Chasing the Light

by Jesse Blackadder

  Ingrid came to a stop next to her and Lillemor heard Mathilde’s footsteps in the cabin. ‘Who’s Mawson?’

  ‘Only the famous Australian polar explorer!’ Lillemor said. ‘Captain Riiser-Larsen’s great friend and rival. But that damned fool Horntvedt refuses to send a message and so there’s no reason for him to stop.’

  ‘What do you want from me?’ Mathilde asked.

  Lillemor smiled. ‘The three of us are going to put on our brightest dresses and hats and go on the catwalk and wave like mad. Then he’ll see us and perhaps come alongside.’

  ‘You go,’ Mathilde said. ‘I don’t care.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Mathilde,’ Ingrid said.

  There was silence behind the door.

  ‘Hjalmar will be so disappointed.’ Lillemor winked at Ingrid. ‘You know he met Mawson last year in the ice and went on board? He says it was one of the highlights of his life.’

  The lock turned and Mathilde opened the door.

  ‘You need some fun,’ Lillemor said. ‘Come on; let’s show Horntvedt a thing or two.’ She stepped forward into the cabin before Mathilde could change her mind, glancing over her shoulder. The ship was close. ‘We only have a minute.’

  ‘What shall we wear?’ Mathilde asked.

  Lillemor smiled and clapped her on the shoulder. ‘That’s the spirit. Hats! Something with feathers. Scarves to wave. Dresses!’

  She crossed the cabin, flung open the door of her wardrobe trunk and started rifling through her clothes.

  ‘We’ll freeze!’ Mathilde said

  ‘It won’t be for long,’ Lillemor said. ‘Quick!’

  Mathilde started pulling off her heavy clothes and Ingrid did the same. Lillemor threw her most brightly coloured dress over her shoulder. Ingrid was a little stouter than she, but could squeeze into it if she tried. The three of them started pulling on clothes, a garish mix of colours that had looked fashionable in Cape Town, but were shocking here.

  ‘Lipstick!’ Lillemor said, brandishing the tube.

  ‘They won’t see lipstick from so far away,’ Ingrid said.

  ‘Oh yes they will.’ Lillemor applied the tube expertly and handed it to Mathilde, who followed suit more slowly, then passed it to Ingrid.

  They stood for a moment staring at each other and Lillemor laughed aloud. Ingrid followed suit and a moment later even Mathilde joined in, if a little hysterically.

  They headed to the door and out, ignoring the rush of cold on their bare arms. As they ran out on the catwalk, Lillemor could see Discovery’s three tall masts clearly. The ship was only a few hundred yards away.

  The three of them halted and Lillemor waved her hands over her head. ‘Hello! Sir Mawson! Hello!’ She nudged the other two. ‘Come on!’

  ‘Hello!’ Mathilde and Ingrid called together.

  ‘Louder! Wave your scarves!’ Lillemor said.

  They made an incongruous sight, Lillemor could see from the expressions of the crewmen below them on the deck who were staring up in disbelief. Lillemor trailed her scarf through the air, a slash of colour against Thorshavn’s industrial deck.

  Discovery drew closer, her sails aloft. She looked like something from an older world, Lillemor thought. Thorshavn’s purpose was evident in its long streamlined shape, industry stamped into every rivet that held its metal construction together. Discovery wore her exploration lineage like a cape of royalty.

  ‘You know that’s the ship that carried Captain Scott to Antarctica?’ Lillemor said.

  ‘Really?’ Mathilde asked.

  ‘The first time, when he went with Shackleton,’ Lillemor said. ‘The next time he took the Terra Nova and never came back.’

  ‘The next time Shackleton went, he took my husband’s ship Polaris,’ Ingrid said.

  Lillemor stared at Ingrid. That was something she didn’t know. ‘Don’t you mean Endurance?’

  ‘Shackleton changed the name of Polaris when he bought her,’ Ingrid said. ‘I always thought I’d go to Antarctica on that ship.’

  ‘Lucky you didn’t,’ Lillemor said.

  ‘They’re looking!’ Mathilde cried. ‘They’re all coming to the rails.’

  Lillemor turned her attention back to Discovery. They were close enough to make out the faces of the men on board. ‘Blow them a kiss!’

  ‘What will they think?’ Mathilde said.

  ‘Who cares?’ Lillemor waved again and made a theatrical pucker.

