My Last Continent: A Novel(74)

I catch a glimpse of color and prop myself onto my elbow for a better view. I scrabble to the edge of the floe before I realize it’s nothing but an empty hat. My eyes trace the ice, the water, everything, for the sight of something more—but there’s nothing.

I try to claw my way back to the center, to sturdy ice, but my strength’s gone, my body useless. And that’s when I realize that I can no longer feel my hands.





Detaille Island

(66°52'S, 66°47'W)





I’ve long thought of Antarctica as a living being, like Gaia: the deep breaths of her storms, the changing expressions of her ice-sculpted face, the veins of algae and flora that survive under her snow-covered skin. Now more than ever, the continent seems far more person than place, with a temperament that’s unpredictable, resourceful, and wild.

On the other side of the porthole, Detaille Island stares back at me with haunted eyes. For the first time I can relate to the words Robert Scott scrawled in his journal: “Great God! this is an awful place.”

I’d woken alone in a cabin on the Cormorant—I -remember a wavy feeling, like being on the water, the sensation of a body next to mine. I’d felt a strong sense of Keller, and when I opened my eyes, I lay there for a long while hoping it was still possible that he was alive somewhere. Then, reality hit—a jolt of panic as I realized we still hadn’t found him—and I tried to stand, to get up and return to the search. But my legs buckled, the pain in my ankle seething under my weight. I noticed then that my ankle had been wrapped, the wound on my head cleaned and bandaged. My hands were red, and they stung like fury, as did my ears and face. I pressed my prickling hands against my middle. I felt a subtle ache, and it wasn’t long before the feeling spread through my entire body, fueled by images of Keller on the ice, under the ice. I managed to get out of the bunk and prop myself near the porthole, and I’ve been unable to tear my eyes away, despite the devastation ashore.

Passengers gather on the uneven terrain. Beyond them, the black hills, marbled with snow, frame a threatening sky. Huddled in blankets and moving mostly in pairs, the survivors remind me of penguins braving a strong wind; their figures mirror the Adélies a few hundred yards away. Circling, shoulders bent toward the ground, they’re looking for spouses, children, friends; they call to one another, hoping for reunions. Some sit alone, like birds on empty nests.

I feel my own body closing in on itself, hunched toward the porthole. I just wish I had more time, Kate had told me on Deception Island, and I hear her words echo in my head. If only we could, somehow, have more time—the other ships would be here by now, more passengers could have been saved, perhaps even the Australis herself could have been salvaged. And we could have found Keller.

We never had enough time, Keller and I—he didn’t get the chance to learn he would be a father, and I had only begun to embrace the idea of having a family. My throat closes up, making it hard to breathe. I rest my forehead against the glass and start to weep.

The cabin door opens, but I don’t turn around, not even when I feel a hand gently touch my shoulder. I don’t want to see anyone.

Then a voice—a deep, familiar voice, though hoarse—says my name, and soon I’m looking into the moss-strewn eyes I thought I’d never see again.

“Oh my God.” I try to catch my breath. “Are you real?” I smack my burning palm against Keller’s chest—he’s solid, all warmth and fleece, and under that, as I press my hand as close as I can bear through the prickly pain, I feel his heartbeat. He’s real. He’s alive.

“You don’t remember?” he asks.

“Remember—what?”

Keller brushes his fingers across my face, still wet. “How we found you. On the ice.”

So it wasn’t a dream but a memory, and still hazy. “Tell me.”

He eases me back into the narrow berth and sits beside me. Though it hurts my still-warming hands, I can’t stop touching him, afraid he might vanish.

“I was stranded on the ice,” he says, “and saw a Zodiac weaving around—really erratic. I thought some Australis passenger had commandeered it, but it was crew, someone in an orange parka. I tried flagging him down. He ignored me at first—it seemed he was looking for someone—then finally came over.”

Keller’s voice is raspy but strong. “Turned out the guy wasn’t a crew member at all—he was a passenger. From here.”

“Richard,” I manage to say. How the hell had he gotten back out on the water?

“How’d you know that?”

“He nearly killed himself—and me—earlier. He’s crazy on seasick meds.”

“That may be, but he’s a hero in my book,” Keller says. “He picked me up, and it’s thanks to his delusion about someone else being out there that we found you. He wouldn’t give up the helm, was going in circles, and I was just about to take him down and tie him up in the Zodiac when he spotted you.” Keller grins. “He seemed disappointed it was you, not who he was looking for, whoever that was—he wouldn’t say. But if we hadn’t found you just then—”

“I was out looking for you.”

“I know.”

There’s so much to ask, and so much to say—and even as I begin to repeat what I’d told him on the phone, he’s smiling, his hands coming to rest softly on my belly, and I stop. “So you did hear me. You didn’t hang up on me.”