Girl in Ice(11)
She looked genuinely shocked. So I told her the story, or at least what I thought was the story. “Wyatt didn’t tell you?”
“No, nothing.” She glanced around at the crew readying the plane. “So, this is going to be hard for you—being where it happened.”
“It’s hard no matter where I am.”
“I can only imagine.”
I tucked the drawing back in my bag, guiltily. As if it were some sort of evidence that I should have known what he was going to do, and I didn’t stop him.
“Well, the drawings are light, so they shouldn’t be an issue,” she said with a touch of relief. At least this was a solvable problem.
I hefted a stack of picture books. “It’s these books, for the girl… it kills me to leave them behind.”
“Let’s put them in my carry-on, at least a couple of kilos’ worth, right?” she said with a bright smile.
“Yes, thank you, and the drawing pad and the markers, too, if you really don’t mind. I’ve got to have those.”
She complied, loading her bag with the books and supplies. “So, do you think you’ll be able to suss out what she’s saying?”
“I have no idea.”
Nora tucked her hair under her hat, a wool one with the braided strings hanging down on either side that looked adorable on her. “Well, I think you’ll be brilliant. I just hope Raj and I can get our work done before we have to get out of here. We have three months of work to do and half that much time to do it.” She glanced outside. Raj stood next to the plane, waving at us. “The wind’s died down—I guess this is our window to get out of here. Anyway, they’re waiting for us.”
* * *
QUICKLY I GROKKED the particular terror of small planes: the lawn mower engine, the thin metal skin the only thing between you and your erasure once the earth yawns beneath you. An iceberg several stories high and miles long filled our view from the front of the plane, an immense white wall striated with blue cracks like ancient porcelain. No one spoke or took a breath until we cleared it; then the frozen landscape opened up. Across an infinite horizon, in countless shades of blue and white, land became indistinguishable from sky. We were in it now: what I privately referred to as the Enormity, an emotional or physical place so overwhelming I couldn’t face it without drugs or alcohol. We buzzed like a tiny silver bee over a backbone of slate-black massifs. Stomach-dropping cliffs plummeted to indigo fjords dotted with icebergs many times larger than our plane. I could almost hear Andy saying, Val, there is no God, but God is here.
Beneath us, a wedge of brown darkened a massive promontory of sea ice. Nora caught sight of it and tapped Pitak on the shoulder. He nodded, and we veered sharply away.
“What’s wrong?” I called out over the deafening engine.
“Walrus,” Nora yelled back to me. “Big herd. Thousands probably. They spook at any loud sound and stampede. The young ones get trampled. It can get pretty bad.”
I nodded, in no mood to pursue details.
An hour and a half later, we dropped down through sleety bands of clouds, skidding onto rough ice before catching a smooth section and sliding for what felt like miles before shuddering to stillness in a cloud of snow. Three yellow buildings huddled together several dozen yards away. In the distance, out on the bay on sea ice, a bright yellow dome-shaped structure flashed between blasts of snow.
A figure burst from the orange door of the longest building—two industrial trailers joined end to end—and made its way toward us. I’d only seen him maybe a half dozen times, but I knew that slightly bowlegged gait, that hurry-up-and-get-it-done stride. Skullcap pulled low over his brow, Wyatt leaned into the wind dragging a metal sled behind him, his unzipped parka flapping over quilted overalls and a thermal shirt. Behind him, the orange door banged open again, and another figure emerged wearing a knee-length red parka, hood cinched tight. Nora, Raj, and I got ourselves out of the plane, a bitter gust buffeting us as we tried to get our bearings.
Wyatt engulfed me in a quick hug; even that brief intimacy startled and disturbed me, perhaps because he was probably the last person to see Andy alive. I exhaled, tried to smile.
“You look good, Val, you look good. You okay? Trip okay?”
“It was long. We’re pretty wiped out—”
“Nora? Rajeev?” He shook their mittened hands, lingering a bit on Nora, as if he wasn’t expecting such a beautiful woman.
“Call me Raj,” he said, one arm slipping around Nora: a statement, for sure. We all introduced ourselves to Jeanne, a heavyset woman hard in her forties, ruddy-cheeked and moonfaced, brown silver-streaked hair escaping her hood and whipping in the breeze. She mumbled her hellos, staring at each of us in turn as if her eyes were ravenous for new faces.
“You guys hungry?” Wyatt gestured at the ugly yellow building. “Jeanne’s been working her magic all afternoon.”
“I think we could all use some food, right?” Raj said, heaving a box of supplies onto the sled. “That egg thing back in Thule was a joke.”
Jeanne’s forehead furrowed a bit; she said, “You’re not a vegetarian, are you?” as if somehow a rumor to that effect had been going around.
“Why, do I look like one?” he said with a smile.
“You’d starve to death around here if you were,” she said without a shred of humor. With a huff, she bent down to help Pitak unload a case of canned goods from the belly of the plane. Scrappy, lithe, with a windburned face, handsome despite missing a few teeth, he moved at twice her pace, all the while trying to jolly her up, smiling and joking with her. Any returned smiles were rare and unenthused.