  A ragged cheer rose from the ship and Lillemor could hear the sound of clapping.

  ‘Can you see Mawson?’ Ingrid asked.

  Lillemor looked more closely. ‘They’re standing back to let someone through. I think it must be him.’

  Discovery turned so that it faced into the breeze as it came within twenty-five yards of Thorshavn. The sails flapped and billowed and Thorshavn’s foghorn suddenly blasted out across the water, making all of them jump. Lillemor glanced up but all she could make out of Horntvedt through the window of the bridge was a blurry profile.

  She turned back to Discovery. The man who was obviously Mawson stared at them, unmoving, while around him the men cheered and clapped and let out a few wolf whistles. Lillemor could feel his authority even at a distance. Not a heavy-handed one, like Horntvedt’s, but a palpable air of strength. She waved and blew another kiss. Mathilde and Ingrid were both more ladylike now the ship was so close, but they waved.

  Mawson tipped his cap at them. Discovery turned. Her sails filled and she began to slide away. Lillemor was aware of the freezing air on her exposed arms and shoulders. Many of Thorshavn’s crew had come out on the deck, attracted by their cries or the blast of the horn, and were staring up at them curiously.

  ‘You’re shivering,’ Ingrid said to Mathilde.

  Mathilde was staring after Discovery wistfully. ‘She looks so graceful.’

  ‘She doesn’t have hot baths or roast pork,’ Ingrid said. ‘Can you imagine how she rolls in heavy seas?’

  ‘At least she wouldn’t stink.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that! How often do you think they wash?’ Ingrid said.

  They laughed but Lillemor felt a pang of loss. If the world had been different she might have been exploring on Discovery, not capering on Thorshavn’s deck. She caught sight of the mess boy on the deck below them and waved to get his attention. She leaned over the railing. ‘Could you bring coffee to my cabin?’

  She turned to the two women, both still staring after the ship. ‘We’d better keep out of Horntvedt’s way for a while. Come on.’

  The three of them scuttled back along the catwalk. The cabin was warm compared to the air outside and they stripped out of their dresses and back into their ship clothes. Tobias arrived in minutes with a tray of coffee and once he’d left, Lillemor opened a drawer and withdrew a bottle of aquavit.

  ‘That was fun.’ Ingrid sat on the bunk and threw back a shot without blinking.

  ‘Well, we showed that stupid captain at least,’ Mathilde said.

  Lillemor decided not to draw attention to Mathilde’s improved mood. She opened another drawer and took out a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. She put one between her lips and held out the packet to Mathilde.

  Her eyes were wide. ‘I don’t smoke.’

  ‘Come on,’ Lillemor said. ‘You won’t believe how it takes away the smell. Ingrid?’

  ‘Oh, why not?’ Ingrid reached for the pack. She took a cigarette and made a clumsy attempt to flick the lighter. Lillemor took it from her, clicked it into life and lit the three cigarettes with a practised air. Mathilde and Ingrid both inhaled, coughed, and puffed again.

  ‘Actually, it’s not too bad,’ Mathilde said. ‘I could get to like it.’

  ‘Me too,’ Ingrid said.

  By the second drink and cigarette the cabin was warm, filled with a comfortable fug of smoke, and they were sitting on the bunk, in a semblance of camaraderie.

  ‘That’s better,’ Ingrid said. ‘Once we’re away from the factories, there won’t be any smell.’ />
  Mathilde sniffed at her coat and wrinkled her nose. ‘Everything stinks. I’ll have to burn my clothes when I get back.’ She inhaled and blew out an elegant stream of smoke as though she’d been doing it half a lifetime. ‘Norway feels so far away.’

  She reached her glass out to Lillemor for a second refill. Lillemor hesitated for a second, and then filled it. Mathilde wasn’t a drinker; three glasses would finish her off. But really, what did it matter? She needed to loosen up.

  ‘Be careful,’ Ingrid said. ‘We’ll be back in Norway soon.’

  Mathilde blew smoke in her direction. ‘Be careful of what?’

  Ingrid looked uncomfortable. ‘You know what I mean.’

  Lillemor laughed. Ingrid was such a prude. ‘What, Mrs Christensen? What are you saying to poor Mathilde?’

  Ingrid hesitated. ‘Things that happen here – well – it’s different from home. People would see them differently.’

