Glacier fronts gnawed through and through, as though the sea were a rodent. The sky offers four separate dramas, the clouds above the ocean are different than the ones over ice that’s more than four kilometers thick, puffy cumuli ghost around the islands, while just above us is a blanket of gray. We are sailing through the Avenue of the Ice Giants. Spiky blocks of ice keep watch, their ribbed bodies chiseled out of alabaster. Hammered walls of blue copper and a single albatross, as gentle as a line of chalk, a hundred solitudes away from his nest. That’s you, Zeno, plunging at free-fall speed into nothingness, a moment later and you will no longer appear in the drawing.
Suspected of … well what exactly? Where wood is chopped splinters must fall. What made him so furious? Actually there was hardly anything that didn’t make him furious. That’s not very helpful. I’ll give you an example, last year the ship was completely overbooked for this one expedition, the lecturers had to be put up two to a cabin, we were running low on drinking water because people were consuming too much, and for the desalination to kick in the ship has to have a speed of at least fifteen knots, so every night we had to sail to Deception Island and back just to have enough water for breakfast, and that went on several nights in a row, if we’d stayed in the Antarctic one more day we would have run out of fuel. And? That really made him furious. Yes, it’s fluttering right here in front me in the train station, the pigeon isn’t totally white, you’re right, it has a few black spots and two brown stripes, there, on the sides, I have no idea what you call it. We can get original footage from a Columbian TV that had a crew on board, we haven’t seen stuff that strong since the incident with the tanker, remember, the one that crashed into the harbor? The workers on the dock saw it heading straight at them, they had fifteen minutes to clear out what they could. Dry fodder, profit is short term, worry is for life, we should rather look at the whole thing from a psychological perspective, student fodder, it’s too much to ask people to behave with a mind to a future they won’t live to see, hiccup, I’m a pious skeptic, dry cough, I have pills for everything, some make you bigger others make you smaller and some let you forget, and the correct answer is: the thickest book is the book of world records, congratulations, I thank you all, canned meat, I love you all BREAKING NEWS HIJACKED SHIP BOARDED BY SPECIAL FORCES BREAKING NEWS HIJACKED SHIP BOARDED BY SPECIAL FORCES is in large measure suspect
11. 64°50′3″S, 62°33′1″W
I’M LOOKING DOWN at Neko Harbor (there’s still no place I like better), a glacial tongue, an oval bay, and further out a narrow strait hemmed in by jagged, jutting mountains, the humped backs of mighty creatures sleeping away the summer, while kelp gulls fly in lingering spirals. The bay makes the ship seem tiny, insignificant, as if it could be made to disappear using a handheld remote. I breathe in the view until it streams through all my veins and fills my brain. Jeremy is sitting on a stone that’s free of snow, pointing his camcorder at the glacier in an effort to capture masses of ice as they crash into the foaming sea. Without warning he points his camera at me, “What a lucky coincidence, here comes the lead actor of the new blockbuster hit The Penguin Strikes Back, please share with our television audience exactly when it dawned on you that you would write the history of the Antarctic Cruise Crusade?” In reply I make a disgusted face. The camera doesn’t so much as twitch. “And where did you get the idea of using a penguin to play the squeaky wheel?” I shake my head and say nothing. Jeremy jumps up and stamps around me with his heavy boots, bombarding me with further questions while I stare into space so the pushy reporter will go away. “With your permission I’d like to ask one final question, namely who is going to play the role of the penguin, could you at least share that secret with us?” The snow isn’t firm enough for rapid movement, our laugher is more nimble than our feet. “Cut. Professor Z., why do you love ice as much as you do?” Jeremy has stopped, his glasses are slightly clouded over.
“Because of its variety.”
“Could you explain further?”
“The most beautiful thing on earth: variety.”
“Yes of course, we all love variety, but in the ice?”
“There’s nothing more varied. A solid body containing gas and liquid.”
“Just like human beings. Cut. We are observing a professor on the mound overlooking Neko Harbor, who is attempting to remain serious although he would like to laugh, it is the seriousness of the situation forcing him to do this, for he has recognized how serious the situation really is.”
“Go ahead and make fun since everything really is so funny.”
“All right then, let’s be serious. Cut. Zeno, what would you say is your greatest wish at this moment?”
“I’d like to stay here, Jeremy.”
“But you wouldn’t be able to survive.”
“Who knows, with a tent and a backpack and some dry provisions.”
“Well I’m sure the captain would give me a medal or maybe even a raise if I did leave you here, no, wait, it won’t work. Paulina would tear my head off.”
“I’m tired.”
“Already? It’s just the start of the season.”
“I’m tired of being human.”
“You’re ok, Mr. Iceberger. Even if you do get off track now and then, still …”
“I’m not tired of being me, Jeremy, just tired of being human.”
Jeremy takes one step forward, then another, he embraces me, unexpectedly, it’s a ritual typically reserved for saying goodbye at the end of the expedition, I give him a firm hug in return, he cries out, but not as a joke, I hear a thudding sound followed by a curse, we separate and watch as the Full HD video camera tumbles down the steep cliff and is stopped by a little ridge in the snow, the thought occurs to me that we could climb down, but then it resumes sliding and picks up speed and vanishes out of sight. We stand there like two boxers who’ve just learned the fights been called off, pricking our ears, listening for the sound of the camera hitting the water, but we don’t hear a thing. We stare at each other. Although I don’t say a single word, the regret must be etched on my face, because Jeremy is quick to console us both: No problem, anyway the interview with you was lousy, the camera is insured and I’ve shot Neko Harbor before in much better light. Let’s pack up. Jeremy pulls one of the red flags out of the snow, holds it in his hand like a spear or harpoon, he must have had the same image in mind.
“Just imagine, what if a whale swallowed the latest edition of Daily Turbulences and then got killed and slit open and some avid Japanese researchers discover the camera, what if they take out the memory stick and put it in a camera that hasn’t been corroded by the whale’s stomach juices, and then punch ‘play’? What do you think they’ll see? Your face. And what will they hear? ‘I’m tired of being human.’ And then they nod and each one says, me too, and they all decide to climb into the open belly of the whale, which they staple shut from the inside before tossing it back into the ocean.”
“How will they do that if they’re all inside?”
“One of them will have to sacrifice himself, somebody will have to stay outside and operate the sling lift. Satisfied, you old pedant you?”