She shook her head. ‘We haven’t been blessed with them yet. My husband is impatient, as he’s not a young man any more. It’s hard with his work, being away such long times. We thought I was pregnant before leaving and of course I wouldn’t have come. But when it turned out I was wrong, he didn’t want to lose another whole season of trying and at the last moment decided to bring me.’ Caroline stopped and covered her mouth. ‘Listen to me! You can tell I haven’t seen another woman for a while. I’m sorry to babble so. Do you have children, Mrs Wegger?’
‘Oh, call me Mathilde. Yes, two young ones.’
‘You’re lucky.’ The smile left Caroline’s face and she stepped close. ‘May I ask you something personal?’
‘Of course.’
‘Did it take you long after you were married to fall pregnant?’
The fumbling night of her wedding came vividly to Mathilde’s mind. Her own mother had told her something of what to expect, but the information hadn’t prepared her for how elemental it would feel. To think that all the genteel married couples around her, even her own parents, closed their bedroom doors at night and came to each other panting and slick like animals! No wonder no one spoke of such a thing. At the heart of their civilised lives was this secret, the raw urges of the flesh that must be sated. She didn’t know if she loved it or hated it sometimes, the way it reduced them to desperate need and transported them to pleasure and pain. Jakob’s desire hadn’t waned when she fell pregnant and she still felt ashamed that hers hadn’t either.
It was so strange to have another person – a man! – witness the workings of her body. When she bled, she still had to lie beside him at night with a wad of rags between her legs, and in the mornings she was afraid he could smell the rich smell of her blood. Appalling that such a personal thing was no longer private. When she fell pregnant, he saw every swell and stretch, noticed her nipples expanding and darkening, cupped her belly in his craggy hands. Marriage allowed him access to all the secrets of her body. That he seemed to find pleasure in these things was perplexing and had taken her a long time to accept.
Caroline was still waiting for her answer and Mathilde shook herself mentally. ‘Quite quickly,’ she said, wondering if her colour was high. ‘I was with child in three or four months.’
‘We’ve been trying for two years,’ Caroline whispered, glancing across at her husband. ‘Nothing. Perhaps something is wrong with me. I hoped the change of air might help, but it hasn’t yet.’
‘Perhaps it will just take a little longer for you,’ Mathilde said.
The wind blew a sharp gust and Mathilde raised her collar. Clouds were moving high in the sky above them and gusts darkened the surface of the water. The brash ice streamed past the edges of the large bergs. The Antarctic weather, it seemed, was changing with its usual speed. She couldn’t see the plane. Next to her, Caroline began to scan the sky and Lars peered skywards too, shielding his eyes from the glare.
Thorshavn’s engines shuddered under their feet as Horntvedt increased the throttle to keep the ship stationary against the wind. The temperature was dropping. Mathilde’s nose began to run and her fingertips ached with the cold. She moved towards the railing. It could happen just like this, she thought with a shiver. The plane taking off, flying out of sight and never returning. How would they even know where to search for them? If Antarctica should turn on a blizzard, or even just a strong wind, it could snatch the plane from the sky and dash it on the ice.
She saw Lillemor stiffen and turned to follow her gaze. Yes, there was a speck in the sky and she took a deep breath of relief. She wasn’t ready for another death; not yet. The plane quickly grew larger and began descending, bumping and swinging in the wind’s grip. The brash ice was streaming past on the water around them and Mathilde wondered how Hjalmar would bring the plane down.
Qarrtsiluni turned in a wide arc and they all gathered at the rail to watch her come in, silent. The plane came down low over a clear patch of water, bounced once, twice, thrice, rocked on its skis and settled into a landing. It slowed to a near halt and then Hjalmar turned Qarrtsiluni around and began threading his way through the brash ice towards them.
Mathilde realised she was gripping the rail so hard that her fingers were numb. She let go and wriggled them, feeling light-headed. It wasn’t today that the soul of the whale would avenge its kind.
CHAPTER 42
To return home having achieved nothing made her a tourist. Just a woman tourist, not even deserving of the term ‘traveller’. A tourist with a few snapshots.
