How High We Go in the Dark(5)

“You don’t have to,” Yulia said, sitting next to me. She explained the rules of Bear Claw: a full glass of beer is passed around the room and with each drink, vodka is poured in to refill the glass.

The entire room was chanting my name now— Cliff, Cliff, Cliff, Cliff. These kids understood I needed to forget, even for a moment, that Clara’s presence still resided here. The station started to spin beneath me as the glass made the rounds. The laughter and conversation around the television seemed miles away when Yulia finally tapped my shoulder to check on me; the end credits of the film were scrolling and a glass half-full of vodka had landed in front of passed-out Alexei. In the newfound silence, we could hear the wind and hail pelting the outpost. Maksim rushed outside to protect the solar panels. Some of the others dispersed to their pods or labs. Yulia lingered. She was probably close to Clara’s age, early thirties, maybe a little younger. She had studied at Moscow State University and completed a fellowship at Cambridge, where she continued her work on native flora, particularly lowlying shrubs as crucial carbon sinks.

“Clara always had that on her,” Yulia said. “It was in her coat pocket when we recovered her.”

I looked down and realized I had been fumbling with the dogū figurine the entire film.

“It was like a lucky charm,” she said.

“I told her it would protect her,” I said. “Didn’t think she still carried it around. Of course, some say you’re supposed to break the figurine after it absorbs any kind of misfortune or evil. There was a crystal pendant she always wore—like an uncut diamond the size of a thumbnail. Slightly purple. She wore it on a braided silver chain. It wasn’t in the box.”

“It wasn’t on her when we recovered her body,” Yulia said. “It must have gotten lost, or maybe it was stolen when she was transported to the hospital. I know it meant a lot to her.”

I clutched the dogū tighter as she spoke, my eyes drifting past her to the map of the crater on the far wall. Yulia stood and helped me to my feet. I swayed from the vodka and pointed to an orange pushpin, an exposed cavern once sheltering ancient air.

“Clara fell into the collapsed part of the cavern ceiling not far from there,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t understand her at first—all she talked about was seeing Annie and the other bodies. Maybe she was delirious from blood loss, you know? Maybe she hit her head. But all she cared about was the discovery. There are so many of them, she said. I can see her face. I remember because she kept repeating it. I can see her face. She was saying so much—something about writing reminders to herself, about how it’ll be all her fault. Do you know what she might have been talking about?”

“No,” I said, and wondered if Clara blamed herself in the end for not being able to save the world. “I’d like to see where she was found.”

“Weather permitting, a few of us will head out tomorrow afternoon. We’re trying to get as much fieldwork done as we can before the topsoil freezes again. Everyone wants to get their samples and crunch the data this winter. Though Maksim seems to think it’ll be another Siberian heat wave—which is nice for us but bad news for the planet.”

The next day, after considerable time draped over a toilet due to the previous night’s welcome, I pulled on Clara’s waders and bundled up for what was forecast to be a beautiful Siberian October day, a balmy five degrees Celsius. The journey from the station to the crater’s edge, a half-hour hike, curved through pine forests dominated by larches, modest trees whose upswept branches looked like they were in a constant state of shivering. I hung back with Yulia and Dave, followed the long line of researchers slowly trudging along behind the equipment.

“You know, the larch’s root system helps maintain the ice in the ground,” Dave said. He patted the trunk of one of the trees as he passed. “These trees are the descendants of the last ice age.”

“Oh?” I said.

“He would have been a great trivia show contestant,” Yulia said.

“Hey, don’t pretend like your runs are all about fitness. You worship this place as much as any of us,” Dave said.

“I do,” Yulia said. “I just prefer to keep my mouth shut.”

“Anyway, speaking of trivia: You know they call Batagaika the gateway to hell? Probably started when the locals cut too many of these trees. And vegetation, my friend, is what keeps this land frozen. This piece of the underworld is getting bigger every year.”

As we approached the crater’s rim, I imagined the land falling away from beneath my feet. In reality, it had slowly peeled away and sunk with the floods and permafrost melt. I stepped close to the edge and saw a somber Grand Canyon spread out beneath the perpetually gray Siberian sky. The researchers had carved out an entry point, a zigzagging soil ramp exposing a colorful palette of time—the burnt sienna and raw umber of a crayon box. Dave and his team broke away and started their trek to a section of the interior they’d nicknamed “the gully,” where they collected samples from a stream. But deeper in the crater was another cavern, an ancient cave uncovered by last year’s melts. Yulia guided me beyond the others and pointed to a hole the size of a Mini Cooper.

“We didn’t realize this was here until Clara fell through it. Probably covered by a thin layer of ice and soil. We’ve since widened the opening for access, set up scaffolding and supports in the interior to prevent the ceiling from collapsing. But of course, everything is melting out here.”