other by the forearm). Heather complained that she thought the forearm was “a most unattractive place to grab.”
I thought of two or three rude comments, but I kept my mouth shut.
Most of the time (to my surprise), the temperatures stayed slightly below freezing, but with the winds, who would have known? I would have guessed about fifty degrees below zero, but Jon Friesen teased me and said I must have no blood flowing through my body.
“How can it flow when it’s already frozen?” I asked.
“Maybe I need to warm you up.”
He was smiling, but he just wasn’t my type. I said, “A hot shower after our return will work better.” I moved away from him.
Twila had even taken care of the biggest clothing problems. She had personally bought a blue rain suit of coated nylon for each of us (after we gave her our sizes). We put them over our clothing and they kept us dry, protected us from the wind, and also gave some amount of warmth. She also bought us heavy rubber boots—two sizes larger than our regular shoes so we could pad them with as many extra socks as we wanted—or so they said. They were slightly more than a foot high and had strong, ridged nonskid soles, which we needed for landings on rocks or ice. Each time we went ashore, I decided I would wear three pairs of heavy wool socks—that was as many as I could get inside the boots.
I brought polypropylene underwear because it keeps the body warm without adding bulk. On top of that I wore a heavy turtleneck and a hooded fleece jacket. Keeping the hands warm and dry, the brochure we received told us, was often a problem. I brought two pairs of thin polypropylene glove liners to wear under my wool gloves.
We lined up in our dorky gear on deck and laughed at how outrageous we looked. Several of the women commented on how fat it made them appear, including Heather Wilson, but I reminded her, “Honey, when they can choose between you and penguins on the white continent, they won’t even notice what you’re wearing.”
They were all wet landings. That is, we had no piers, and our Zodiac pulled up fairly close but not close enough. Our driver jumped out and stood in water about eight inches deep. He offered us a grip to climb out. From there we waded to shore in freezing-but-shallow water.
Here’s how the system worked: Four Zodiacs carried twelve passengers ashore, which was a ride of less than five minutes from the ship.
The landing at King George Island in the early afternoon was set up quite efficiently. Although Twila wasn’t murdered on the first landing, it’s important for me to tell you about it. The murderer—as we realized later—figured out the system and planned to kill her at a subsequent landing. Had it not been for a careful and observant captain, Twila’s death might have gone undetected. No one might ever have known what had happened to her.
Seven
To go ashore, we lined up at the side of the ship to get into the Zodiacs. We first had to pass by what the captain called the “landing tag board.” That was the most important and the first of two ways to keep track of passengers. The murderer must have taken careful note of the procedure.
Each of us had a number—assigned to us at random as far as I could see. When we left the ship, the tag faced right and we picked it up, turned it to the left, and put it back. The tag was nothing but a piece of wood with a number in bright yellow and a hole to put it on the hooks on the board. The captain checked the landing tag board before the last Zodiac left. If there were any keys on the board facing right, he either had been told the person was sick, which usually meant seasick, or someone had chosen not to go. Of course, anyone could choose not to go, but no one opted for that the first two landings.
We had to line up wearing our life jackets. The life jackets were the second way to keep track of us. After we waded through the shallow water, a few feet from the shore we were supposed to take off the life jackets and drop them on the ground (in a dry spot). A few of the people didn’t bother to drop off their life jackets but wore them when they walked around.
That was the second thing that almost made Twila’s death go undetected.
When we got ready to go back to the ship, we picked up a life jacket. The point of leaving and taking up life jackets was that if the number of people who left to go back to the ship was correct, when we left, there would be no life jackets on the ground.
We could switch to another Zodiac on the return. In that case, we were supposed to notify the driver and were responsible to have a life jacket on when we boarded the Zodiac. Occasionally someone came in, say, the first Zodiac and, instead of going back with that group, walked around and went back with the third or fourth Zodiac.
The fourth Zodiac would not leave unless every life jacket had been picked up off the beach. That’s why the killer had to understand the second part of the counting system.
The azure blueness of the sky overwhelmed me. I had never seen such a vivid color before. We spotted large icebergs of many shapes and hues. Some were bluish (the darker the blue, the older the glacier they had broken off from). Others had tunnel-like holes through them, or they appeared to have turned upside down. A few resembled mushrooms. One passenger said, “This is a veritable Rorschach test in white and 3-D.”
On King George Island, we had our first look—and smell—of Antarctica. The odor of penguin guano overpowered me for a minute, but I soon became accustomed to that and to the two-inch thickness of it on the ground as I walked around.
The air felt so fresh, I stopped several times and breathed deeply. The cold nipped at my toes, but I kept moving and wriggling them as I walked. Clouds lined the horizon
as if to signal bad weather in the hours ahead. During the two hours or so we stayed on King George Island, the wind increased considerably.
I could only say again and again that it was the most spectacular place imaginable. This was one trip when pictures hardly did justice to reality. Hundreds of penguins, dozens of Weddell seals, two leopard seals, and two fur seals seemed totally at home in the rocky landscape of the desolate wasteland. We gazed at a huge glacier farther down the beach, and several of us hiked over to it. We didn’t go far, because the captain warned us that calving action (breaking off) could happen without warning, and it would sweep us into the ocean.
As I walked along, I took out my brochure to identify the species of penguins. Five of the seventeen existing varieties lived there, and that day (for the first and only time) I was able to see all of them on the same island: gentoo, Adélie, macaroni, rockhopper, and chinstrap. The penguins, sometimes called wingless birds, fascinated most of us. We could watch them, seemingly endlessly, without getting bored.
Penguins have many humanlike mannerisms and portly body shapes. If we moved slowly, we could get within a few feet of them. They were afraid only of fast movements, because birds of prey sometimes swept down and snatched their babies or stole their eggs.
It amazed me to be able to stand so near and watch these birds climb a steep, slippery hill. Sometimes they fell backward, but they just started again. Yet when those awkward creatures swam, a transformation took place. They flipped into the air, arched their bodies, and porpoise-like, dove hundreds of feet into the ocean to catch fish. They endured temperatures of minus seventy degrees. We learned in one of our lectures that males share the job of sitting on the unhatched eggs and also feed the chicks by regurgitating food through their beaks for the babies to suck out. Females usually have two eggs. In years when the fish supply is low, they feed one chick and push away the other, which eventually dies.
Everybody Called Her a Saint Page 3