  ‘You know what? I liked having those men cheering,’ Lillemor said. ‘I liked the idea of a ship full of men all hungering for a woman. I think Mathilde liked it too. Didn’t you, Ingrid?’

  Ingrid was twisting her fingers together. She put her hands down in her lap. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘It’s all right for us married women, but Mathilde is a widow. She needs a little male attention, or she’ll shrivel up and die.’

  Mathilde giggled. ‘I think I’m getting drunk.’

  Lillemor could see Mathilde was already drunk and she couldn’t resist the prospect of inflaming her crush on Hjalmar, and the vicarious entertainment that might ensue. ‘I suppose your husband was your first lover. Don’t you ever wonder what another man would be like?’

  Mathilde blushed and dropped her head.

  Ingrid gave Lillemor a warning glance but she ignored it.

  ‘Have you been wondering about someone we all know, by any chance? I think you rather like one of our captains, Mathilde?’

  Mathilde didn’t answer.

  ‘I don’t blame you.’ Lillemor took a deep drag on the cigarette. ‘He’s a very handsome man, Mathilde, and he obviously likes you.’

  ‘Do you think so?’ Mathilde asked.

  Lillemor could see Mathilde was having trouble focusing her eyes. It hadn’t taken long for the alcohol to affect her. ‘Oh yes. Wouldn’t you say, Ingrid?’

  ‘He’s a very kind man,’ Ingrid said.

  ‘It’s not just kindness. I’ve seen how he looks at her. Isn’t that right, Mathilde?’

  Mathilde put out her cigarette. ‘I don’t know. How could I tell?’

  ‘I can tell, I assure you,’ Lillemor said. ‘But what are you going to do about it, that’s the question?’

  Mathilde blushed again. Lillemor wondered if she herself had ever been so naïve. She doubted it. She had been aware of men and how to get their attention for as long as she could remember.

  ‘I’d like to go with him on Norvegia,’ Mathilde said at last. ‘I hate the factory ships.’

  Ingrid swung her legs around and stood up, and then staggered and gripped the side of the bunk. ‘Don’t be fooled, Mathilde. I’ve known Hjalmar a long time. He’s very charming, but don’t think for a moment he’d give up his freedom for a woman. You try to hold on to a man like him and he disappears like a handful of snow. His first wife could tell you that.’

  ‘Why do you care?’ Mathilde said. ‘I’m not looking for a husband, Ingrid.’

  ‘Ladies, ladies!’ Lillemor broke in. ‘Enough. Why shouldn’t she go on Norvegia, Ingrid?’

  Ingrid stared at her. ‘Are you mad? Don’t you think there’d be a scandal when she got home?’

  Lillemor shrugged. ‘I’ve had my share of scandals. You get through them.’

  Ingrid shook her head. ‘You’re not living in Sandefjord, Lillemor.’ She reached out and took Mathilde’s shoulder. ‘No, Mathilde! That’s the final word. There’s no way you’re going on Norvegia. Forget it.’

  Mathilde’s face slowly crumpled and she began to cry. She wriggled her shoulders until Ingrid let go. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. ‘I hate this fucking place.’

  Ingrid visibly flinched at the word. She looked over at Lillemor, shaking her head as Mathilde’s sobs intensified.

  Lillemor returned the gaze steadily. ‘Mathilde should have an affair with him. She needs something good from this trip, Ingrid. Why not let her have that? The three of us can keep it secret. It’s only for a week or so until he meets his ship. What’s the harm in it?’

  Ingrid spluttered and stepped back. ‘She could get pregnant for a start.’

  Mathilde stopped sobbing and lifted her face.

  Lillemor couldn’t help smiling. ‘Oh, that’s nothing. England’s behind in many things but it’s quite good at birth control. The dutch cap is virtually infallible, and I always carry spares.’

  ‘She’ll fall in love with him, and expect him to marry her,’ Ingrid argued.

  ‘I will not,’ Mathilde said, her voice slurring a little.

  Lillemor was enjoying the sparring. Mathilde was too drunk already to realise what any fool could see – that Ingrid wanted Hjalmar for herself. With enough prodding in the right direction, Mathilde could be convinced to have an affair with him. Jealousy might take Ingrid’s mind off the main game – landing on Antarctica.

  ‘Don’t expect anything from him, Mathilde, and you’ll be fine,’ Lillemor said. ‘We’ll keep your secret. No one will know from me if you don’t sleep here.’

