told the woman sitting opposite him.
She considered him closely, seemed to be revising some opinion in her mind.
Do you honestly think I didn’t know what I was getting myself into? she said.
No I don’t, Morgan said. To be perfectly frank.
The ship I came out on went down just north of Baal’s River, she said. The Kronprindsesse .
She told them the story. They’d left Copenhagen very early in the year, and when
they came round the southern tip of Greenland the ice was still in place, even that
far south.
I had gone up on deck to drink my coffee, she said, because it was the first fine
day of the whole passage. Seeing me up on deck, the captain invited me to the bow,
to show how he could squeeze through even the tightest gap. He was all swagger, of
course. Who knows how long before he’d see a white woman again?
That particular morning the gap shrank a little sooner than the captain expected,
and the floes touched her exactly across the beam. She went down with Kitty’s coffee
still steaming in the cup, and they walked over the ice all the way to the shore.
A gorgeous day, she said. Hardly a breath of wind. You get a great many of those
up here, believe it or not. The entire world seems at such peace with itself. Even
the ice. Especially the ice. So quiet, so reliable. You’re so ready to trust. I entirely
agree with you, Richard, how hard it is to convince anyone has not seen the thing
with their own eyes, that this is death.
Their cabin door was suddenly flung open, with a lovely pop. There was no one there.
Brooks went to close it, and could not. The frame was skewed. It was the crush. The
entire ship was trembling now.
Up on deck, the snow was fine as flour. The wind was freshening still. Morgan leaned
over the taffrail to watch the next slab come. Carefully, the thing lifted itself
onto its hind legs, stood there without the slightest stagger. He stood back out
of its way, to let it fall.
All evening the men worked desperately to relax the squeeze – shoving the ice back
as it rose up and readied to topple, and heaving off whatever they could not keep
from falling onto the deck.
By the time she came up, the men were shirtless, and bright with sweat.
A nice spectacle, she said.
Do you mean the men or the ice? said Morgan.
They both have their interest.
I could order them to put on their shirts again, if you prefer.
The last thing I want, she said, is to interfere. You should do exactly as you would
were I not aboard.
From their beds they listened all night to the ice grinding itself against the hull.
Whatever was out there, it sounded stubborn and wise. In it was a promise he knew
would be kept. Every now and then, he risked a glance at MacDonald, who had the top
bunk opposite. The man lay there motionless, his hands trapped in prayer. For almost
twenty-four hours he had not said a word.
17th August
Every dawn now was another miracle. Every morning, coming up out of the murk and
the stench, for the first few minutes he felt he could start afresh. Before him he
found a world stretched and flattened, boiled and starched, rid of every flaw and
stain. For the first few minutes, it seemed, none of it had happened yet. He had
only to shift his course slightly now and it never would.
But by mid-morning there would be a harsh, brittle beauty to it, and from then on
the men kept below, out of its sight. It was like a visitor or shipmate they were
desperate to avoid. It reminded Morgan of the tropics. The scorched, searing afternoon.
Wherever he stood, wherever he lay, even in total darkness, he could always feel
the weight of its stare. Outside, it was waiting for him.
By evening the glare would be more gentle, and often the men sat on the bulwarks
in their shirtsleeves until midnight, to sew. They worked idly, chatting and mumbling,
needles and threads sprouting between pinched lips. There would be a shout of dismay,
and to a man they would lift their heads. A circle was already formed around
She considered him closely, seemed to be revising some opinion in her mind.
Do you honestly think I didn’t know what I was getting myself into? she said.
No I don’t, Morgan said. To be perfectly frank.
The ship I came out on went down just north of Baal’s River, she said. The Kronprindsesse .
She told them the story. They’d left Copenhagen very early in the year, and when
they came round the southern tip of Greenland the ice was still in place, even that
far south.
I had gone up on deck to drink my coffee, she said, because it was the first fine
day of the whole passage. Seeing me up on deck, the captain invited me to the bow,
to show how he could squeeze through even the tightest gap. He was all swagger, of
course. Who knows how long before he’d see a white woman again?
That particular morning the gap shrank a little sooner than the captain expected,
and the floes touched her exactly across the beam. She went down with Kitty’s coffee
still steaming in the cup, and they walked over the ice all the way to the shore.
A gorgeous day, she said. Hardly a breath of wind. You get a great many of those
up here, believe it or not. The entire world seems at such peace with itself. Even
the ice. Especially the ice. So quiet, so reliable. You’re so ready to trust. I entirely
agree with you, Richard, how hard it is to convince anyone has not seen the thing
with their own eyes, that this is death.
Their cabin door was suddenly flung open, with a lovely pop. There was no one there.
Brooks went to close it, and could not. The frame was skewed. It was the crush. The
entire ship was trembling now.
Up on deck, the snow was fine as flour. The wind was freshening still. Morgan leaned
over the taffrail to watch the next slab come. Carefully, the thing lifted itself
onto its hind legs, stood there without the slightest stagger. He stood back out
of its way, to let it fall.
All evening the men worked desperately to relax the squeeze – shoving the ice back
as it rose up and readied to topple, and heaving off whatever they could not keep
from falling onto the deck.
By the time she came up, the men were shirtless, and bright with sweat.
A nice spectacle, she said.
Do you mean the men or the ice? said Morgan.
They both have their interest.
I could order them to put on their shirts again, if you prefer.
The last thing I want, she said, is to interfere. You should do exactly as you would
were I not aboard.
From their beds they listened all night to the ice grinding itself against the hull.
Whatever was out there, it sounded stubborn and wise. In it was a promise he knew
would be kept. Every now and then, he risked a glance at MacDonald, who had the top
bunk opposite. The man lay there motionless, his hands trapped in prayer. For almost
twenty-four hours he had not said a word.
17th August
Every dawn now was another miracle. Every morning, coming up out of the murk and
the stench, for the first few minutes he felt he could start afresh. Before him he
found a world stretched and flattened, boiled and starched, rid of every flaw and
stain. For the first few minutes, it seemed, none of it had happened yet. He had
only to shift his course slightly now and it never would.
But by mid-morning there would be a harsh, brittle beauty to it, and from then on
the men kept below, out of its sight. It was like a visitor or shipmate they were
desperate to avoid. It reminded Morgan of the tropics. The scorched, searing afternoon.
Wherever he stood, wherever he lay, even in total darkness, he could always feel
the weight of its stare. Outside, it was waiting for him.
By evening the glare would be more gentle, and often the men sat on the bulwarks
in their shirtsleeves until midnight, to sew. They worked idly, chatting and mumbling,
needles and threads sprouting between pinched lips. There would be a shout of dismay,
and to a man they would lift their heads. A circle was already formed around
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