Perhaps she was jinxed, Lillemor thought. The ice leads had closed up around Ingrid Christensen Land (how it galled her to call it that) so no landing attempt from the sea was possible, even in a small boat. Ingrid had gone up in the plane to see Antarctica from the air and got back just as a change in the weather made further flying impossible.
Lillemor took to her bunk after Qarrtsiluni was grounded by the weather, unable to put on the requisite front needed to dine in the saloon with the Mikkelsens and hear about Ingrid and Hjalmar’s flight. She stayed there all night and the next day, refusing to come out to say goodbye to Falk and its people when the refuelling was complete. Thorshavn was setting out to meet Norvegia and drop off Hjalmar, Nils, the dogs and the planes. Once that was done, they would turn back for Cape Town and Lillemor would leave with only those few tantalising glimpses of the continent she’d had already.
It wasn’t until Norvegia appeared as a dark speck on the sea that Mathilde convinced her to come up on deck at last. The little ship, hardly larger than a whale catcher, had already circumnavigated Antarctica under the command of Captain Gunnar Isachsen and Thorshavn’s cargo included replenishment of her stores, the two aeroplanes and all that Hjalmar and Nils would need for landings and sledging trips.
Mathilde led Lillemor to the forecastle where the dogs were chained, avoiding Lars and Ingrid who were standing on the catwalk. Disturbed by the rush of activity on the ship, the huskies barked and howled, straining at their chains. Mathilde wandered among them, speaking soothing words and patting each dog, paying special attention to the puppies. Lillemor sat on a packing case and watched the crewmen carrying boxes and crates up from the cargo holds and stacking them on deck as the jaunty little ship approached. She couldn’t imagine how Norvegia could carry such a weight back through the rolling seas off the bottom of Africa. Where on earth would the planes fit?
Norvegia manoeuvred towards them, oily black smoke rising from her stack. Hjalmar and Nils were waiting on the mid deck for the two ships to couple. To Lillemor’s eyes they were filled with a new sense of purpose. They’d been passengers on another man’s ship for five weeks, and in minutes would be in command of their own. How the inactivity must have strained them, she now saw.
With a volley of shouts and gestures, the two ships drew alongside. There were no floating whales to lie between them and cushion the bumps; it was down to the skill of the captains to join them without incident. Lillemor watched as they came together like whale and calf, the smaller ship nestling by the larger in the lee of the wind. As the coupling operations began, she turned away. Hjalmar, she saw, had taken the opportunity to come to the foredeck. He weaved through the dogs to Mathilde.
‘Thank you, Mrs Wegger,’ he said to her. ‘It’s hard to keep them under control when they’re excited.’
She smiled up at him and Lillemor resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
Hjalmar bent down and scooped up one of the pups, the one that Mathilde had favoured. ‘I’d like you to have Babyen.’
‘Oh no!’ She raised her hands.
He pushed the pup at her and let go so she had to catch it. ‘He’s too small to hold his own in the pack. Make sure he gets plenty of exercise. Your boy will have to see to it.’
Lillemor thought she might be physically ill. She wished she were anyplace but on Thorshavn’s deck, listening to their farewell. She turned away.
‘Mrs Rachlew?’ Hjalmar was approaching her.
‘What?’
He halted in front of her. ‘I’m sorry how things have worked out. I know you very much wanted to land.’
Lillemor was beyond trying to keep Hjalmar on side. ‘Don’t waste your sympathy, Captain. I know you don’t like me. You don’t need to be polite now.’
He recoiled slightly, then recovered. ‘I understand your disappointment.’
‘Do you?’ she asked. ‘I’m no explorer. I’m barely a photographer. A passenger, that’s all.’
‘Don’t give up, Lillemor,’ Hjalmar said. ‘You’re an intrepid woman. This isn’t the only adventure around.’
Lillemor shrugged. ‘You needn’t concern yourself. Safe travels, Captain.’
‘And you.’
Lillemor watched him walk off towards the stairwell. It wasn’t until he reached the top that the idea occurred to her. She stayed very still, considering. The loading wasn’t finished. She had a little time.