  ‘I can’t believe this,’ Ingrid said, her voice tight.

  ‘No telling your husband,’ Lillemor warned her. ‘This is between the females only.’

  Ingrid shook her head. ‘It looks like I can’t prevent you. I’m going to bed.’

  She let go of the bunk and started weaving towards the door. Worried that Ingrid might fall, Lillemor jumped up, took her arm and guided her.

  ‘Will you be all right?’ she asked, as Ingrid opened the door and the cold air rushed in.

  Ingrid was pale. ‘It strikes me you always get your way, Lillemor.’

  Lillemor laughed to try and lighten the mood. ‘I do my best. But neither of us were on that catcher today, Ingrid. Sometimes you’ve got to take devious routes to get your way.’

  She felt in her pocket and brought out a half-empty packet of cigarettes. ‘You might need these,’ she said, pressing them into Ingrid’s hand.

  Ingrid pocketed them. ‘Good evening, Mrs Rachlew.’

  Lillemor shut the door behind her, feeling suddenly uneasy. What had she set in motion here?

  She turned back to the bed. Mathilde had passed out. She’d slid down into the bunk and her eyes were closed. Lillemor unlaced Mathilde’s boots and drew them off, then pulled the covers over her. She gently lifted Mathilde’s head and put the pillow under it. From the way her head lolled, she was deeply asleep.

  Neither of them could take their alcohol, she thought. She stroked a damp tendril of hair from Mathilde’s pale forehead, remembering when Mathilde had done the same for her. Perhaps Hjalmar did want her. Lillemor had no idea what he thought, and not much interest. It was something to occupy Mathilde, and possibly bring her some joy, though more likely heartbreak. But she found herself hoping he didn’t hurt her too much.

  CHAPTER 26

  Ingrid stepped out of the cabin, shaken. The sun had dropped just below the horizon and the sky was a palette of hues, deep violet, through blue, to the palest pink. The icebergs picked up the colours and glowed with them. She was drunk, she knew. She weaved along the catwalk where they had waved at Discovery a few hours earlier, and halted, leaning on the railing, to fumble with the cigarette packet. A book of matches was tucked inside, and she struck one on the third attempt, lit a cigarette and put it in her mouth.

  It was a relief to be away from Lillemor’s knowing smile. That woman had the unnerving ability to home in on uncomfortable thoughts and drag them out for scrutiny. Ingrid hated to think what Lillemor read into her protestatio
ns about Mathilde and Hjalmar. But she almost certainly understood the truth – that Ingrid didn’t want another woman to have him.

  It was something hard enough to admit to herself, and she certainly didn’t want Lars to know. She leaned on the rail and blew smoke out over the edge, trying to calm herself before heading back to the cabin. Her head spun, from the smoke and the alcohol, and she wanted to steady herself.

  Ingrid looked up. The sky seemed enormous, as if she had never appreciated how much of the world it took up. For once the ship’s engine wasn’t running and she could hear the silence. She fancied she could hear the hiss of the Primus stove in the galley, the soft click of a game of dominoes being played on the bridge. She could hear a conversation on the deck of Solglimt, scattered laughter across the water. Was it because she was drunk, she wondered?

  She closed her eyes against the massiveness of the sky, feeling her head spin. She could hear her own heart beating, even the sound of her own blood washing around her veins. She felt that if she tried she could hear the very sound of Antarctica itself, an unimaginable song. She inhaled again and the tobacco crackled. Far off, she heard the surface of the water break and a whale rise up from its element to penetrate the harsh world of air. There was an explosive whoosh as it opened its blowhole, expelled a briny breath, and drew in fresh air. She heard its blowhole close as it rounded its back and sank into the water again.

  Ingrid opened her eyes, but could see nothing on the dark, silky surface of the water. ‘Blaast,’ she whispered, and blew out a stream of smoke.

  ‘Coffee, Mrs Christensen?’ Tobias was at the other end of the catwalk.

  Ingrid jumped and put her hand on her heart. ‘Tobias! You startled me.’

  As he walked towards her she turned so he didn’t see the direction she’d been staring. Whales near the mother ship were easy prey, taking only a few minutes to be shot and towed to the slipway. Lars had told her that the men and boys on the tanker were alert for any whales that came near Thorshavn, hoping for a few coins from a grateful gunner later on.

  ‘It’s nice to have the engine off,’ Ingrid said loudly as she took the cup from his hands.