coward, and a simpleminded one, who wanted nothing
more than sympathy or admiration. That, he’d always believed, was why she’d left
everything to come out to Greenland and look after her brother, for whom she’d never
even registered on the scale. Now he saw quite clearly that this picture was too
simple, and altogether false. She was much more original, and much more complicated
than that.
13th August
You must have something on your conscience, said DeHaven’s voice.
He’d been shaking his friend by the shoulders. For Morgan, the shaking had been a
crucial part of his dream. His eyes searched the dark cabin for bearings. There was
the taste of old age in his mouth. He’d been asleep for no more than an hour, after
his watch.
You were talking in your sleep, DeHaven said.
Morgan sat up and sat there gripping the frame, holding himself in place.
I confessed everything, I suppose?
I couldn’t repeat it, DeHaven said. Pure filth.
Morgan peered out the open cabin door, considered the corridor’s twilight.
Did I mention any lady in particular?
Not by name, no. Unfortunately.
Blindly, his hand was groping the upright, for the little hook. But his watch was
not where he needed it to be.
What time is it? What’s going on?
Come and see.
What?
Come and see for yourself. Come on, shake a leg.
Scowling, Morgan stepped out into the light. As far as he could see, in every direction,
the floe was alive, shivering. He lifted the goggles out of the way, propped them
on his forehead. He was squinting fiercely, seemed disgusted with what he saw. The
entire floe was covered with birds. Little auks. Tens of thousands of them.
Goggled, owl-eyed, the two men walked out amongst them, under the blind stare of
the sun.
They stepped through the crowd in a silent pantomime, as though through a slumbering
mass of bodies they were afraid to wake. Each man was carrying an oar.
Don’t be afraid, DeHaven whispered with his kindest voice, as one wandered towards
him. You won’t feel a thing.
He lifted his oar. Shots would only frighten them all off, they had learned.
They killed all afternoon. Again and again Morgan raised his oar. Again and again
he brought it down. Occasionally DeHaven stopped to watch him, the exhibition of
rage. It was a release, sheer savagery – the force with which the blade came thundering
onto each bird. Again and again, beyond mere killing, as though trying to drive it
into the ice.
He kept at it until his arms were useless from fatigue. In the end he sat with his
back up against a hummock, propped his elbows on his knees. He was too tired even
to lie down. With a studied movement, he shoved his goggles up onto his forehead,
to rub his eyes. Scraps of purple flesh went scampering down his smock.
He had destroyed as many as he was able, yet all around him he could hear them bustle,
the horde as vast and as happy as ever, gloating noisily, crops gargling with shrimp.
For all his effort, he seemed not to have killed – even frightened off – a single
one.
It’s not a good sign, DeHaven said. He flung another bloody heap at Morgan’s feet.
It was true. It meant their summer was over. They were heading south.
14th August
In the officers’ cabin, MacDonald was standing between the bunks, leaning forward,
hands flat on the inner hull, as though to hold it in place. It was not enough merely
to hear what was happening. The man needed to feel it, physically, every twinge.
For godsake sit down, Morgan told him. Sit down and eat.
But he too was starting to fret. The timbers were complaining freely now. It was
a definite squeeze. The wind had swung round to the southward, was pressing the looser
floes in on those ahead of them, that refused to cede. The ship was caught in the
middle, and now being pinched very nicely indeed. It was nothing, he had told the
men. It was merely the tides. The sun and moon would be in conjunction on the 18th,
that was all.
Not quite the little jaunt you expected, he
more than sympathy or admiration. That, he’d always believed, was why she’d left
everything to come out to Greenland and look after her brother, for whom she’d never
even registered on the scale. Now he saw quite clearly that this picture was too
simple, and altogether false. She was much more original, and much more complicated
than that.
13th August
You must have something on your conscience, said DeHaven’s voice.
He’d been shaking his friend by the shoulders. For Morgan, the shaking had been a
crucial part of his dream. His eyes searched the dark cabin for bearings. There was
the taste of old age in his mouth. He’d been asleep for no more than an hour, after
his watch.
You were talking in your sleep, DeHaven said.
Morgan sat up and sat there gripping the frame, holding himself in place.
I confessed everything, I suppose?
I couldn’t repeat it, DeHaven said. Pure filth.
Morgan peered out the open cabin door, considered the corridor’s twilight.
Did I mention any lady in particular?
Not by name, no. Unfortunately.
Blindly, his hand was groping the upright, for the little hook. But his watch was
not where he needed it to be.
What time is it? What’s going on?
Come and see.
What?
Come and see for yourself. Come on, shake a leg.
Scowling, Morgan stepped out into the light. As far as he could see, in every direction,
the floe was alive, shivering. He lifted the goggles out of the way, propped them
on his forehead. He was squinting fiercely, seemed disgusted with what he saw. The
entire floe was covered with birds. Little auks. Tens of thousands of them.
Goggled, owl-eyed, the two men walked out amongst them, under the blind stare of
the sun.
They stepped through the crowd in a silent pantomime, as though through a slumbering
mass of bodies they were afraid to wake. Each man was carrying an oar.
Don’t be afraid, DeHaven whispered with his kindest voice, as one wandered towards
him. You won’t feel a thing.
He lifted his oar. Shots would only frighten them all off, they had learned.
They killed all afternoon. Again and again Morgan raised his oar. Again and again
he brought it down. Occasionally DeHaven stopped to watch him, the exhibition of
rage. It was a release, sheer savagery – the force with which the blade came thundering
onto each bird. Again and again, beyond mere killing, as though trying to drive it
into the ice.
He kept at it until his arms were useless from fatigue. In the end he sat with his
back up against a hummock, propped his elbows on his knees. He was too tired even
to lie down. With a studied movement, he shoved his goggles up onto his forehead,
to rub his eyes. Scraps of purple flesh went scampering down his smock.
He had destroyed as many as he was able, yet all around him he could hear them bustle,
the horde as vast and as happy as ever, gloating noisily, crops gargling with shrimp.
For all his effort, he seemed not to have killed – even frightened off – a single
one.
It’s not a good sign, DeHaven said. He flung another bloody heap at Morgan’s feet.
It was true. It meant their summer was over. They were heading south.
14th August
In the officers’ cabin, MacDonald was standing between the bunks, leaning forward,
hands flat on the inner hull, as though to hold it in place. It was not enough merely
to hear what was happening. The man needed to feel it, physically, every twinge.
For godsake sit down, Morgan told him. Sit down and eat.
But he too was starting to fret. The timbers were complaining freely now. It was
a definite squeeze. The wind had swung round to the southward, was pressing the looser
floes in on those ahead of them, that refused to cede. The ship was caught in the
middle, and now being pinched very nicely indeed. It was nothing, he had told the
men. It was merely the tides. The sun and moon would be in conjunction on the 18th,
that was all.
Not quite the little jaunt you expected, he
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