She forced herself to walk slowly along the deck and up the rear steps to the cabin. As the door closed behind her she pulled off her outer layers and flung open the drawers of the wardrobe trunk. She couldn’t carry much; she’d have to wear some extra clothing. Extra socks dragged on, extra jumpers pulled over her head, gloves stuffed into her pockets, two hats jammed on her head, one under the other. She opened her small duffle bag and shoved in the first essentials that came to hand, throwing the camera on the top.
Lillemor had no plan, just the idea of Olga. She pushed a final few things into her coat pockets and opened the door. Lars and Ingrid were still standing out on the catwalk, watching the cargo being loaded. Lillemor strolled quietly down the stairs to the rear deck. A light snow began to fall and the wind picked up as she crept around to Qarrtsiluni’s door and cracked it open. She pulled the lever that folded down Qarrtsiluni’s steps and put her hand on the railing, ready to climb inside.
‘Bad weather for flying, Lillemor.’
It was Mathilde, standing at the top of the stairs, her face expressionless. Lillemor stared up at her, caught. Shouts rose from the mid deck as Norvegia rose and fell on the waves beside them.
‘You’d better hurry,’ Mathilde said. ‘They’ll be coming for the planes in a moment.’
Lillemor stared up at her in entreaty. ‘Mathilde. Cover for me?’
Mathilde gave a low laugh. ‘Oh, you’ll get your way. As always.’ She turned and walked away.
Large, wet snowflakes started falling, piling up on the deck. They fell into Lillemor’s hair and her coat, and flew around in flurries. With exquisite timing, Antarctica was giving her the camouflage she needed. She could hear the activity on the mid deck as smaller crates were passed from arm to arm, swung across and handed down to willing hands. Any moment the bosun would be bringing over the crane to lift the aeroplanes across.
Lillemor gripped the railing. Like Olga, she’d be strong enough to keep hidden until the two ships were far apart and Hjalmar had no choice but to take her. Perhaps he’d even hinted as much in his last comment. Never mind stepping onto land for an hour – she’d be the first woman to explore in Antarctica. She would do something worthy of respect.
She climbed the steps, pulled the stairway up, closed the door and curled up on the floor in front of the seat, pulling her coat over her face. Outside, Antarctica’s winds sang.
Just minutes later, Lillemor felt the plane move as the men released the ropes lashing her into place. Loud kicks and thumps ensued as one of them scrambled up the plane’s sides to attach the crane. Orders were yelled, the crane groaned, and suddenly they were off the deck, rising aloft. Qarrtsiluni moved sharply, swinging over the deck and out across the water, rocking as if she wanted to break free and fly in the teeth of the wind. Sleet hit the windows, helping to hide her. Lillemor hunched low as the men of Norvegia snared the plane and lowered it to the deck. The sound of them lashing it down was only inches from her ear. She heard the crane lift the other plane across and the crew lash her down next to Qarrtsiluni, and then the sounds of loading faded.
The cabin became icy cold and Lillemor started to shiver. She wondered if she risked freezing to death. She rolled herself into a smaller ball to conserve her body warmth. She could manage a few hours.
A farewell lunch was planned, she remembered, in Thorshavn’s warm saloon, a final luxury before Nils and Hjalmar gave themselves up to Norvegia’s spartan comforts. They’d be there now, the windows steamed up, the table loaded with hot food. Would Mathilde reveal her?
The crack of the door opening made Lillemor jump; she hadn’t heard approaching footsteps. She thought it was cold inside, but the air that streamed in was frigid. She closed her eyes more tightly and tried to stay still.
‘Lillemor,’ Hjalmar said.
She burrowed down and pulled the coat further over her head.
‘You can’t,’ he said.
‘Mathilde told you, didn’t she?’
‘No.’ His voice sounded sad. ‘I just had a feeling when I couldn’t see you anywhere.’
A sob was rising up inside and she fought it, not wanting to weep in front of him. ‘Just let me be like Olga, for God’s sake. Pretend you don’t know I’m here.’
‘Come on,’ he said.
Lillemor sat up. ‘You hate me, I know.’
‘I don’t hate you,’ he said. ‘I just don’t understand why you act the way you do with us men.’
The desire to cry disappeared in an instant. Lillemor raised her chin. ‘You men keep us out of here as though you own the place. We don’t have many weapons at our disposal, Hjalmar. Why won’t you give us a chance?’
He said nothing for a long moment and then gave her a small smile. ‘Come, Lillemor. The weather’s bad so we’re not staying for lunch. You can slip back across while they’re still loading.’
He reached to help her get out and when she put her hands on his shoulders she found herself gripping him, and the pain of leaving did make her weep. For a few moments he held her and patted her back. Then under the cover of the falling snow he helped her down and took her bag. She followed him across the gangway. In her pants and heavy coat, with her hood pulled down, she was just another anonymous figure among the others loading the ship.
CHAPTER 43
Ingrid moved closer to Lars as the wind gusted harder. Soon one of Antarctica’s blizzards would be upon them. Men were gathered on the deck, snow covering their shoulders and heads. All the small cargo had been transferred and the crane was lifting the last of the coal sacks across.
Lars scanned the deck. ‘Where’s Hjalmar?’
Ingrid wondered where Lillemor was. Surely she’d come to say goodbye? Mathilde was standing nearby and she returned Ingrid’s questioning look without expression. Then Ingrid saw Hjalmar and Lillemor coming up the deck towards them.
‘There you are,’ Lars said to Hjalmar. ‘Horntvedt wants to get us out of here as soon as loading’s done. The weather’s getting worse, and it’s a bad place for bergs.’
‘We’re ready,’ Nils said with a grin and Hjalmar nodded agreement. Both men shook hands briskly with Lars.
Nils turned to Ingrid and bobbed his head. ‘ Mrs Christensen, it’s been such a pleasure to be on board with you. We’ll miss female company on Norvegia. Congratulations and safe travels home.’
‘Safe travels,’ Ingrid echoed, with a pang of sadness. Of everyone on board, Nils was the most uncomplicated.
Over his shoulder she saw Hjalmar take Lillemor’s hand, bend down and kiss it formally. Then he turned to Mathilde and did the same, though the action somehow seemed completely different. Ingrid strained to read the gesture. She still couldn’t tell if they’d been lovers.
Hjalmar let go of Mathilde and turned to Ingrid. As they faced each other, the wind whistled and hissed around them. Ingrid extended her hand and he took it, but instead of bending his lips to it, he shook it, with a palm-to-palm grip, as if she were a man.
Ingrid felt offended, but Hjalmar’s expression was appraising, and she had the
impression she had somehow measured up. She wanted to say something – anything – about the journey, but every phrase that came to mind seemed inadequate.
‘We’ll miss you,’ was all she could manage.
He nodded. ‘It’s never easy coming here. It tests you in ways you never imagine.’
He released her hand and stepped back. Captain Isachsen was waiting at the foot of Norvegia’s gangway for them to come across so he could hand over his command, and Thorshavn’s crew was ready to cast off the ropes.
Hjalmar saluted in the direction of the bridge, stepped onto the gangway and ran across with light, firm steps. Nils followed. Ingrid thought she heard a muffled sob from Mathilde. She watched the huddled conversation between the captains as Hjalmar took control of the ship and Isachsen relinquished it before stepping out on the gangway. As he reached Thorshavn, two crewmen unlashed the gangway, dragged it back onto the ship and tied it in place. Someone shouted an order and Thorshavn’s crew cast off the ropes. Hjalmar gave a single wave, and Ingrid could see his grin of delight even through the blowing snow. His voyage was beginning, at last, while she was about to turn for home.
The two ships began to draw apart and Ingrid felt her chest constrict. They’d be turning north shortly. In a few days, a week at most, they’d be clear of the pack ice and Thorshavn would start rolling again as they crossed the miles of empty ocean, all the way back to a bustling Cape Town summer. It was done; it was over.
‘Let’s go,’ Lars called. ‘It’s freezing!’
She turned from the rail, blinking.
‘There’s a hot lunch waiting to celebrate the fifth ship to sail around Antarctica,’ Lars said to Isachsen. ‘Congratulations, Captain.’
Captain Isachsen smiled like he’d forgotten how. His beard was caked with snow and Ingrid doubted he’d washed during his voyage.
‘I need a clean-up before I can dine with ladies,’ he said.
Lars waved at Tobias, who’d been hovering. ‘Our lad will show you the way.’
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